The Garden of Earthly Delights

The Garden of Earthly Delights


By Torrent




Chapter 1: The Policeman is Our Friend




It figured that Fred Malins would be the one to cause trouble. He had a drinking
problem, had been suspended twice for using excessive force, and was rumored to
enjoy beating up whores down in Delta-City's rougher neighborhoods.

"So, here's the mighty Ms. Americana, riding a desk, just like me," he said, on
her first day on the job at the Criminal Investigation Division's prostitution
unit.

"Yeah, I got tired of cleaning up this town single-handed and decided to give
ordinary cops like you a shot at it," she said, sitting on the edge of his desk.
"Well, maybe not quite like you. I'm talking about police officers, not
bullies."

"My reputation precedes me," he said.

"Yeah, I heard you were a real asshole."

"Well, that's okay, baby. I don't like the idea of working with you any more
than you like the idea of working with me."

"How would you know?" she said. "You have no idea how much I dislike it."

Malins shrugged. "I don't give a flying fuck. I'm not looking to be liked."

He stood up. He was a big, red-faced man.

"I just want to be loved," he said, grabbing his crotch and leering at her.

"Pull it out, Malins, and let me have a look," said MA. "I hear it's as skinny
as a night crawler and as short as a maggot. Perfect for baiting a hook ¡ª if
you're going after something minnows."

Malins' face got even redder.

"Take off that magic belt of yours, sweetie, and let's go outside and see what
you think of my dick after I beat you senseless and stick it in your pussy."

Lieutenant Hyde walked in and caught the last few words.

"Now, now, girls. No quarrelling. We're one big happy family here at Hooker
Central. Malins, don't you have work to do?"

Malins grunted and sat back down at his desk.

"Ms. A, your work station is over here. Your log-on is 'Superhero.' You can
come up with your own password."

"Thank you, lieutenant," said MA. "Just one small point. I'm a woman, and I'm
proud of it. Shouldn't my log-in be 'Superheroine'?"

"Or Superslut," muttered Malins.

MA spun around, leaped over Malins' desk and landed on top of him. His chair
tilted backward and they tumbled together onto the floor. MA had landed three
punches before Hyde could pull her away. Malins lay sprawled on the floor, blood
gushing from his mouth. He was out cold.

# # #




"She's got an anger problem," said Commissioner Stepford.

"Of course she's angry," said Dr. Markham. "Malins provoked her. And he's not
the only one. The day before, during orientation, officers made clucking noises,
like chickens, when she walked through the hallways. The message was clear: They
think she's scared to be back on the streets."

"She told you this?" Stepford said.

"No. She hasn't complained, and I admire her for it. I heard about this from a
female detective who witnessed the abuse, and from a couple of secretaries."

"Well, provoked or not, her behavior is unacceptable," said Stepford. "We bust
ordinary cops for assaulting other officers. Just because she's a superhero
doesn't mean the rules don't apply to her."

"You've always hated her, haven't you?" Markham said. "You're jealous because
she gets all the attention. It's 'Ms. Americana nabs drug kingpin,' not
'Delta-City police break big case.'"

Stepford frowned. "You feminists really stick together, don't you? Well, you're
just plain wrong about my feelings toward Ms. Americana. I admire her. I'm
grateful for all she's done for Delta-City and this police force. And I'm very
sympathetic to her after all she's been through. But maybe after all she's been
through, she needs a long vacation. Not a desk job, a real vacation. Away from
crime . . . ."

"And away from the press?" Markham said icily.

"Interpret it any way you want, she's out of here," Stepford said angrily.
"She's fired. She will no longer have access to headquarters. She will no longer
have access to our case files. If she wants to be a superhero, she can do it on
her own time. And that's final!"

Meanwhile, six floors below, in the basement of the Delta-City Police
Department, MA was already cleaning out her locker.

"So you're finally checking out."

MA looked up. It was a young, blond officer who had clucked at her in the
hallway the day before. Two other men stood behind him. All three were big and
muscular.

"That's right," she said. "I'm checking out. Maybe I'll open a private detective
agency. Free-lancing might be fun." She tried to sound nonchalant.

"We heard about Malins."

"Yeah, what did you hear?"

"We heard you beat him up pretty good. I guess he had it coming. He's a bully.
But aren't you a bully, too? I mean, you've got that belt to protect you. You're
too chicken to fight without it."

"And now you're even scared to go back on the street with it," said one of the
other cops.

MA's face flushed. "So you think I'm chicken, huh? Well, maybe you just don't
know what I went through recently."

"Sure, we do," said the blond. "Word has gotten out, Superslut. We heard you got
yourself fucked by a pack of horny dogs."

"And got some kind of electric dildo shoved up your pussy," said another.

"And begged for more," said the third. "Ain't that what you heard, Sam?"

"Yeah," said the blond cop. "That's what I heard."

"What do you want?" MA said. Her voice quavered, as if she was on the verge of
tears. "Why are you trying to humiliate me?"

"Take off your belt," Sam said. He looked directly into her eyes. "Take it off.
I promise these other men won't help me. It'll be just you and me."

MA hesitated, then slipped her hands behind her waist. There was a click, and
then she was holding the belt in one hand. "Is this what you want?" she asked.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed her arms from behind, and Sam hit her
hard in the stomach. She bent over, gasping for breath.

The man in back of her let her go and grabbed the belt. It was Malins. One eye
was bandaged shut, and his lips were puffy from MA's punches. He smiled as she
fell to the floor. Three of his front teeth were missing.

They beat her for a while, then they forced her to suck them off. Malins was
last.

"Here's the little worm you talked about, birdie," he said. He pulled out an
enormous prick. "Suck it til I cum, bitch, then swallow it."

She wept as she sucked him off.

When they had finished, they tied her up, stuffed into her locker and closed the
door.

"What about her belt?" Malins asked.

"Better give it to me," said Sam. "If she files a complaint, the first place
they'll search will your apartment."

The door of MA's locker rattled.

"Shut up in there," one of the men yelled. "Shut the fuck up or we'll fill the
locker full of pepper spray."

The rattling stopped, but they opened the door and sprayed her anyway. Then they
locked her back in and left. They could hear her rasping screams all the way to
the elevator.





# # #




Markham was nervous. She always was when she had to deal with Dr. Richard
Bohner, head of the Delta-City Clinic. He was a good administrator, everyone
said. But as far as she was concerned, he was a misogynistic prick.

A buzzer sounded. Bohner's secretary smiled blandly and said, "You can go in
now."

Bohner had a huge corner office with a great view of the city center to the
north and the heavily forested Serendipity Park to the east. He sat behind a
curved, teakwood desk.

"Something wrong, Rita?" he asked. He didn't bother to get up.

"Yes, something is very wrong," she said. "There was a fracas of some sort at
police headquarters today. Commissioner Stepford . . . ."

"Yes, I know. Stepford has fired your hyper-athletic friend. He called me a few
minutes ago."

"Did he tell you about how some of the cops have been riding her? Ridiculing
her? Trying to provoke her?"

"Trying?" said Bohner. "More than just trying. They evidently succeeded quite
nicely."

"Yes, she blew up, and she shouldn't have. But I think she needs to stay on the
job in order to recover from her ordeal. Idleness would be the worst possible
thing for her."

"And what do you want from me?" he asked.

"You and Stepford are on good terms. I want you to ask him to reinstate her.
I'll work on anger management with her. Everything will be fine."

"Really?" Bohner said. He smiled. "If everything's going to be fine, why was Ms.
A just found jammed into her locker with a mouthful of cum?"

Markham turned pale. "What . . . I hadn't heard."

"Yes, it seems she must have gotten into a bit of a tiff with some of her fellow
law enforcers. Or maybe she voluntarily gave them a blow job. In any event,
she's on the way here in an ambulance."

"How could . . . what happened to her belt? Why didn't it protect her?"

"She must have taken it off," said Bohner. His grin now had a hint of
lasciviousness. "Maybe she wanted to be roughed up a little. Isn't that what you
warned us about?"

Tears filled Markham's eyes. "You bastard," she whispered. "You're enjoying
this."

"Just between us, I certainly am," said Bohner, "I'll deny ever saying it, of
course, but I think I can be candid with you. I despise this so-called
superhero. Two years ago, after a thug in a delivery truck shattered her left
tibia, this clinic put her leg back together. And did we get a word of thanks
from Ms. Arrogance? Not one. And when she and her bubble-headed sidekick Flag
Girl got knocked up by those mutant plants, who delivered and disposed of the
monstrous offspring? Who repaired their overstretched wombs and vaginas? This
clinic. And again, not one word of acknowledgment from her."

"So, you want to see her hurt and humiliated because she doesn't send thank-you
notes," said Markham. "That's sick."

"No, that's just the way the world works. What goes around, comes around. Now,
if you'll excuse me, I've got a medical emergency to deal with downstairs."

He took a wooden box from his desk and headed for the door. Markham grabbed his
sleeve.

"Ms. Americana? You're going to treat her? You haven't practiced medicine in
years."

"Well," he said, "maybe it's time for me to freshen up my skills."



# # #




At Bohner's instructions, MA was taken directly from the emergency room to a
special unit in the basement. Markham tried to accompany him, but was barred by
two tough-looking security officers.

"I want Big Betty," Bohner snapped to the nurse who stood next to the gurney on
which MA lay semi-conscious.

"I think I can handle this," said the nurse.

"I don't care what you think. Get Betty down here ¡ª fast."

MA had been moved from the emergency room gurney to an examining table. She was
completely nude, except for her mask. Bohner removed it and put it in his
pocket. Then he pulled up one of her eyelids. The eyeball was red and the pupil
was dilated. Her left cheekbone was swollen and so were her lips. He pulled them
back and checked her teeth. They were all intact.

"Was she conscious when you got there?" Bohner asked the EMS technician, a
chunky man in his thirties.

"Yeah, sort of."

"Did she say what happened to her?"

"Naw," said the technician. "She talked, but she didn't make any sense. I think
she was hysterical."

"No broken bones?" Bohner asked, running his hands over her body.

"I don't think so, sir. But she hasn't been to X-ray yet."

Bohner's right hand slid down her belly and followed the curve down between her
legs. She moaned softly.

"Well, at least one part of her is responsive," said Bohner. The technician
laughed nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."

Bohner pressed three fingers against her vulva, then slid his middle finger into
her vagina. Her pelvis began to push upward, so that his finger slipped in even
farther.

"Naughty, naughty, Ms. A," he said in a low voice. "Even when you're
semi-conscious, you act very much like a slut."

The door opened and a woman in slacks and a loose-fitting white blouse entered.
She could have been MA's big sister. She was an inch over six feet tall and
appeared to weigh at least 180 pounds. Despite her size, the masculine cut of
her jaw, and a nose that clearly had been broken more than once, she was a
beautiful woman. She had dark, wavy hair, striking blue eyes, full, sensual lips
¡ª and an ample bosom that her blouse couldn't completely hide.

"I'm glad to see you, Betty," said Bohner. "I'm going to need your help."

"Who's the slut on the slab?" Betty asked.

"You don't recognize her?"

"No. Should I?"

Bohner laughed. "Yes, I think you should. Look closer."

Betty leaned over MA.

"She's pretty," she said. "Great body. I kinda think I've seen her before."

"Step aside. Maybe this will help," Bohner said. He bent over MA, and Betty
couldn't see what he was doing.

When he stepped back, Betty said, "No shit! I should've guessed it."

Bohner had put on MA's mask.

"So what's wrong with Her Superness?" Betty asked.

"Nothing that a little discipline and instruction can't correct. She has what
Markham calls an 'anger' problem. I think she's rattled and scared and has
totally lost control of herself."

"So this isn't a nursing job?" Betty said. Technically, she was chief nurse in
the psych unit, where her size, strength and intimidating presence came in
handy. But she was also available for other, more specialized jobs that Bohner
and the medical center board felt needed doing.

"No, not nursing. At least, not in the usual sense. We're going to take her out
in the country, to Moulton's place. It's comfortable and private, and it has . .
. well, let's just say it has the facilities we need."

"Yeah, I know," said Betty. "You forget, I've been there. Remember, you sent me
there when Mr. Moulton wanted to be flogged by a woman with big tits and big
deltoids."

"Oh, yes," said Bohner, blushing slightly. "That's right. Well, then, you won't
need any orientation. Let's get her packed up."

Betty reached down and cupped her hand around MA's right breast. "It's a beaut,"
she said.

"Yes, and it ¡ª and so much more ¡ª will soon be yours to play with."

Chapter 2: Nurse Betty




Charles Moulton's estate covered over 340 acres of rolling woodlands and
meadows. The house was built of creek stone and logs and was supposed to look
old and somewhat primitive. In fact, it had every modern convenience, including
what the old man referred to as his "Garden of Earthly Delights." It was a
sculpture and topiary garden built around a small lake and designed to look like
the painting by Hieronymous Bosch ¡ª minus the crowds of humans and animals. The
human element was provided from time to time when Moulton gave one of his
famously lavish parties. Animals, domestic and exotic, were usually also present
on these occasions ¡ª either in the form of humans in costume or the real live
thing. The Delta-City Zoo was always eager to accommodate one of its most
generous donors.

More intimate affairs, such as MA's visit with Bohner and Betty, had a very
different flavor. The strange structures that had emerged from the artist's
imagination five centuries ago became ominous when there were no crowds of
laughing guests with cocktails in their hands. And there was good reason for
this. The Garden on such occasions became the setting of elaborate, and often
fatal, games of hide-and-seek.

"Well, what do you think of it, Ms. A?" asked Bohner.

They had just emerged from a huge SUV with dark tinted windows, and they stood
in the driveway beside the house, overlooking the Garden. MA's wrists were tied
behind her, but she was back in costume (minus her belt) and was able to stand
on her own for the first time in two days.

"It's creepy. Why did you bring me here?"

"For training," said Bohner. "And for the sake of science. We're going to do
some experiments on you."

"Great," said MA wearily. "Just what I need."

Betty put her arm around MA's shoulder. "It won't be so bad. This is a beautiful
place. You'll get a lot of exercise and fresh air."

The regimen was to begin after a light lunch. Bohner told Betty to go easy at
first but to make it clear that she, not MA, was in charge. The goal was to
prove to MA that, without her magic belt, she was just another fairly athletic
woman. She had already learned how easily she could be bested by men. Betty
would now prove to her that she wasn't even supreme among woman.

Hand-to-hand combat ¡ª and losing ¡ª would occupy MA during the daylight hours.
When the sun went down, Bohner would apply the Magyar's wand to drive her to
extremes of sexual excitation.

Between the beatings by Betty and repeated rapes by the electrified wand, MA
would be reduced to a state of abject sexual submission. At that point, she
would be put on the international market. Moulton had assured Bohner that there
were powerful men in Europe, Saudi Arabia and India ¡ª and at least one woman in
California ¡ª who would pay tens, perhaps hundreds of millions for such a toy.
He himself, if he were a few years younger, would have gladly parted with $50
million for a superheroine-turned-sex slave.

MA, of course, knew none of this. But she expected the worst. Even Betty's arm
on her shoulders seemed less a reassuring gesture than an omen of disaster. It
was a strong, muscular arm, and MA had had more than her share of pain and
humiliation from women with strong, muscular arms during her stay with the
Magyar.



# # #




Betty tried to keep in mind Bohner's instruction that she was to go easy at
first. MA certainly wasn't cooperating. Each woman was armed with a thick,
four-foot-long hickory staff. Betty had planned to smash MA's knee, then bring
her down with a quick blow to the back of her neck. But MA parried her first
stroke and countered with a swing that, had it connected, would have kayoed
Betty before the bout was five seconds old.

Betty ducked that one and parried the next with her rod, but MA managed to land
a stinging blow to her shoulder. Betty retreated, and MA pressed on. Betty
blocked a particularly vicious blow, but it landed on the ring and little
fingers of her right hand, and the pain almost forced her to lose her grip.

But MA was momentarily off balance, and that gave Betty the opening she needed.
She swung her staff up and slammed it into MA's crotch.

The superheroine groaned and staggered. Betty's rod came down on the side of her
head with a loud crack. MA fell face forward, unconscious.

"Okay," said Bohner, who had been sitting on a concrete railing at the edge of a
patch of lawn Moulton called the dueling ground. "That's enough for today."

Betty, breathing heavily, gasped, "No shit. I'm bushed."

Two members of Moulton's house staff, dressed in white linen jackets and black
pants, lifted MA and carried her into the house.

"What now?" asked Betty.

"We'll let her recover for a while, then I'll try the wand."

"That gizmo from the Magyar's place? Can I watch?"

"Of course," said Bohner. "We're a team. Together, we're going to reduce Ms. A
to something just a notch above the vegetative state ¡ª let's say she'll become
a cabbage with a craving, a lecherous lettuce."

"A rape-able rhubarb," said Betty, joining in the fun.

"A cock-sucking cauliflower."

"A cucumber with a cunt."

"An erogenous eggplant."

They were laughing hysterically as they went into the house for a mid-afternoon
cocktail.



# # #




The dinner menu for MA was much the same as what she had for lunch: chili
peppers, figs and raw oysters, with a fine pinot grigio to wash them down, and
strawberries dipped in chocolate for dessert. The emphasis was on foods that
were reputed to be aphrodisiacs. Bohner was skeptical of those claims but was
willing to try anything ¡ª including an experimental Dutch drug called Verlangen
that was supposed to drive women crazy with desire. He had injected MA with the
drug while she was still groggy from the blow from Betty's fighting staff.

None of this had any visible effect during dinner. MA ate sparingly. Her head
ached, and she still felt dizzy.

Moulton had driven in from town to join them. He sat across from MA and couldn't
keep his eyes off her.

"You don't appear to feel well, young lady," he said as the salad course was
cleared. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah," said MA. "Give me my belt and let me get the hell out of here."

"I'm afraid I can't help you. We don't know what happened to your belt, and
believe me, we're as eager to examine it as you are to wear it. As for letting
you go, that's out of the question. You have become a commodity ¡ª or soon will
be. A very valuable commodity."

"What do you mean?" MA asked.

Moulton looked at Bohner. "I see, you haven't told her. Very good. I'm delighted
to the one to break the news." Turning back to MA, he said, with a dry smile,
"You will soon be a very high-priced slut. The auction will be handled over
secure lines, via the Internet. Bidding will start at $2 million, and I'm sure
it will climb rapidly."

"For me?" MA asked.

"For you, my charming princess. You have amazed us over the years with your
bravery, your strength and your cunning. And I'm sure you're not surprised to
hear that many of us also yearned to see you defeated and humiliated, yearned to
be able to fuck you while you were helpless or, better yet, while you were under
the influence of drugs that would make you want to be fucked."

"You'll never get away with this," MA said.

Moulton chuckled. "But of course we will. Stepford is part of our syndicate, so
don't expect the police to come rescue you. Meanwhile, you can't escape with so
many guarding you. And soon you probably won't even want to escape." He winked
at Bohner.

After dinner, they went down a spiral staircase that led to a lower level fully
as large as the first floor of the house. It was filled with exercise equipment,
a hot tub and several metal tables of various sizes. One was fitted with
stirrups at one end and chains and manacles at the other.

MA balked when she saw it, but Betty pushed her forward.

"You fucking bullies," MA said bitterly. "I can't believe you're going to do
this to me."

"Do what, dear?" asked Moulton. "Oh, I see. You think this is some sort of
torture device. Nothing could be farther from the truth."

Betty turned her around and looked into her eyes. "Strip," she said. "Don't make
me do it for you."

MA removed her costume with trembling hands. Then she covered her breasts with
her arms.

"The mask, too," Betty said.

MA took off her mask.

"Quite lovely," murmured Moulton.

"Get on the table and lie on your back," Betty ordered.

MA did as she was told. The metal was cold, and a shiver ran over her body.
Betty and Bohner grabbed her wrists, pulled them over her head and secured them
with the manacles.

"Put your feet in the stirrups," Bohner ordered. MA didn't move.

"You want me to force her?" Betty asked.

Bohner shook his head. "I don't think that will be necessary." He reached under
the table.

"I've got a surprise for you, Ms. A," he said. He was holding the Magyar's wand.

MA began to tremble violently.

"Your body remembers this, even if you mind doesn't," he said.

MA's knees were pressed together and her feet were pointed down, guarding her
crotch. Bohner slid the wand across the outside of one thigh. MA moaned softly,
and her legs began to relax.

He rubbed the sphere at the end of the wand up and down her thigh. Her knees
parted slightly, just enough for him to press the wand between them, and down.
She began to wriggle and breathe heavily. The sphere pressed down until it
touched her furry mound. She lifted her pelvis to meet it, and swung her legs
wide apart. Her body was begging to be raped.

Bohner knew he had to be careful. This strange instrument could produce intense
pleasure, but it could also kill. He caressed her vulva with the wand, then
teasingly pushed it in a little. Her reaction was explosive. She screamed with
pleasure and her hips rose and fell, banging against the table.

"Get her feet in the stirrups and secure them," Bohner shouted. Betty and a
burly aide grabbed her ankles.

"Here comes the big bang," said Bohner. He shoved the sphere into MA's pussy. It
disappeared, along with seven inches of the wand. MA's body heaved, and sounds
that were half screams, half sobs poured from her.

Slowly, Bohner withdrew the wand. MA's gyrations subsided. She lay very still ¡ª
alarmingly so, Bohner thought.

"Check her pulse," he said to Betty.

"Weak, but she's still pumping."

Bohner grabbed a stethoscope and blood pressure gauge from another table while
Betty unshackled MA's wrists. After half a minute, he said, "She's okay."

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

MA was left to recover, with Betty at her side. Bohner and Moulton went back
upstairs, for cigars and brandy.

"An amazing display," said Moulton. "Can I give it a try tomorrow?"

"Of course," said Bohner. "The wand has 12 power settings. Today, we went only
to level four. I think it would be safe to move up a notch or two."

Moulton smiled. "By God, I haven't been able to get a decent erection in nine
years, but I almost feel I could give her a good fuck tonight."

"You're welcome to try anytime you want, Mr. M," said Bohner. "And if your dick
isn't up to it, the wand is a dandy surrogate."

Chapter 3: A Fish Tale




MA dreamed she was back in third grade, at St. Boniface Elementary School. She
was being chased by Theresa McGee, who was bigger and often beat her up. Only it
was so odd ¡ª Theresa was a 10-year-old child, while MA was her adult self, yet
Theresa somehow was till bigger. And as mean as ever. They ran through the
school playground, which had somehow morphed into Moulton's Garden of Earthly
Delights. Crowds of naked, pink people wandered about the grounds. They were
smaller than MA, and they spoke a strange language she didn't understand.

She heard Theresa somewhere behind her, yelling, "Brenda Wade, when I'm finished
with you, you won't be so pretty anymore."

MA climbed a staircase that spiraled around one of the strange garden
sculptures. The rose-colored sculpture hadn't appeared very big when she started
climbing, but soon she was a hundred feet above the ground and there were still
many stairs to climb. She passed an oval window, and a hand reached out and
grabbed her. She was pulled through the window and found herself facing a house
cat as big as she was ¡ª in fact, quite a bit bigger.

"We eat little girls like you," said the cat. It moved toward her. She pressed
her back against the wall and closed her eyes, trembling with fear. Then she
felt a rough tongue stroking her crotch.

"Yes, start there," said a familiar voice. She opened her eyes. It was the
Magyar. He was holding the wand. It had grown and was now at least three feet
long. "And when she's nice and juicy," he told the cat, "I will explode her into
a billion, trillion pieces, and you can lick them up at your leisure."

MA awoke with a start. She was covered with sweat and breathing heavily. The
room was dark, except for a glimmer of moonlight that came through the barred
window.

She got out of bed, and her knees almost buckled. She was weak with fear ¡ª and
with sexual excitement. She heard the tiny whir of an electric motor. She knew
it was the TV camera mounted just below the ceiling. Even in the dark, it
followed her every motion. Infra-red, she thought to herself.

She went to the window and looked out. The ground sloped away from the house on
this side, down to a tree-lined stream. There was just enough moonlight to make
out the contours of the landscape.

A metallic sound behind her made her turn around. The door to her room was open,
and someone stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"Can't sleep?" It was Betty.

"Why do you care?" asked MA.

"I want you fit and ready to fight in the morning."

MA laughed bitterly. "Why do we have to fight? You proved you're stronger than I
am. I concede."

"That's no fun," said Betty. "If you don't put up a good fight, Bohner and
Moulton will figure you're broken, and they'll sell you. Don't you want to put
that off as long as possible?"

Betty walked over and caressed her shoulder with her fingertips. "I don't want
to see you sold. As bad as things may seem here, they will be much worse when
you become some dip-shit sheik's sex toy."

MA tried to read Betty's face in the dark. "How would you know?" she asked.
"Have you ever been a sex slave?"

"No," Betty whispered, "but I'd like to be yours."

They embraced tentatively, then MA succumbed to Betty's sudden ardor. Betty
picked her up and carried her to the bed.

They made love until sunrise. Betty was an expert, but MA wanted more. She
shuddered as she thought what it was she wanted, what she craved as she had
never craved anything before ¡ª the wand and its big, magical silver sphere. She
wanted it deep inside her. She wanted it to fill her until she burst, until she
was obliterated in an orgasmic explosion.



# # #




"Do we really need to do this?" said Betty.

"Absolutely," said Bohner. "You've mastered her only once. It will take at least
four or five sessions before the message is indelibly etched in her mind, until
she knows she's no longer some kind of hot-shit superheroine."

They stood next to a muddy pit behind Moulton's stables. It had been selected by
Bohner, with Moulton's enthusiastic approval, as the venue for the next
MA-vs.-Big Betty match.

"I've seen some very good mud-wrestling videos," Moulton told Bohner. "I think
we can top them with these girls."

This fight would join the others in Moulton's video library. A camera crew had
set up at the perimeter of the pit, and a microphone dangled from a boom, to
catch the grunts, curses and howls of the combatants.

Betty was stripped and ready for action, even if her heart wasn't in it. MA
arrived at the pit with her wrists tied behind her and a guard on either side of
her. She had been stripped, too ¡ª and Betty figured whoever did the stripping
did a few other things, judging from the look of shame and despair on her face.

"Untie her," Bohner said. "Ms. A, you don't look like you've gotten into the
spirit of today's event. I hope you won't let us down."

"Fuck you," MA whispered.

"Ah, that's a good sign," said Bohner. "Get mad. Get mad as hell. Get mad as
hell, and take it out on Betty."

MA turned to say something to him, but at that moment, Betty grabbed her from
behind, lifted her off her feet and tossed her into the pit. Mud splattered
everywhere from the impact, and MA sat up, sputtering with shock and rage.

Betty climbed into the muck and immediately sank knee-deep. She reached for MA,
but the superheroine made a quick move and kicked her in the side. Betty's face
turned red with anger, and in a second she was on top of MA, pummeling her,
pulling her hair, pushing her face into the mud.

MA fought back bravely and at one point managed to flip Betty over her shoulder
into the muck. But the outcome of this match, like the one the day before,
seemed predetermined: Betty's superior strength would prevail.

It would have, had Bohner's cell phone not rung just as Betty was preparing to
finish off the battered superheroine. The ring distracted Betty for an instant,
and MA landed a hard right to her jaw.

Betty's knees buckled. MA didn't wait for her to recover. She clambered out of
the pit, rolled over and kicked a security guard in the balls. Then she was on
her feet, running as fast as she could. Two other guards gave chase, and Bohner
used his cell phone to call for reinforcements.

In less than a minute, Oliver Taggart, the overweight head of Moulton's security
force, and his assistant Stan Lee, arrived on the scene in an electric cart.

"Where did she go?" asked Taggart.

"Toward those woods," said Bohner. "Two of your men took off after her, but
she's quite a runner."

"Well, I'm no goddam runner," said Taggart. "Me and Stan will take the cart."

"How the hell are you going to get a cart into the woods?" Bohner asked in
exasperation.

"I'm not going into the woods, Doc," said Taggart. "I've got six other men,
besides the two chasing her, who'll be combing the woods. I want to be where
she's most likely to be when she comes out of the woods. So just let me do my
job, and you do yours ¡ª whatever the fuck that is."



# # #


After eluding Moulton's security team for twenty minutes, MA cautiously emerged
from the forest. She found herself standing before a large building of yellow
brick, to which were attached two large cylindrical steel tanks and what
appeared to be industrial pumps.

She cautiously circled the building until she came to the main entrance. The
walkway to the glass double was divided by a rectangular pond full of goldfish.
She stepped into it and washed the mud from her legs. No sense leaving a trail
for her pursuers. The goldfish cowered under water lily pads.

She could hear voices approaching in the woods in back of the building, and in
the other direction, about 100 yards away, she spotted an electric cart with two
men in it rolling up a path that led to the entrance.

It was time to make a move. She tried one of the big glass double doors. It
opened easily.

Inside, it was dark and cool. She was in an entrance hall with large pictures
and diagrams on the walls. Just enough light came through the doors to enable
her to recognize that the pictures were of fish and turtles. It was too dark to
read the accompanying text, and in any event she didn't have time for a lesson
on aquatic ecology.

She looked back through the glass doors. The cart was only about fifty yards
away. She had to find a place to hide.

In the wall opposite the main entrance was an arched doorway with a black
curtain. She pushed aside the curtain and found herself in a narrow, curved
corridor that encircled the most important part of the building, a huge,
cylindrical tank filled with marine life. Through a glass portal, she recognized
groupers and loggerhead turtles. A school of smaller fish flashed by. She
pressed her nose to the glass just as a large shadow in the blue-green haze
turned into a shark. She stepped back automatically, but the shark swerved as it
approached the glass, and she saw a pair of remoras attached to its grey skin,
just behind its gill.

MA heard the doors open out in the entrance hall, then the voices of Taggart and
Lee.

She turned left and followed the curved corridor, hoping to find a way out, or a
place to hide.

"You go that way," said Taggart. "I'll meet you on the other side."

MA was growing desperate. But suddenly she spotted a small metal door on her
left. When she opened it, she saw that it gave access to a narrow, vertical
shaft with hand rungs. She closed the door and started climbing.

In a few seconds, she was on a platform just above the ceiling of the corridor
she had been in. And at the edge of the platform was the big tank. It was
illuminated by a skylight only a few inches above her head.

She heard someone turn the handle of the door below.

"Shit," she said to herself. If he came up the ladder, he'd have her. She looked
down into the water. The shark she had seen was circling lazily. Or maybe it was
a different shark. She realized there were at least three or four.

She heard the clink of metal on metal. Someone was coming up the ladder ¡ª and
probably carrying a gun.

She sat at the edge of the platform and dangled her legs in the tank. Then
bracing herself with her hands, she let her body slide into the water.

It was cold but not as cold as she expected. She took a big gulp of air, then
swam underwater toward a replica of a shipwreck. A shark swam alongside her for
a moment, then turned away.

She hid in the shipwreck and hoped she could hold her breath long enough for
whoever was on the platform to look around and lose interest. Finally, after a
minute and a half, her body was screaming for oxygen. She swam to the surface as
unobtrusively as possible, but when her head came out of the water she couldn't
restrain herself. She noisily forced the stale air out of her lungs and inhaled
deeply.

Then she looked over at the platform. No one was there.

Her feeling of relief was interrupted by a forceful bump in the side. A shark
was nudging her. She turned to face it, and it bumped her again, this time in
the belly.

Was it preparing to attack? Or did it think she was an aquarium worker, come to
feed it? Another bump, this time from behind. A second shark had joined in the
fun.

MA tried to remain cool. She didn't want to do anything to startle or anger the
sharks, but she also didn't want them to view her as helpless ¡ª and as a meal.
These weren't great whites, but they were big enough to do serious damage.

In the viewing hall below, Moulton's security guards were watching all this with
amusement.

"Think they'll take a bite out of her?" Lee asked.

"I sure would like to," said Taggart.

MA swam, as calmly as possible, around the perimeter of the big tank. She was
looking for a way out. Returning the way she had come seemed too risky.

At last, she came to a concrete wall with rungs. As she climbed up, one of the
sharks nipped at her right leg. She felt a sudden pang, and when she looked
down, blood was flowing from her calf.

She pulled her legs out of the water just in time. The sharks had grown excited
by the scent of blood.

MA looked around. She was on a ledge between the big tank she had just emerged
from and another, smaller one. This one wasn't covered by the skylight, so she
couldn't tell what was in the dark water. But there were only two choices: the
small tank, with whatever hazards it might hold, or the big one with several
hungry sharks. She slid into the small tank.

"She's a goner," said Taggart.

"Why? She got out before the sharks really got going."

Taggart laughed grimly. "Yeah, she got out, all right. And I'm pretty sure she's
now in the Jug."

MA had no way of knowing, of course, that the "Jug" was where Moulton's aquarium
keepers maintained a host of less attractive forms of aquatic life found mostly
in the Amazon river system ¡ª life forms that few visitors to public aquariums
were interested in seeing.

The first to attack her were a pair of lampreys, which attached their circular,
tooth-filled mouths to her breasts. She was startled, but the sensation was
almost pleasurable at first. There was nothing pleasurable, however, when she
attempted to pull the parasites off of her. The pain was agonizing, and she
realized that removing the lampreys would likely mean tearing off her nipples.

Then she felt other creatures probing her anus and her vulva. She kicked and
squirmed. Something was definitely entering her vagina. Terrified, she screamed
and swam back to the ledge she had left. But now something had become interested
in the gash in her leg, and she felt several new sets of teeth digging in. She
tried to pull herself out of the waster, but she began to feel weak and dizzy.

"Got to get out," she told herself. But everything began to whirl around her,
and she lost consciousness. Small but powerful jaws pulled her below the surface
of the water. Bubbles poured from her nose and mouth as she sank into a gloom
darkened by her own blood.



[To be continued.]

Chapter 4: Flag Girl to the Rescue?



"From superheroine to seafood - how the mighty have fallen!" exclaimed Moulton.
He was in a cheerful mood.

"It's not funny," Bohner grumbled. "We almost lost a multi-million-dollar piece
of meat. In fact, we still might."

"Not to worry," said Moulton. "It's only money. Besides, I believe she's going
to be fine. Here comes Tasher. Let's get it from the horse's mouth."

A serious-looking middle-aged man wearing rimless spectacles joined them on the
veranda.

"How goes our famous patient?" asked Moulton.

Tasher waggled his hand in a gesture of ambivalence. "Not so bad, not so good.
The application of moderate electric shock succeeded in removing the lampreys,
though her nipples will be red and raw for several days. We also removed about a
dozen leeches. The damage they did was superficial. As for the piranhas, they
did quite a number on her leg. We sewed it up. She'll have a scar, but it
shouldn't hurt the bidding. Hell, some men might find it attractive."

"See," said Moulton, turning to Bohner. "No problem."

"Well, actually there is a problem," said Tasher. "It's the candiru."

"What the hell is that?" said Bohner.

"A small fish, found in the Amazon, that swims up a larger animal's urethra,"
said Tasher. "Once lodged there, it cannot be extracted - except by surgery."

"So she has this fish in her urinary tract?" said Bohner.

"No. The candiru in Mr. Moulton's aquarium is a rare variety of Vandellia
cirrhosa. It's too large to fit up the urethra, so it seeks out other bodily
orifices - the anus or, in the case of a large female mammal such as Ms. A, the
vagina."

"My God," said Moulton. "So which has it gone after in this case? Does she have
a perch in her pussy or an eel in her anus."

"Both, until about an hour ago," said Tasher. "We got them all before they had
advanced very far. Luckily, these little bastards don't have the backward-swept
spines found on the more common variety of candiru, so surgery wasn't necessary.
But they do have a voracious appetite for blood. In fact, Ms. A had already done
a lot of bleeding. But we've given her a transfusion, and she's on antibiotics.
My guess is that she'll be fully recovered in two or three weeks."

"Damn," said Bohner. "That puts us behind schedule."

"Sorry, but you can't very well put her through the kind of rough stuff you have
in mind when she's in the condition she's in now. Whatever her crime-fighting
exploits in the past, she's not superhuman anymore."

A shapely, dark-haired housemaid in a skimpy black and white uniform came out on
the veranda with a tray of drinks. When she came to Moulton, she leaned forward,
whispered to him and handed him an envelope. He read it and smiled.

"Thank you, Marietta," he said. As she turned away, he gave her a friendly pat
on the behind.

"News?" asked Bohner.

"Yes," said Moulton. "Stepford called a few minutes ago. It seems Ms. A's little
friend Flag Girl is on her way here. She confided to Stepford that someone told
her Ms. A had been abducted, and she's decided to rescue her."

"Another problem," Bohner said, frowning.

"No, it's more of an opportunity. If Ms. A is worth, say, twenty million on the
sex-slave market, this little strumpet should be worth at least four or five. In
fact, we could sell them as a set. I believe they'd fetch more that way than
sold separately."

He removed a cell phone from the breast pocket of his Armani sport jacket.

"Oliver," he said, "we're going to have a visitor shortly, an attractive young
blonde with big boobs and a skimpy costume. I want you to follow her movements
carefully, but no dogs and no rough stuff. When she gets close to the house,
have someone with smooth manners meet her - I think Ludwig would do fine."

He put away the cell phone and smiled at Bohner and Tasher. "Ms. A is the big
prize, of course, but I've long wanted an opportunity to abuse this lovely
little twit. As they say, good things come to those who wait."



# # #



Security cameras picked up Flag Girl the moment she jumped down from the
eight-foot fence that surrounded Moulton's estate. Half a dozen armed guards in
camouflage followed her through the woods. Four more guards, in black slacks and
white golf shirts, made themselves as conspicuous as possible, at strategic
spots. The effect was just what Taggart, head of security, wanted. Flag Girl
tried to avoid the guards she saw, and this brought her to the Garden of Earthly
Delights.

She stopped, awestruck.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" said a man's voice behind her.

She spun around and assumed a martial arts position.

"Sorry," said the man. He wore black slacks and a white golf shirt. "I didn't
mean to startle you." He spoke with a German accent.

"Don't get any closer," said Flag Girl.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't hurt you. I've been sent by Mr. Moulton to
invite you to join him and several other guests for drinks on the veranda."

"You knew I was here?" Flag Girl said, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Yes," said the young man. "We have an excellent security system. We spotted you
right away. If you don't mind my saying so, after one look, I was very eager to
meet you."

Flag Girl for the first time noticed that the young man was very handsome. And
he seemed nice enough. Still . . . .

"Don't try to take advantage of me," Flag Girl warned.

"I wouldn't think of it. Now, if you'll just follow me."



# # #



"Ah, you must be Flag Girl," said Moulton, hurrying up to her and bowing to kiss
her hand.

"How'd you know?" she asked.

Moulton looked up at her. She didn't seem to be kidding.

"Well, my dear," he said, "it must have had something to do with your costume."

"Oh, yeah," she said, blushing slightly. "I forgot about that."

"Well, please join us in a drink. What will you have?"

"I don't drink alcohol," he said sternly. "And I don't smoke. I don't do
anything unhealthy or immoral."

"Yes, yes, very admirable," said Moulton.

"What is he drinking?" she asked, pointing to Bohner.

"Gin and tonic," said Bohner.

"Does that have alcohol?" she asked.

Moulton looked at her with what he hoped was a bland and benign expression - and
wondered how he could put her monumental stupidity to good use.

"Yes, it does, my dear. But I know just the thing for you. It's flavorful and
full of anti-oxidants." He waved to a waiter who had joined Marietta on the
veranda. "Andre , would you get the young lady a Kir, and ask Tommy to fortify
it with a splash of Absolut."

He turned his attention back to Flag Girl. "Now, we're all very eager to hear
why you came here, and why you climbed over the fence instead of ringing at the
front gate."

"Well," said Flag Girl, "I came looking for Bren . . . I mean Ms. Americana.
Someone told me she had been kidnapped and taken here."

"Ah," said Moulton. "So you climbed the fence so you wouldn't alert the - what
shall we call them? The 'bad guys'?"

"Yeah, I guess so," said Flag Girl. The waiter returned and handed her a drink.
"Gosh, it's so pretty," she said, holding the glass up to the setting sun.

"Yes, and it tastes even better than it looks," said Moulton. "But you must have
thought we were the bad guys. Am I not right?"

She sipped her drink, smiled, then drank the rest in two gulps. "That's really
delish," she said.

"And good for you. Andre, bring the young lady another, please. Now, back to how
you came here."

Flag Girl looked around nervously. "Well, I was told Brenda . . . I mean, Ms.
Americana . . . ."

"It's okay," interrupted Bohner. "We all know that Ms. Americana is really
Brenda Wade."

"You do!" Flag Girl looked stunned.

"Yes, of course," said Bohner. "We're her friends. Brenda and I go way back. And
she wasn't kidnapped. She came here because she needed to get away from the
stress of the city."

"I know," Flag Girl said sadly. "Terrible things happened to her when she was
captured by the Magyar. I feel bad that I was out of town. I should've been with
her."

"Ah, well, these things can't be helped," said Moulton. "Where exactly were
you?"

"I was on vacation in Omaha."

"Oh," said Bohner, "you have family in Nebraska."

"No. Commissioner Stepford recommended it. He said they have great beaches." She
frowned. "But when I got there, nobody seemed to know where the beaches were.
Not a very friendly town. That's why I only stayed ten days."

Moulton and Bohner glanced at one another, then Bohner began coughing violently.
Tasher slapped him on the back. "You okay?" he asked. Then he began coughing
too.

Flag Girl looked at Moulton. "Gosh, that's strange," she said. "Both of them
coughing like that - must be something going around."

At this, Bohner actually fell to his knees, and his coughing sounded very much
like laughter.

Moulton took her arm and guided her toward a table filled with hors d'oeuvres.
"Try the brie, my dear. It is exquisite."

After several more glasses of Kir, it was Flag Girl's turn to succumb to
uncontrollable laughter. Everything that anyone said seemed terribly funny.

Everything was starting to look funny, too. She tried to focus on Moulton, but
the elderly gentleman insisted on blurring and become two overlapping elderly
gentlemen.

Then she stopped laughing and said, "I don't feel so good."

"I'm so sorry to hear it," said one of the Moultons. "Let me help you into the
house, and you can lie down for a while."

The last thing she remembered, before the room started whirling around her, was
lying on a couch in a room with soft lighting. Mr. Moulton was removing the top
of her costume. Then he cried, "So beautiful, so luscious, so large for such a
small girl!"

She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or offended. Everything went dark before
she could resolve the question.



# # #



The sky looked threatening, so breakfast the next morning was indoors, in what
Moulton called the Boulangerie. It was comfortable room with tile floors and
half a dozen tables Moulton had bought from a Parisian cafe. Against one wall
was an old-fashioned glass case with shelves. And on the shelves was a wide
assortment of baked goods.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Moulton said, as Bohner and Tasher joined him. "I
hope you slept well."

"Very well," said Bohner.

"And how's the patient?"

"Still recovering nicely," said Tasher. "I've cut the sedative levels. I think
she can handle the pain. And speaking of sedation, how is our new guest?"

"Our little Flag Girl?" said Moulton with a wide grin. "I imagine she's not
feeling much better than her mentor this morning. She was quite drunk last
night, and I'm afraid we took unfair advantage of her."

"Do tell," said Bohner.

"I really shouldn't," said Bohner. "A true gentleman wouldn't. But since you
asked, it was a most enjoyable evening. Her boobies are quite wonderful. I
pressed them together and fucked them like a man of 60. Ludwig was next. He
screwed her in the ass. Then the others."

"How many?" asked Tasher.

"Enough so that she'll be quite sore this morning. Not quite as bad as having a
pickerel in your privates, like poor Ms. A, but bad enough." Marietta entered,
and Moulton said, "Cafe au lait for me, my dear, and one of those almond
croissants that Henri does so nicely. Gentlemen, how about you?"

"Coffee. Black," said Bohner.

"Orange juice and toast," said Tasher.

"She's a nice little tart," said Bohner, as Marietta left the room.

"Indeed she is," said Moulton. "Every bit as delectable as the food she serves.
Oral sex is her specialty."

"Well, what's on the agenda today?" asked Tasher.

"Ms. A is still too weak for sexual assault," said Bohner, "but I think a bit of
psychological subversion is in order."

"What do you mean?" asked Moulton.

"I mean we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I suggest we give
Flag Girl a workout with the wand, and force Ms. A to watch."

"Excellent," said Moulton.

"I have no problem with that," said Tasher, "but Nurse Betty might. She seems to
have become quite fond of Ms. A."

"Betty will do what I tell her," Bohner snapped.

# # #



Bohner was right. Betty grumbled but did as she was told. She helped get a still
very groggy MA into a wheelchair and pushed her to the big recreation room.

Flag Girl was already there, tied to steel rings in the wall, her arms and legs
spread. She was fully clothed again, if wearing such a skimpy outfit could be
called being fully clothed. Bohner had decided that slowly stripping her would
add to the drama.

They positioned MA a few feet to the left of Flag Girl. At first, she gave no
indication that she recognized her young prote ge . But Flag Girl recognized
her.

"Oh, Brenda, what have they done to you?" she cried. "You look terrible."

MA shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. She did her best to focus
on the scene before her, but everything was blurry. The voice was definitely
Flag Girl's, but she couldn't see her.

She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a hoarse whisper.

"Don't try to speak, Ms. A," said Bohner. "Save all your energy for watching and
listening."

She watched, and the blurry image began to clarify. It was, indeed, Flag Girl,
and she was tied and helpless. Oh, great, thought MA, now they have both of us.

Moulton would do the honors today. He stood directly in front of Flag Girl and
ripped off her mask.

"Oh, no," cried the blonde semi-superheroine. "That's not fair."

"You're quite right, dear," said Moulton. "And neither is this."

He slowly pulled away her blue, star-spangled top.

"Was I exaggerating, gentlemen?" said Moulton, nodding toward her tits.

"Very nice," said Bohner. Tasher allowed himself a small, tight grin.

Moulton slipped his hand into the waist-band of her short red and white skirt
and pushed it down to her crotch.

"Oh, that really is unfair," she sobbed. "I can't believe you'd be so mean."

"Obviously, you don't remember last night's fun," said the old man. He began
massaging her clitoris. Despite her cries of protest, she began getting wet.

"Betty," Moulton said, "help me with this." Betty unzipped and removed Flag
Girl's skirt, then ripped off her panties. The little blonde was now naked,
except for her red boots and a blue choker around her neck.

"Bohner, the wand."

Bohner handed him the wand. "Remember," he said, "start at level two and don't
go higher than six."

"Very well," Moulton said impatiently. He examined the base of the wand,
adjusted the power level, then pushed it suddenly under Flag Girl's right
breast.

"Oh!" she cried. "Oh, my, oh!"

He slid the silver sphere around her aureole several times, then pressed it
directly against the nipple. Flag Girl began to writhe in her bonds. She sobbed
and moaned and bit her lower lip.

"By Jove, I think she likes it," said Moulton.

He continued to apply the wand to her breasts, producing three orgasms in less
than two minutes. Exhausted, she hung limp from the rings.

"A randy little vixen. Let's see if her pussy is as erogenous as her tits."

"No," cried MA. "Leave her alone. For the sake of the Goddess, release her."

"Why should we, Ms. A?" said Moulton. "Surely you can see that she is enjoying
this even more than we are."

"Do what you want to me," MA begged. "Just let her go."

"Oh, but we will do what we want to you - and to her. You are both completely
helpless, defenseless. What could be more erotic than two beautiful women - two
proud and beautiful women - unable to prevent their abuse at the hands of an old
reprobate like me?" Moulton loosened his belt and dropped his trousers. His dick
wasn't as firm as it once would have been, but it was hard enough to do the job.

Flag Girl, who had slid into semi-consciousness, awoke with a start.

"What are you doing?" she cried. "Ow, that hurts."

"Yes, I'm sure you are a little tender down there, my dear," said Moulton,
breathing heavily. "But it will feel better shortly."

He gave one last push and came with a loud groan.

"Are you okay, Mr. M?" asked Bohner.

Moulton rested against Flag Girl for a while, then withdrew his prick and pulled
up his pants. Bohner helped him to a chair.

"I'd love to continue with the wand, Bohner, but I'm afraid I've overexerted
myself this morning. I'll just rest and watch you work it."

"Can I?" Betty asked.

Bohner looked at Moulton and Tasher, neither of whom objected.

"Go ahead," he said, handing her the wand.

She tested it with her finger, then stroked it lightly across her forearm.

"You're supposed to be doing Flag Twit, not yourself," said Bohner.

"Yeah, but I gotta get a sense of how this works," said Betty. "I want to be
able to use it as effectively as possible." She slipped the silver sphere under
her blouse and pressed it against her breast.

"Oh, wow, this really is great! And it's only on Level 2."

She pulled it out and turned up the power level. She grabbed Flag Girl by the
throat with her left hand, and pressed the wand into her belly.

"Here comes the Sugarland Express," she whispered, sliding the wand down to her
captive's crotch.

"Oh my god," cried Flag Girl. "Oh my god!"

"Hell, it isn't even inside you yet," Betty said. She slid the sphere back and
forth, caressing Flag Girl's vulva. Then she bent slightly, positioning the wand
for an upward thrust, and said, "Night-night time."

She crammed it into Flag Girl's pussy with all her might. The little blonde rose
with the pressure, trying to evade the overwhelming surge of sensations. She
wiggled on the wand like a fish on a spear.

Betty worked the wand around inside her, then pulled it out as suddenly as she
had inserted it. Flag Girl's body went limp.

"We'll keep doing this until you beg for it, slut," she whispered in Flag Girl's
ear. "And the more we focus on you, the less our mutual friend, Brenda, will
have to go through."

Chapter 5: A Garden Party



Betty's strategy for protecting MA seemed to be working. Flag Girl was raped
with the wand several times a day. She came to expect it, to look forward to it
eagerly. Her pussy would lubricate at the mere sight of the wand.

"Pavlov would've loved this little bitch," said Bohner.

At night, Ludwig and his fellow security guards raped her the old-fashioned way,
with Moulton looking on appreciatively.

But Bohner hadn't lost sight of the main goal. After a week of abusing Flag
Girl, he announced that MA was fit enough to join in the fun - as a victim.
Moulton was bubbling over with excitement.

"I think it's time I activated my Garden of Earthly Delights," he said. "It will
be great fun with these two lovely young ladies running about naked."

Bohner was reluctant to cross his host, but he had heard about Moulton's
"Paradise parties." They usually ended up with someone dead - more often than
not, a good-looking young woman.

"Isn't that kind of dangerous, Mr. M?" he said.

"Oh, we'll be very careful. Like the Magyar's magic wand, the Garden has what
you might call power settings - degrees of danger. We want enough danger to make
the whole affair interesting, but we can control how much. These parties don't
have to involve fatalities. In any event, we'll send Flag Girl in all by herself
first."

"Whatever you say," Bohner mumbled. He was not reassured.



# # #



MA and Flag Girl weren't allowed to spend much time together without someone
watching and listening. Bohner didn't want to take any chances on them cooking
up an escape plan. And Betty, who had taken an instant dislike to Flag Girl, was
jealous of the dumb blonde. She couldn't figure out what MA could possibly see
in her.

So when Moulton announced that Flag Girl would be first to go through the
Garden, Betty was delighted. She had no idea what dangers lurked there, but she
hoped that she would soon see the last of her.

It was midmorning on a cool, cloudy day. The colors of the strange structures in
the Garden were even more vivid than in bright sunlight.

Moulton, Bohner and Tasher sat on a wooden viewing platform. Betty was on the
ground, escorting Flag Girl, who wore only a stainless steel collar. Betty had
given the little blonde a rough time earlier in the morning, and it showed. One
of her eyes was swollen nearly shut, and her lips were puffed up. Her demeanor
showed it, too. She was clearly afraid of Betty, who held her left arm in a
tight grip and was guiding her to a gate in the steel fence that surrounded the
Garden.

"Okay, Slag Heap, here's where we part company," Betty said in a low voice. She
spun Flag Girl around so they faced one another, then planted a foot in her
midsection and kicked her through the entrance. Flag Girl landed on her back,
and Betty swung the gate shut with a loud clang.

Flag Girl lay there for nearly a minute, dazed and frightened. Then she rose
painfully to her feet and staggered into the Garden. In the middle was a lake.
She skirted it and passed a large pink structure that somehow looked both
manmade and botanical. A hairy green shoot that had been vertical now bent
toward her.

"What the hell is that?" Bohner asked.

"Ingenious, isn't it?" said Moulton. "Absolutely lifelike."

"How does it sense her? Can it see?"

"No," said Moulton. "But it can pick up radio waves, and a transmitter is
embedded in the collar our sweet little ignoramus is wearing."

Flag Girl saw the tendril just as it reached her. She screamed and jumped
backward, but she was too late. It wrapped itself around her waist and lifted
her high off the ground. In seconds she was 30 feet in the air, kicking and
struggling.

"Now, watch this," Moulton said with a chortle.

"How could I not?" Bohner said breathlessly.

The green tendril coiled itself around her several more times, drawing her
toward the main structure, which was shaped like an oversized gourd. Attached to
it was a tower that resembled a tulip blossom. The tendril plunged Flag Girl
into it.

Bohner jumped to his feet.

"What's going to happen to her? For God's sake, she's too valuable to kill."

"Calm down," said Moulton. "It isn't going to kill her. Turn around and look at
the TV monitor. There's a camera up there, and it shows what's happening to our
little heroine."

What it showed was Flag Girl, still in the embrace of the green tendril, being
submerged in a pink gel. She disappeared below the surface, was pulled out, then
was submerged again. Each time, she came out glistening with whatever the
substance was - and with a look on her face that could only be described as
ecstatic.

"The best man in the chemical division of Moulton Enterprises came up with this
stuff," said Moulton. "It's filled with natural pheromones and hormones. In
effect, she's being bathed in sex. When she comes out, she'll want to fuck
anything on two legs - or four, or even more. And if you get close to her,
you'll have an irresistible desire to accommodate her. Now, back to the live
show."

They turned back just in time to see Flag Girl pulled from the opening in the
gourd and deposited by the tendril on the ground. She rolled around on the
grass, caressing her breasts, her belly and her crotch.

Suddenly, several furry animals about the size of groundhogs appeared and began
rubbing themselves against her. They had long, tapered snouts like anteaters,
and from these snouts, long blue tongues emerged and began licking her.

"Did your chemist come up with them, too?" Bohner asked.

"No, a molecular biologist from Italy produced those for me. I haven't the
foggiest idea how - some nonsense about DNA splicing."

Flag Girl lay spread-eagle, allowing the animals to rub and lick all of her most
sensitive areas. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. One of the
creatures climbed onto her face and began humping her mouth.

"They have surprisingly big dicks for such little creatures," said Moulton.

"Gives new meaning to Groundhog Day," replied Bohner.

As if in response to some signal inaudible to humans, the animals suddenly stood
on their hind legs, then scampered away.

Moulton looked up at the sky. "That's what scared them," he said.

A pair of vultures circled lazily, not very far above them.

"I've never seen buzzards this close," Bohner said.

"Nasty beasts," said Tasher. "Don't like them at all."

"Oh, they serve a purpose," said Moulton. "But this is not the time or place for
them. Call down to Betty to get into the Garden fast and get our little bimbo
out of there. Most buzzards wait til a meal is safely dead, but these have grown
accustomed to live but helpless prey."

One of the birds landed a few feet from Flag Girl. Betty was still over 50 yards
away. And she wasn't hurrying as fast as she could have. The idea of a buzzard
taking a piece out of the little bitch appealed to her.

But whatever its original intentions, the buzzard now wasn't interested in
devouring Flag Girl. The pheromone gel she had nearly drowned in quickly
overpowered the ugly black bird. It jumped on her belly and began a weird dance.
Finally, it toppled off her and landed beside her, on its back. Between its
legs, it sported a tumid white hard-on.

Before Betty reached Flag Girl and the sex-drugged buzzard, Ludwig, who was
close behind her, yelled out a warning.

"Stay away until we hose her down. If you get too close . . . ."

But Betty was already too close. Suddenly, she had an irresistible desire to
make love to the supine blonde. She kicked the vulture aside, knelt between Flag
Girl's legs and began licking her pussy. The little blonde moaned and writhed.
This excited Betty even more. Soon, the two women were locked in a 69 embrace,
giving each other as much pleasure as their tongues could generate.

Chapter 6: Birdman



It took two hours and several showers before Betty and Flag Girl recovered from
the pheromones. Ludwig himself got too close to them before the hoses arrived
and had to be restrained by four other guards from joining in the sex party. The
buzzard, left to his own devices, hopped around the Garden looking for
something, anything, to fuck. He had to settle for a mallard that had strayed
too far from the lake.

"I'm not sure we need to use the wand anymore," Bohner said. "This pheromone
concoction appears to be just what we need to turn Ms. A into a groveling slut,
begging to be fucked."

"I'm afraid not," said Moulton. "It's dangerously indiscriminate. Rub it on her,
and she becomes a hazard to anyone near her. What's more, the effects are
temporary. Once the gel is washed away, the person, or animal, smeared with it
returns to normal. The wand, on the other hand, appears to do long-lasting
damage to a young lady's sexual scruples."

"Well," said Bohner, "I don't mind applying the wand. In fact, I thoroughly
enjoy it. But I would like a jar of that gel to bring back to Delta-City - for
scientific purposes."

"Yes, of course. Mustn't stand in the way of science. I'll arrange for you to
have a gallon jug when you leave. But be very, very careful. Drop it in the
city, and you could provoke a rape riot. Ho, ho, ho."



# # #



It made no sense and was terribly unfair, but Betty blamed Flag Girl for what
happened in the Garden. Betty's loss of control and moments of sexual abandon
became another strike against the blonde bimbo.

At every opportunity, when no one was looking, she would punch the poor girl in
the belly, or trip her, or slam her face into a wall. The injuries became so
noticeable that Bohner at one point asked Flag Girl if they were self-inflicted.
Flag Girl shook her head no but declined to blame Betty. She was afraid of what
would happen if word got back to her tormentor. She didn't trust Bohner to
protect her.

For once, she had the situation figured out right. Bohner felt he had an
investment in Flag Girl, and he didn't want that investment endangered. But he
had an old and close relationship with Betty, and he would have been reluctant
to confront her had Flag Girl complained.

So the bullying continued. It reached a crescendo one afternoon when MA was
dragged to the recreation room for a resumption of abuse by the wand. Flag Girl
was in the room, tied to a chair and forced to watch while Bohner and Betty took
turns driving MA to the edge of mental and physical destruction. Betty had just
thrust the silver sphere into MA's vulva for the fourth time when Flag Girl
cried out, "Leave her alone, you dyke bully! You and Dr. Bonehead and old Mr.
Limp Dick are nothing but a bunch of perverts and cowards."

Betty left the wand stuck in MA's pussy, turned to Bohner and said, "You take
over. I'm going to teach Flag Fuck a lesson."

"Not too rough," Bohner warned. "Remember, she's going to help make us rich."

"Sure, sure," said Betty. "I'll be real careful."

She untied Flag Girl but threw a loop of rope around her neck.

"Come on, baby, we're going for a walk," she said through clenched teeth.

They went outside, and Betty, through yanks of the rope and bodily shoves,
forced her into the Garden.

"Let's have a bit of privacy, slut," she said, dragging Flag Girl behind a
large, glassy blue sphere.

"What are you going to do to me?" Flag Girl asked, her voice quavering.

"First, this," said Betty, with a savage punch to the bimbo's left breast.

"Ow!"

"Then this," said Betty, slamming a fist into her right tit.

Flag Girl dropped to her knees in pain.

"And don't forget this!" Betty grabbed the back of Flag Girl's head and drove
her knee into the girl's throat. The little heroine wannabe fell over on her
side, gagging.

Betty finished up with several kicks to Flag Girl's guts.

Betty leaned down and put her mouth close to Flag Girl's ear. "I don't think
you'll be calling me names anymore, will you? In fact, with a broken windpipe,
you'll be lucky just to keep breathing," she said. But Flag Girl clearly heard
not a word. Betty straightened up. "You'd better not die on me, bitch," she
said. She looked up at the sky. "But if you do, I hope those buzzards get you
before anyone finds you."

She walked around the blue sphere and made sure no one had seen her. Bohner
would be pissed, of course, but she could handle him. Moulton was so fucking
rich, he wouldn't mind losing out on a chance for another million or so. No,
nobody was going to really care all that much if Flag Girl was beaten to death
and devoured by scavengers - except Ms. A. That thought hit Betty like an arrow
through her heart. One more reason to hate this damned dumb bunny.



# # #



"What have you done with Lydia?" MA asked when Betty came to her room to fetch
her for dinner.

"Lydia?" Betty looked puzzled. "Oh, you mean Slag Girl. Wow, that's great -
Lydia. With just a little adjustment, it becomes Lydiot, as in 'Lydiot, the
Idiot.'"

"What did you do to her?" MA's voice was low but firm.

"What the hell difference does it make what I did to her?" Betty said angrily.
"She doesn't have the IQ of a cucumber. Are you queer on her, is that it?"

MA, who had been sitting on a window ledge, got up and advanced toward Betty
with fire in her eyes.

Betty crouched and prepared to defend herself.

"Don't be a fool, Brenda. You know you'll get your ass kicked."

But MA wasn't intimidated. She threw herself at Betty, and the two women were
instantly on the floor, wrestling.

Betty's advantages in weight and strength were more than enough to counter MA's
grit and determination.

Betty sat on MA's chest, grabbed her ears and slammed her head against the floor
again and again, until the former superheroine lost consciousness.

"Shit," Betty said. "Shit, shit, shit. Everything I do turns to shit."

She picked up MA and dumped her on the bed. She wanted to make love to her while
she was knocked out. But she also wanted to kill her, to ruin her beauty, to do
whatever it took to stop loving her.

She no longer cared about what Bohner and Moulton and the rest of them thought -
or what they'd do to her if she destroyed their multi-million-dollar investment.
She certainly didn't care about her share of the promised loot.

She grabbed a pillow and pressed it over MA's face. She leaned on the pillow,
putting all her weight on it.

The door opened, and Bohner stuck his head in.

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled.

He lunged and knocked Betty off the bed, then his momentum carried him forward
and he landed on top of her. They battled on the floor, while in the bed, MA lay
very still, her face purple and her eyes rolled back.



# # #



The strategy session was in Moulton's study, a comfortable, book-lined room with
a well-stocked wet bar and lewd paintings and engravings by 18th Century French
and English artists.

"So she'll make a full recovery?" said Moulton.

"Yes," said Bohner. "I was worried about brain damage, but we did some tests and
it appears there was no permanent harm."

Moulton grunted. "Well, of course, it's not really her brains that bidders will
be most interested in, but you don't spend twenty or thirty or forty million on
just tits and ass. The prize here is her humiliation. She has to have enough
brainpower to appreciate how far she has fallen. That's what they'll pay for."

"Yes, of course," said Bohner. "Now, about Flag Girl. Betty wouldn't tell us
what she did to her. Even after a pretty big dose of sodium pentathol, all she'd
say is that she beat her up and dumped her somewhere in the Garden. But your
security force has combed the Garden and found no trace of her."

"Most unfortunate," muttered Moulton. "I was just feeling recharged enough to
have another go at her. Disappeared, eh? Well, I doubt she got off the estate.
Not after taking a beating from Betty."

"I agree. I think she's on premises somewhere. But you have over 300 acres, and
it's dark. I guess we'll just have to suspend the search until morning."

"What about the aquarium?" asked Tasher. "Ms. A ended up there. Maybe Flag Girl
is in one of the tanks."

Moulton shuddered. "Now there's a thought," he said.

He picked up a phone and punched in two digits. "Oliver? I want you to send
Ludwig or Stan to check the fish tanks - both of them." He paused. "Yes, I
agree. There might not be much left if she's in there, but get someone down
there right away."

He hung up and glared at Bohner. "It's so goddam hard to get good help. As you
should know. Betty was yours, wasn't she?"

Bohner nodded. "I hired her. I trusted her. And I'm profoundly sorry I did."

"Where is she now?"

"Locked up in a room in the basement. I asked Taggart to put her there."

"Fine, fine," said Moulton. "We'll figure out how to dispose of her tomorrow. My
own inclination is to chop her up and feed her to the sharks, but the
professionals who run the aquarium might not approve."

"Yes, well that's outside my area of expertise," said Bohner. "I'm less worried
about how to get rid of Betty than in finding Flag Girl. If she gets out and
somehow gets to the press, the results could be pretty embarrassing."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," said Moulton. "The Delta-City Democrat
is owned by my brother-in-law. WUSS-TV is owned by my nephew. The radio stations
have more independence, but their routine sensationalism undermines their
credibility. Besides, I'm sure the little strumpet hasn't escaped."



# # #



Moulton was right. Flag Girl had not escaped.

Minutes after Betty had left her, she felt herself being lifted off the ground.
She didn't know who or what was carrying her. She didn't care. For the moment,
just breathing required all of her concentration. Then, even that became too
difficult, and she descended into blackness.

When she regained consciousness, the first thing she became aware of was that
the pain in her throat had subsided to a dull ache and she no longer had to
struggle to breathe. She opened her eyes. She was in a small, circular room. The
only light came from an oval window, in front of which stood a naked man, his
back toward her.

She tried to move and realized that she was lying on something soft, moist - and
alive! She rolled off of it, onto the floor. The mattress or futon or whatever
it was she had been lying on was grayish pink. It looked like a huge tongue.

She shuddered. A slight noise behind her caused her to turn. The man at the
window now faced her.

She screamed. He had the head of a bird - a bird with a large, down-curved beak,
like a parrot's.

She tried to get to her feet and fell backward onto the tongue. This made her
scream again. She jumped off, looking for a way out. There was an oval doorway
in the pink wall, but the door was shut and there was no handle.

She felt something and jumped back. The man had reached out and touched her. He
was making strange, small, squeaky noises and had a concerned look on his face -
if a bird's face the size of a man's could be said to look concerned.

He backed away, as if to reassure her he was no threat. The room was small, and
staying away from both him and the big tongue meant pressing her back against
the wall, next to the doorway.

After a few minutes, the birdman turned from her and resumed looking out the
window. Occasionally, he made a little chirping sound, and she could hear a
similar response from outside.

She felt cold and hugged herself as she leaned against the wall. She was
beginning to fall asleep. Or maybe she was already asleep, and this was all a
dream.

If it was a dream, it was a very vivid one, because just as she was dozing off,
the door opened and bumped into her elbow.

She jumped backward, and a fish looked in. Actually, it was a human body with a
fish's head. Flag Girl noticed that the body was that of a woman, but that
observation was swept aside as she tripped and landed back on the tongue.

It was all too much. Flag Girl curled up in a tight ball and began to cry. She
had never been so frightened in her life.

The fish and the bird were conversing a few feet away. The noises they made did
not sound menacing. In fact, they sounded worried.

A hand touched Flag Girl's shoulder. She flinched but didn't try to retreat. She
looked up into a fishy eye.

"Don't hurt me," Flag Girl whispered.

The fishwoman went to the window and gestured to Flag Girl to join her. She did,
cautiously. When she looked out, she saw Moulton's security guards walking
through the Garden. They were carrying guns, and they looked like they meant
business.

The birdman pointed outside, then at Flag Girl.

The men outside were searching for her. Suddenly, she understood that these
strange creatures were trying to protect her.

She nodded and moved away from the window.

Outside, she heard the voice of Ludwig, one of the men who had repeatedly raped
her - the one she had trusted the night she arrived. "The bitch has just
vanished," he said.

Another man said, "This place gives me the creeps. If I see one of Moulton's
monsters, I'm going to shoot it - I don't care if the old son-of-a-bitch fires
me."

The voices moved away.

Flag Girl lay back on the gently undulating tongue and tried to forget it was
alive. Soon she was fast asleep.



[To be continued.]

Chapter 7: MA makes a break

 

Her captors didn’t confide in her, of course, but after a few days Ms. Americana
had two things figured out: Flag Girl had escaped — or was dead. And Betty had
been taken off the job.

“Where’s Nurse Dyke?” MA asked one morning, when Bohner arrived to take her down
to the recreation room for another session in sexual degradation.

“We’ve given her another assignment,” Bohner replied. “I’m afraid she had gotten
too emotionally involved with you. I can assure you I don’t have that problem.”
He grabbed MA’s arm and pushed her toward the doorway.

“Another assignment? Does it involve Flag Girl? Betty hates her.”

“No,” said Bohner, “it doesn’t involve your little pal. She’s safe and sound.”

MA could tell he was lying.

Perhaps because she had forced him to lie, Bohner was particularly nasty that
day. He shoved the wand deep into her ass and turned the power to level nine.
This was way beyond the pleasure zone. She screamed in agony. Then, for the
first time since she had been taken captive, he fucked her himself. He did it
slowly, in her pussy and from behind, while she was chained to the wall. The
whole time he whispered hateful messages in her ear.

After he came, he said, “By God, I wish I could afford to kill you. I haven’t
performed surgery since my residency, but I’d slice you open and take out every
organ and line them up on a table. I’d turn you into a fucking anatomy lesson.”

Later, she was taken out on the veranda, to join Moulton and Tasher for lunch.
She was so weak from the session with Bohner that her knees buckled and she
landed face-first at Moulton’s feet.

“My dear, what’s the matter?” the old man said. “Here, let me help you up.”

MA ate little and said nothing during lunch. Afterward, when Ludwig had escorted
MA from the table, Moulton said to Bohner, “I think you’re overdoing things. Ms.
A is a beaten, defeated shell of her former self. There’s really nothing more to
be gained by these sessions. I think it’s time to put her on the market.”

# # #

 

Ludwig had been instructed to handle MA with great care. No rough stuff. No
rape. Not even consensual sex, in the unlikely event she asked for it.

Ordinarily, he followed orders with Prussian exactitude. But today he was very
horny, and his charge’s vulnerability made her especially attractive to him. On
the way back to her room, he pulled her aside and into Moulton’s study.

“How about a quickie?” he asked.

MA looked at him blankly.

“Come on, honey. If you don’t want to take off that sexy costume, just make a
blow job.” He spoke in the cajoling tones of a man on a date, not someone
guarding a defenseless captive.

“A blow job?” MA said. “Okay.” She knelt in front of him.

“Nice and slow,” he instructed, unzipping his pants and pulling out his prick.

She caressed the head of his prick with her tongue. Then she slid her mouth down
his shaft. He moaned softly and rocked back and forth on his feet.

What happened next came too fast for him to prevent it. MA pulled her head back
from his crotch and drove her fist into his scrotum. He gasped, clutched his
balls and fell to the floor. A quick karate chop to his throat finished the job.
He was out cold.

“How can a ‘quickie’ be ‘nice and slow,’ asshole?” she said in a low voice. She
gave him a parting kick in the stomach, then went to the French windows. The
study overlooked the Garden. She tried the handle on one of the windows. It was
unlocked.

Where to next? She had tried the woods the last time she was free, and that
hadn’t worked. A long, meandering driveway led to the front gate, but she knew
the gate was guarded.

She’d try the Garden. Those strange structures might provide some good hiding
places.

 

# # #

 

Moulton, normally the most cheerful of men, was in a sour mood. To lose one
superheroine, because of a blunder by a colleague’s underling, was merely
unfortunate. To lose a second, because of someone he had hired and trusted, was
an outrage.

The only reason Betty and Ludwig weren’t chopped up and dumped into the marine
tank was that ichthyologists who ran his aquarium told Moulton that so much red
meat would be bad for the sharks. Moreover, Bohner argued that the Clinic always
needed organs. So Betty and Ludwig were dispatched with fatal injuries
consistent with a high-speed traffic accident, and their innards were dispersed
among those who could put them to better use.

But while getting rid of these two incompetents brought Moulton a certain
satisfaction, it didn’t bring back the two beauties who had brought him so much
pleasure, and who had the potential to bring him so much money.

To make matters worse, that evening Taggart and the men who worked under him
rebelled at his order that they search every square inch of the estate —
including every bush and building in the Garden.

“With all due respect Mr. M,” said Taggart, “you can’t expect these boys to risk
their lives uprooting all the freaks in the Garden — leastways, not unless they
are authorized to shoot in their own defense.”

“No shooting,” shouted Moulton. “There will be no shooting. It cost a bloody
fortune to create what you call ‘freaks,’ and I’ll not have them shot like so
many possums and coons.”

“They’re bigger and more dangerous than possums and coons,” said Taggart’s
sidekick, Lee. “You know that. You know what they’ve done to some of the girls
you’ve sent into the Garden.”

Moulton couldn’t dispute that point. Some of his parties had gotten rather out
of hand, and there had been a few “incidents,” as he called them. But it had all
been worth it, to turn Bosch’s vision into a reality. What were the few lives of
a few hookers compared with the opportunity to create great art?

“I’ll go myself in the morning, you bloody cowards,” Moulton said. “And I’ll go
unarmed. They won’t hurt me. Without me, they wouldn’t exist, and I think they
know that.”

Bohner, who had been silently listening to this conversation from a corner of
the study, cleared his throat.

“Let’s all calm down and think this through, Mr. M,” he said. “We’ve already
lost two very valuable commodities. But losing you would be a disaster — for the
clinic, for all charities you support, for all of Delta-City.”

“Do you think I can be dissuaded with a little flattery, Richard?” said Moulton.
“You are wrong. I will go into the Garden, and I will return with our two
missing captives — or with their remains.”

Chapter 8: ‘Boared’ to tears

 

Moulton was premature in mentioning “remains.” Ms. Americana and Flag Girl were
still alive — and in the strangest predicament either had ever found herself in.

They were in an underground chamber over 100 feet below the Garden. For reasons
she didn’t understand, Flag Girl was being treated as a goddess by the strange
creatures that dwelled in and beneath the Garden. She sat on an alabaster throne
on a low, circular stone platform, surrounded by a myriad of human-animal
hybrids. They murmured and chirped in what to Flag Girl sounded like adulatory
tones.

But MA, who had been captured by “Moulton’s monsters” soon after entering the
Garden, was enjoying no such exalted status. She had quickly been incapacitated
with fumes from an herb that grew only in the Garden. Then she was stripped and
carried to the torch-lit, underground chamber. There, she was held aloft by
dozens of hands, her arms and legs spread and her head and dark hair hanging
down. Thus she was presented to Flag Girl, like some sort of sacrificial
offering.

Flag Girl rose, stunned by the unexpected appearance of her mentor. She wanted
to rush to MA’s side, to embrace and protect her. But something held her back.
It was if the communal will of this band of monsters somehow controlled her
actions.

Instead of coming to MA’s aid, she merely nodded, as if giving assent to some
plan she and the group had earlier agreed on.

The chirps and murmurs became louder, and MA was passed from one group of
outstretched hands to another, until she reached an arched doorway, beyond which
the torchlight did not reach. Seven humans with pigs’ heads came out and carried
her through the doorway.

# # #

 

As MA regained consciousness, her first sensations were intensely stimulating.
Many tongues were licking her. Her entire body was being caressed by these soft,
wet, undulating instruments of pleasure. Gravity seemed to have disappeared. She
floated in the darkness. Her only contact with the environment was the licking
of this multitude of tongues. Her breaths became more rapid and shallow and
suddenly she came with a loud moan. The licking slowly ceased, and she lapsed
into a post-orgasmic torpor.

After a while, she was roused by an excited flurry of voices. MA somehow sensed
that the creatures the tongues belonged to had retreated — and that something
huge and monstrous had arrived.

She felt a massive body with coarse hair press against her belly and breasts.
Whatever it was had accomplices: Strong hands grabbed her ankles and pulled her
legs apart. Suddenly, a huge, wet phallus entered her. She screamed and tried to
wiggle free, but she was helpless. Gravity had returned, with a vengeance. She
felt as if a ton of bristle-covered flesh was crushing her, even as the beast’s
prick split her open.

Light appeared, the light of torches only a few feet from her. And now she got a
glimpse of what was raping her. It was a gigantic feral pig. And two of the
humans with pig heads held her ankles.

The beast on top of her humped vigorously, and she felt as if the force of its
thrusts would destroy her. Then it gave a mighty grunt and began to withdraw. As
it backed away, its saliva dripped on her belly and its semen on her legs. Its
head was massive and ugly. It was a prehistoric carnivore, a member of the pig
family but a hundred times more dangerous than any boar alive today. She tried
to turn onto her belly and crawl away, but the pig men still held her ankles,
and now they lifted her ass off the rocky floor so that her lower body was
exposed to the boar.

The porcine monster paused, considering its next move. Its sex urge had been
satisfied. Now another need, hunger, must be met. It lunged forward, and its
jaws closed on MA’s pelvis. The tusks of its lower jaw dug into her buttocks and
lower back, while the upper teeth sank into her belly. The pain was unbearable.
MA’s vision faded, and the voices of the freaks became but a distant hum.

 

# # #

 

“Is she dead? She must be dead.”

The voice sounded like Flag Girl’s, but the tone was curiously detached.

Someone chirped in response.

“I see. Well, this is a most curious mating ritual. The beast was on the verge
of biting her in half. Why spawn, if you’re going to destroy what carries your
offspring?”

More chirping, and now it almost sounded like laughter.

MA opened her eyes, and sunlight flooded in. She was lying on a balcony made of
pink stone. Flag Girl and several humans with animal heads stood around her.

“You’re awake,” said Flag Girl. “We were worried about you.”

We? Did she now identify with this flock of freaks?

MA tried to sit up, but a surge of pain sent her reeling back into
unconsciousness.

When she came to, she was inside one of the pink structures, and the light from
the window was fading.

“Be careful. Your abdominal muscles have been damaged,” Flag Girl said. “But the
oldest and wisest of the birdmen has examined you and found you sound. The baby
will survive, too.”

The baby! MA tried again to sit up, and again could not overcome the pain. She
lay still, breathing heavily.

Flag Girl came and knelt beside her. “The pig would have eaten you, if I hadn’t
arrived in time,” she said. “It has terrorized these creatures for years. They
were offering you as a sacrifice, to placate the beast.”

“Why didn’t it kill me?” MA whispered.

“I shot it with a crossbow. The bolt hit right between its eyes.”

“Where did you get a crossbow?” MA asked.

“It was dropped by a hunter at one of Moulton’s parties a few years ago. These
creatures, my friends, have treasured it as a religious icon but didn‘t know how
to use it. They are grateful I killed the pig. It had eaten many of them.”

“You can . . . . you can talk with these . . . .”

“Yes, I’m beginning to understand them. And I think they understand me. I don’t
know how. Their wise men said they have a legend that a child would come and
lead them. They think I am that child.”

Despite her pain and confusion, MA smiled. “You’re an awfully well-endowed
child.”

Flag Girl frowned. “You should be more respectful of me. I saved your life.”

“I’m sorry,” MA said softly.

Flag Girl’s face brightened. “And I killed Mr. Moulton. At least, I helped kill
him.”

MA forced herself to sit up. “What? When did this happen?”

“This morning. He came into the Garden, and the birdmen and the fishwoman and
the little people asked what they should do. I told them to capture him and
bring him to me. And they did. But he got overexcited when he saw me, and he
died.”

“Oh shit!” MA said. “Now they’ll come with guns and grenades and God-knows-what.
They’ll come and destroy this place. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“But where will we go?” Flag Girl cried. “Where can these creatures go? They’ll
be hunted and killed, or put in zoos. Or people like Bohner will do terrible
experiments on them.”

“You can’t save them,” MA said. “We’ve got to save ourselves. We’ve got to
escape before they come. Where is Moulton’s body?”

“We left it in the Garden — for the buzzards.”

“My God! Whatever possessed you . . . .” MA’s exclamation of surprise and
disgust was cut short by shouting outside, followed by gun fire. They rushed to
the window. MA had been right: Men with guns had arrived. They had already shot
two birdmen. Now they were headed toward the building from which MA and Flag
Girl were watching.

“We could give ourselves up,” said Flag Girl. “It’s us they want, not these
creatures.”

“You’re wrong,” said MA. “Moulton was their protector, but I heard others — that
security guard, Ludwig, and the fat one, Taggart — talk about how much they
hated the ‘freaks.’ They want to kill them all. And now they’ll want to kill us,
too. Or charge us with murder.”

“You forget, Brenda, they want to sell us as sex slaves. They won’t kill us.”

“So you’d rather end up a sex slave?”

Their quarrel was cut short by the sound of scuffling below. Then a shot was
fired, and they heard a strange sound. It was the dying call of a birdman.

Seconds later, the door burst open, and MA and Flag Girl found themselves facing
the shotguns of two of Moulton’s security guards.

“Put you hands behind your heads and turn around,” the bigger of the two guards
shouted. MA and Flag Girl did as commanded. Someone grabbed MA’s hands, pulled
them down behind her and snapped on handcuffs.

“Take her outside,” said the big guard. “I’ll be out shortly. Me and blondie are
going to have some fun first.”

Flag Girl spun around and assumed a martial arts position. “I warn you,” she
said. The guard laughed and smashed the butt of his gun into her face.

# # #

MA and Flag Girl were taken to the concrete-block building that served as
security headquarters. There they were beaten and repeatedly raped before being
hauled back to the mansion and dropped at Bohner’s feet.

“You girls look as though things have been going badly,” he said. “Well, get
used to it. Things are definitely going to go downhill from here. Mr. Moulton is
dead. I’m sure you already knew that. In fact, I plan to tell Commissioner
Stepford that you two planned his murder and used those freaks to carry it out.
What I’ve got to decide — along with Stepford and others who have a financial
stake in you — is whether to prosecute you or carry out our original plan.”

Flag Girl struggled to her knees and looked up at him. “What about the creatures
in the Garden?” she asked.

“Taggart’s men have killed every one they could find. There were fewer than we
expected. Taggart thinks they may have an underground bunker. You wouldn’t know
anything about that, would you?”

“No,” Flag Girl lied. Bohner looked down on her coldly, then kicked her in the
groin.

“I’m not sure you’re as dumb as you seem, but it really doesn’t make any
difference. Your pals, the birdbrains and the fishcunts, will soon be extinct.
And I suspect you will, too. If we decide to prosecute, you’ll end up in prison,
where a lot of 250-pound dykes will be delighted to see you. You put some of
them behind bars. I figure you two would be lucky to last a week.” Now it was MA
trying to get up. Bohner kicked her in the side, and she rolled over, groaning
in agony.

“The other option, awarding you to the highest bidder, would also probably be a
death sentence,” he continued. “Oh, the buyer wouldn’t kill you right away — not
after laying out millions for you. But eventually he, or she, would grow bored.
Sex slaves, even slaves as beautiful as you two, are, after all, only toys. And
we all know how children tire of their toys and love to smash them. My guess is
that you would be tortured for days, maybe weeks, then snuffed in front of movie
and video cameras. The film and tape would, of course, have excellent production
values and might fully recoup whatever was paid for you.”

Bohner had been so occupied with his grisly scenario that he had paid no
attention to his intended audience. Now, he looked down and sighed. Both women
were unconscious.

“What should we do with them, Doc?” Taggart asked.

“Well, it looks like you’ve already had quite a bit of fun at their expense. I
have no objections to gang rape, but I’m worried you and your boys will do
permanent damage. Flag Slut has a nasty bump on her forehead. I want to have a
look at that. After that, bring them upstairs. Tasher and I will take care of
them.”

Taggart thought this over, then said, “With all due respect, Doc, I think me and
boys will hold on to these girls. With Mr. Moulton dead and us not having
pensions or 401k plans, I figure these girls are our financial security.”

Now it was Bohner’s turn to do some thinking. He pursed his lips and rubbed his
chin. Taggart had men with guns. All he and Tasher had were hypodermics. The
imbalance of power was obvious.

“Of course,” said Bohner. “Do whatever you want with them, but remember, if you
kill or disfigure them, they’re worthless.”

“Sure, Doc,” said Taggart. “I understand. Me and the boys just want a piece of
the action. We’ll have our fun with them for a few days while you’re arranging
your auction, or whatever. Then you can draw up papers making us partners —
junior partners, so to speak. We don’t expect no more than, say, 10 or 15
percent of the gross.”

“Very reasonable,” said Bohner, “but I will, of course, have to consult the
other members of the syndicate. And Mr. Moulton’s estate will have to be
settled. I believe he intended to leave most of his wealth to the Clinic, but
we’ll have to wait until we see his final will. Then, of course, there will have
to be a coroner’s investigation. I suggest we all agree that he died peacefully,
the way he would have wanted — walking in his Garden.”

“Yeah, that sounds fine,” said Taggart. “You handle all that. We’ll make sure
our stories jibe. Meantime, we’ll keep the cunts.”

Chapter 9: This means war

Bohner’s acquiescence was purely a tactical move. He had no intention of giving
up without a fight. Minutes after his conversation with Taggart, he used his
cell phone to call Stepford in Delta-City. He explained the situation tersely.

“An interesting challenge,” said Stepford. “I think we can handle it. This
fellow Taggart has how many men?”

“No more than a dozen.”

“And their arms?”

“Shotguns. Semi-automatic pistols. I think I saw a submachine gun or two.”

“What about body armor?”

“I don’t think they have any,” said Bohner.

“Good. Our SWAT team can handle this. Since it’s outside the city, I’ll need to
get authorization from the county commissioners. That shouldn’t be a problem.
They’re all in Moulton’s pocket.”

“Yes,” said Bohner, “but Moulton’s dead.”

“The commissioners don’t know that. In fact, Moulton’s death will give us cover
for this operation. I’ll announce after we’ve taken out Taggart and his men that
they were responsible for Moulton’s death. I’ll say you and Moulton were being
held hostage at the estate, but you managed to make a secret call on your cell
phone.”

“Which led to the rescue mission?”

“Exactly,” said Stepford. “We’ll just have to made sure none of Moulton’s
security detail survives.”

“And that our twin treasures aren’t harmed.”

“Oh, right, the girls,” said Stepford. “I had nearly forgotten about them. I’ll
instruct our boys to be very, very careful. And discreet. Now, where are the
girls being held?”

Bohner explained the layout of the estate, and how to reach the security
headquarters. “I’m pretty sure that’s where they are,” he said.

 

# # #

 

But Bohner was wrong. MA and Flag Girl were not at the security headquarters.
Taggart and his men were bored with headquarters and decided it was time for
rape alfresco. They forced the women to march into the woods. After a while,
they came to a clearing with redwood picnic tables and benches. They started
with MA. She was bent face down on one of the tables, and six men took turns
fucking her from behind. Taggart himself used a different approach. He took of
his thick leather belt, with its heavy brass buckle, and beat her bare ass until
it was a mass of welts. Then he used the ribbed handle of a two-foot-long police
baton to rape her.

Flag Girl had the cleanup detail — sucking the dicks of the men after they had
fucked her mentor. Taggart made her lick the baton clean.

“All that talk about some magic wand,” said his partner, Lee, “but it seems to
me that the old-fashioned ways are best. What do you think, honey?”

Flag Girl turned her tear-stained face away.

“She don’t seem very friendly,” said Taggart. He slipped the tip of the baton
under her chin and forced her to raise her face to them.

“My friend here was talking to you, bitch.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I heard him.”

“Then answer, cunt,” Lee shouted. He grabbed Taggart’s baton and started beating
her.

Taggart pulled him back. “Watch it. These girls are gonna make us rich. You can
fuck ’em all you want, but like the Doc said, no permanent damage.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Lee. “But I sure would like to finish this one off.
There’s something about her drives me wild.”

MA, who had been lying face-down in the grass, managed to get up onto her hands
and knees. One of the men took this as a signal that she was ready for more
abuse. He kicked her over, onto her side, then knelt and slid his hand into her
pussy. “Hot damn,” he said. “This one’s wet again.” He turned her onto her back,
spread her legs, and fucked her while gnawing on her ear.

“Control yourselves,” Taggart yelled. “You boys are going into some kind of
goddam frenzy. You get carried away, and we’re not going to have anything to
sell but a couple of beat-up whores.”

He was right. The men seemed to have gone berserk. They punched and kicked the
two battered super heroines, then began fighting each other.

Taggart pulled out his nine-millimeter pistol and fired it twice in the air.

It got the attention of his subordinates, but not in the way he wanted. The one
who had been fucking MA rolled off of her and reached for his holster, which he
had placed on a bench.

Taggart shot him in the chest before he could reach his gun.

 

# # #

 

This display of leadership by intimidation — actually, by homicide — did nothing
to boost morale among the remaining members of Moulton’s security force. They
didn’t know, of course, that they would shortly face a far more serious threat
than internal dissension.

Taggart, for all his impulsiveness, had enough sense to figure out that Bohner
was probably up to no good — and that the doc had important connections back in
Delta-City. Still, he didn’t expect what hit them at 2 o’clock in the morning: a
full SWAT team that used a battering ram to smash into the security building, a
stun grenade that left everyone, including MA and Flag Girl, dazed and
temporarily deafened, and enough tear gas to leave a fair-sized town weeping
uncontrollably.

Not one of Taggart’s men had enough time to squeeze off a round. Taggart himself
took a load of Number Two shot in the chest and died instantly. Lee dove under a
cot. He was dragged out by two cops wearing full body armor and gas masks. They
dispatched him with a bullet in the back.

The other seven men in the building died similar deaths. MA, stumbling through
the tear gas, found herself staring at the business end of a twelve gauge
shotgun, but the officer holding it quickly called out, “Follow me.”

Flag Girl, who was in worse shape, was grabbed and thrown over the shoulder of a
burly cop, who hurried outside. She was choking from the gas, and the EMT who
checked her out yelled, “Get her to the chopper fast. She may not make it.”

Someone threw a blanket over MA’s shoulders. It was all she was wearing when an
officer came up to her and said, “Looks like we saved your ass, hot stuff.” He
pulled off his helmet. It was Sam, the blond haired cop who had set her up for
the beating and rape at police headquarters what seemed like ages ago.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said in a low voice.

“Hey, guys,” said Sam. “Believe it or not, this sorry piece of shit is Ms.
Americana. Yeah, the same hot-shot bitch who was always making us look bad. Only
this time, she ain’t the one nailing the bad guys. Looks like they nailed her —
over and over.”

MA looked around for Sam’s commanding officer. She just wanted someone to shut
him up and get her out of here.

An older officer with a salt-and-pepper mustache came up to her. “I’m Captain
Bacon,” he said. She sighed with relief.

Then he added, “You’re under arrest for the murder of Charles Moulton.”

 

# # #

 

 

Bohner entered Stepford’s office unannounced. A good-looking blonde secretary
was on her knees in front of him, and he was fumbling with his zipper.

“What the hell do you mean, barging in like this?” he yelled.

“And what the hell do you mean, fucking up a multi-million-dollar deal?” Bohner
yelled back.

The secretary wiped her lips, closed her blouse and hurried out.

“We had a plan,” Bohner said, lowering his voice. “Your cops were going to rush
in, dispatch Moulton’s security guards, blame them for Moulton’s murder, then
turn the bitches over to us. Now you’ve charged Ms. Assfuck and Flag Tits with
murder. How can we auction them off when they’re in jail?”

“Money has its uses,” said Stepford, “but political power is the ultimate
turn-on. Consider this: ‘Security guards turn on their employer’ — interesting,
but not much of a story. But ‘Ms. Americana and Flag Girl involved in murder of
billionaire’ — now that’s a story.”

He waved a copy of the Daily Democrat. Under a banner headline proclaiming
Moulton’s murder was a four-column picture of MA and Flag Girl, their heads
bowed, as if in shame, flanked by two of Delta-City’s finest.

“The TV has been even better. I was great — subdued but firm, announcing sadly
that these two superheroines had gone bad and expressing regret we hadn’t gotten
to Moulton’s estate before they and Taggart murdered him.”

“You’ll never make this stick,” Bohner said angrily.

“Of course I will. Moulton’s security guys are all dead. Except for you and this
guy Tasher, there are no witnesses to contradict my story about how all this
happened. And I think I can count on you two not to fuck things up, since my
version leaves you in the clear.”

“You’re forgetting the two bitches. They’ll say they had nothing to do with
Moulton’s death. Hell, I don’t know how the old man actually died, but I’m
damned sure neither these two nor Taggart and his bunch were responsible.”

Stepford smiled. “The two bitches won’t protest their innocence. At least, Flag
Girl won’t. We’ve already got a confession from her.”

Bohner appeared shaken. “What did she say?”

“Oh, it made no sense — something about creatures with human bodies and animal
heads. The important thing is that she says she was involved in Moulton’s
murder. In fact, she says she feels real bad about it.”

“Was her lawyer present when she said this?”

“No, and I know what you’re thinking: The confession would never be admitted in
court. Well, it doesn’t have to be. I intend to win in the court of public
opinion. I think the bitches are going to the pen. But if they aren’t convicted,
I’ll blame the judge and legal technicalities. The important thing is that Don
Stepford and his cops brought the jugs to justice. Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

# # #

 

Things didn’t get any better when Moulton’s lawyer read his will. He called
Bohner with the bad news: Not a dime for the Clinic.

Not a dime for any other charity, or for Moulton’s nieces and nephews.

The whole goddam estate, $2.6 billion worth, went to Marietta Boudreaux, the
sexy little housemaid who Bohner remembered serving drinks and food. Uncle Sam
would get an enormous cut, of course, but the little French tart would still
pocket at least a billion.

He wished he had been nicer to her while staying at Moulton’s. He tried to
recall if he had ever said a pleasant word to her during the six weeks he was
there. No, not a one. He had complimented her once in a comment to the old man,
but she was out of earshot.

He thought about how her lace panties showed under her short black skirt when
she bent over to serve Moulton his croissant. Funny, he thought, he had spent
weeks looking at and abusing two beautiful women, mostly while they were naked,
yet the sexiest thing he could remember was Marietta’s behind in lace panties. A
strange thing, the human psyche.

Chapter 10: Jailhouse Rock

 

 

A darker side of the human psyche was on display at the women’s unit of the
County Corrections Center.

There, warden Hilda Heftig ran the show. She stood just over six feet tall and
weighed 315 pounds. She could bench-press 280 — or break a man’s back, or a
woman’s, with a single blow. Thirteen lawsuits had been filed against the
corrections center because of her violent temper, but the county had managed to
shell out less than half a million. The county commissioners considered this a
bargain. “She makes sure the worst of them never land back on the streets,”
Commissioner O’Riley boasted. “It’s rough justice, but goddamit, it works.”

Hilda was delighted to have MA and Flag Girl in her charge. At their first
meeting, she was all smiles.

“I’ve heard so much about you over the years,” she said, sitting behind a desk
of polished blond wood. “I never expected to meet you, especially not under
these circumstances. We’ll try to make your stay here as comfortable as
possible. After all, you’re being held here pending trial. It’s not as if you’ve
been convicted.”

She got up with surprising agility for someone so big and put her huge arms
around the women’s shoulders. “If you behave yourselves, we can all be friends,”
she said. Then her face darkened, and her embrace got painfully right. “But if
you fuck with me, you’ll never walk out of here. You’ll be carried out on a
slab.”

“We’ll behave,” Flag Girl said in a small, frightened voice.

“Good,” Hilda said, releasing her. She turned to MA. “Do I have your word on it,
too?” she asked.

“Go fuck yourself, lard-ass,” MA hissed.

Hilda’s face was expressionless, as if she were calculating a proper response.
“Sam said you were a dummkopf,” she said quietly.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, my nephew, Sam Stern. He’s a cop. I think you’ve met him. He said you
were a pretty good fuck.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” said MA. “At least there’s no need to wade through twenty
inches of fat to get to my good parts.

Without a word, Hilda grabbed MA’s throat with one hand and her crotch with the
other, raised her over her head and sent her sailing into a bookcase at the far
wall of the office.

MA bounced off and collapsed on the floor, and a shower of books and plaques
fell on top of her.

Hilda slammed her fist down on a buzzer on her desk. “Come get these schlampen,”
she barked. The door opened and four jail matrons, all of them bigger than MA
and Flag Girl, entered. “Soften them up for me,” Hilda said, as they dragged MA
across the floor. “I’ll come by for a visit this evening.”

 

# # #

 

Sam was Hilda’s favorite nephew. They shared a taste for the sadistic. Hilda’s
was more or less the meat-and-potatoes approach: violent outbursts, beating,
kicking, banging heads against walls. Sam was more refined. He could bash in a
face or kick a groin, if that’s what the situation called for. But he preferred
an element of psychological abuse, as well. With MA now under Hilda’s thumb, he
saw an opportunity for exquisitely cruel mischief.

 

# # #

 

After three nights of beating up the two super heroines in their cells, Hilda
decided it was time for the rest of the jail staff, and a select group of
inmates, to enjoy the show. Sam encouraged her. “You’ve shown the cunts who’s
boss,” he said. “Now you can show everyone at the jail how you can kick the
asses of two sluts who were supposed to be real tough gals. When you humiliate
them in front of a crowd, everyone in that audience is going to say, ‘I will
never, ever mess with Hilda Heftig. She is the baddest of the bad.’ ”

The venue for this humiliation was the gym in the women’s detention center. It
wasn’t as big and well equipped as the gym in the men’s jail, and this irritated
Hilda, who considered filing a federal lawsuit over the issue. In the end, she
was persuaded that getting the feds involved in the operation of this
corrections center could backfire.

A square wrestling mat had been placed on the concrete floor, and three inmates
crouched along each side. Their job would be to grab whoever was thrown off the
mat and push them back in. The rest of the audience, about 75 strong, sat in
bleachers.

Hilda entered the gym wearing a silk kimono Sam had bought from a Sumo wrestler
in Japan. There were scattered cheers. Then a door at the opposite end of the
gym opened, and MA and Flag Girl entered, accompanied by four jail matrons. The
two superheroines wore the costumes they had made famous, but the cockiness they
always displayed on TV and in newspaper photos was gone. Their faces were red
and puffy, and they seemed scared. The loud chorus of boos that greeted them did
nothing to lift their spirits.

The matrons escorted them to the edge of the mat, then retreated.

Hilda, who had been waving to friends in the crowd, turned to face her victims.
Flag Girl, thoroughly dispirited, looked down. MA tried to match the giant
woman’s glare, but she, too, finally lowered her eyes.

Hilda laughed, then said, “I hope you like my outfit.”

She slowly removed her kimono. Beneath it, she wore black leather shorts and a
matching leather halter.

And, around her right thigh, MA’s belt.

MA gasped. The only means of her deliverance was now attached to her
executioner. It was a cruel joke. She scanned the bleachers. Yes, he was sitting
there, a sadistic smile on his face. The bastard!

The clang of a bell brought her back to the situation at hand. Hilda came
forward with arms spread, as if ready to scoop both MA and Flag Girl into a
fatal hug. MA moved to the left, expecting Flag Girl to move in the opposite
direction. But Flag Girl was frozen with fear. Hilda wrapped her arms around
her, pinning her arms to her side. Then she squeezed. Flag Girl looked up at
Hilda’s face, inches from hers. “Please, no,” she said as the breath was forced
out of her. But Hilda kept up the pressure. Flag Girl’s face turned bright red,
and her eyes rolled back. Hilda released her, but only to lift her over her head
like a trophy of war, then slam her to the mat.

MA chose this moment to lunge for the belt. Hilda was expecting the move and
stepped aside. The superheroine landed on the floor, the impact cushioned by her
magnificent tits. But nothing cushioned Hilda’s knee, which landed in the small
of MA’s back. MA gave something between a grunt and a yelp as most of Hilda’s
315 pounds smashed into her.

The huge woman grabbed two handfuls of MA’s thick black hair and pulled her head
up and back. MA was bent in a way humans weren’t meant to bend, her lower body
lying flat on the mat, her upper body perpendicular to the floor. The crowd
loved it, and one inmate instantly tried to organize a betting pool on which
would give first: MA’s hair or her spine.

Luckily for MA, her hair was the weak link. Two fistfuls of it were ripped out,
causing Hilda to topple over backward. MA grabbed her head and sobbed from the
pain, but she recognized that this might be her one and only opportunity to get
the upper hand. She scrambled over to Hilda and grabbed the belt with one hand,
while slipping the other behind Hilda’s thigh to release the buckle. Hilda
struggled to sit up, but MA was too quick. The belt was hers. She rolled away
from Hilda and snapped it around her waist.

When she leaped to her feet to face her mountainous foe, she did so with energy
and confidence she hadn’t felt in months. Hilda reached for her, but MA stepped
aside and landed a karate chop to her kidneys. Hilda staggered. A kick to the
back of her right knee sent her toppling onto the mat.

The crowd was confused. There were scattered boos, but also some cheers. Hilda
struggled to her feet, enraged. She charged, but MA jumped aside, and Hilda’s
momentum carried her into the crowd. Inmates and matrons scrambled to get out of
the way. MA was enjoying herself. After the long ordeal she had been through
since losing her belt, this was a moment to be savored. She turned to scan the
bleachers, looking for Sam. He was there, glaring at her. She smiled and gave
him the bird.

But when she faced Hilda again, her smile disappeared.

Hilda had Flag Girl in her grip. Her left forearm across the little blonde’s
throat. Her right hand was behind her head.

“If you take one step closer, I’ll break the little slut’s neck,” Hilda said.

“Let her go,” MA said. “You’re finished. The best you can do now is quit before
you face a charge of Murder One.”

Hilda began pushing Flag Girl’s head forward, bending it down over her forearm.
The gym fell silent.

“You’ll hear the crack,” Hilda said. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s not
something you’ll ever forget — especially since it’s your friend’s neck.”

“What do you want?” MA asked.

“The belt, take if off.”

“Never. If I took it off, you’d kill her anyway, then me.”

“Perhaps. But if you don’t take it off, I will kill the little slut for sure.”

Flag Girl’s body began shaking. Even if Hilda didn’t break her neck, the grip on
her was choking her to death.

MA slid her hands behind her back. “Put her down, and I’ll remove the belt,” she
said.

“No,” said Hilda, “remove the belt and I’ll put her down.”

MA looked at Flag Girl, and her eyes filled with tears. She pressed the tiny
button that released the buckle and let the belt fall to the floor. An inmate
quickly scooped it up.

“A deal’s a deal,” Hilda said with a smile. She let Flag Girl fall to the floor
and moved toward MA.

Two matrons grabbed MA from behind.

“Let her go,” Hilda ordered. “I don’t need any help. I’m going to finish off
this troublesome bitch once and for all.”

MA closed her eyes and prayed. Let death come quickly, she implored. A face
appeared to her, a woman’s face, radiant and beautiful. It is not yet time for
you to die, the woman said. Be brave. Go and do battle with evil.

MA’s communion with this heavenly protectress was interrupted by a terrific blow
to her gut. She groaned and fell to her knees. Hilda followed up with a blow to
the back of MA’s neck, sending her face-forward onto the mat.

Hilda stood over her prostrate foe. “How should she die?” she called to the
audience. “Stomp her,” one inmate called out. “Body-slam her,” yelled another.

Sam had left the bleachers and was now at the edge of the mat. “Sit on her
face,” he shouted.

“Yes, yes, very good!” cried Hilda. She slipped one foot under MA’s belly and
rolled her over, onto her back. MA’s eyes were shut and her mouth hung open.
Clearly, she was finished, as far as this fight was concerned. The only question
was how soon her life would be finished, too.

Hilda squatted a few inches above her face, then sat down suddenly.

“She done gone,” an inmate called out merrily. And sure enough, MA’s head, neck
and upper chest had completely disappeared beneath Hilda’s huge behind.

Hilda smiled and shifted her weight several times, getting comfortable for a
long stay.

Sam started counting, “One-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one-thousand-three .
. . .” Others took it up. Soon everyone was counting the seconds that MA’s face
had been buried under a mass of blubber.

At “one-thousand-eighty-five,” Hilda gestured to her nephew. He walked over to
her and grabbed one hand. A matron grabbed the other, and they pulled with all
their strength. Hilda rose slowly, like a sunken ship being pulled to the
surface.

Everyone leaned forward to get the first glimpse of MA. Those who expected her
face to be contorted from her futile effort to breathe were disappointed. She
looked almost peaceful. Hilda was among the disappointed. She kicked MA’s body,
unconvinced that she was really dead. The kick produced no reaction.

Hilda shrugged and turned to accept the congratulations of her fans. Several
women stepped on MA to get to her. A matron with a digital camera decided Flag
Girl and MA together, one lifeless, the other senseless, would make a great
picture. Flag Girl was lifted up and dumped on top of MA.

“Say, Hilda,” called the woman with the camera. “How about a picture of the
conquering hero?”

Hilda walked over, planted a big foot atop the superheroines’ bodies and flexed
her biceps. She was having a wonderful time.

The celebration shifted to the far end of the gym, where refreshments were being
served. MA and Flag Girl were forgotten, except by Sam, who walked over to them,
sipping punch from a paper cup. “You really were a stupid cunt,” he said,
looking down at MA. “Your belt was your only protection, and you gave it up —
twice. And they say blondes are dumb.” He tilted the cup, poured the last of his
punch on MA’s upturned face and walked away.

So no one was there to see the shudder that ran through MA’s body. No one saw
her eyelids flutter. No one saw her tongue slip out and lick the drops of punch
from her upper lip.

And no one saw her push Flag Girl off of her.

MA reflexively blew the stale air out of her lungs and inhaled deeply. The color
returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were open now, looking up at the rafters. She
was trying to remember where she was and how she got there.

The belt. That was the key. Briefly tonight, she had had the belt, and it had
given her the power to confront and defeat someone more than twice her size. But
she had surrendered it . . . . why? She heard a moan. She raised her head and
looked to her left. Flag Girl lay next to her, hurt but alive.

That was why she had surrendered the belt. To save Flag Girl.

Slowly, painfully, MA sat up. She was weak and dizzy but determined to get up
and find her belt. And if she couldn’t find it, she would resume battle with
Hilda anyway. She would prevail — or die trying.

She got to her feet, but she began swaying and sank to the floor. She lay
quietly for a minute, then tried again. Hands and knees. Then one knee raised
and her foot planted on the floor. Then a tremendous effort to push up her body
and get the other leg under her. And again the dizziness, the swaying.

But this time she didn’t fall. She stepped over Flag Girl and looked along the
edge of the mat, searching for her belt. No luck. She scanned the floor in front
of the bleachers. Not there either. Soon, someone would notice her, and Hilda
would return to finish the job. This time the behemoth would make damned sure
she killed her.

“Ms. Americana,” a soft voice called out.

MA turned, trying to prepare herself mentally for renewed battle. A young black
inmate stood before her.

“I think this belongs to you,” she said, handing the belt to MA.

At that moment, Sam called out from across the room, “Hold it! What the hell do
you think you’re doing?” He was running toward them.

MA placed the belt around her waist, reached in back and snapped the buckle
shut, just as Sam dove at her. The energy field deflected him and he skidded
across the floor.

Now it was Hilda who noticed MA’s revival. Her attack was completely in
character — frontal and massive. MA made a move so quick and subtle that
onlookers later disagreed vehemently on precisely what she had done. The end
result, though, was clear enough. Hilda soared into the air and landed on top of
Sam with a mighty thud that shook the gym.

MA scooped up Flag Girl and carried her to an adjoining office. She picked up a
phone and punched “0.”

“Get a medical team up to the gym right away,” she said. “I’ve got a friend
who’s hurt — and your warden and her nephew aren’t in very good shape, either.”

Chapter 11: Naughty Marietta

 

Marietta was busy arranging calla lillies in the most commodious of the seven
guest rooms in the main house of Moulton’s estate. It was to be the new nursery.
She sang softly in French as she worked. Two housemaids stood ready to help, but
they were mostly for companionship. While Marietta was quite content to give
orders when it came to most household chores, flower arranging was something she
trusted to no one but herself.

“When will the baby arrive?” asked one of the maids, a plump blonde girl of 19.

“Very, very soon. Perhaps tomorrow,” said Marietta, placing a vase full of calla
lilies on a marble-topped dresser. “Mees Americana is very . . . . how do you
say it?”

“Very round, Mademoiselle,” said the blonde housemaid. The three women burst
into laughter.

“And very ripe,” said the second housemaid, a tall, gawky redhead. More
laughter.

At that moment, MA entered the room, and beneath her loose white robe, she was,
indeed, very round and very ripe. The housemaids looked embarrassed at being
overheard, but MA smiled benignly. Marietta rushed up and kissed her.

“The room is so lovely,” MA said.

“But of course,” said Marietta. “Everything must be perfect for the bé bé — and
for the mama, aussi.”

MA placed her hand on her bulging belly and said, “You are very kind. I wish I
could help you but I . . . well, I feel like my time is coming.”

“The bé bé , he is arrive?” Marietta cried.

MA sat in a straight-backed chair next to the crib. “I think he is arrive,” she
said, grimacing.

# # #

 

A midwife from a nearby town was called in, and as an extra precaution, Dr.
Foley, the veterinarian who took care of Moulton’s livestock, was also on hand.
Everyone knew, from the sonogram done in Delta-City, that this would be a
difficult birth, but MA was determined to avoid the Clinic, and Marietta had
graciously offered her home and hospitality.

The small infirmary in the east wing of the big house served as the delivery
room. MA was in labor for over six hours. Marietta was there, standing nervously
against the wall and eager to help, if called on. Flag Girl was too frightened
to witness the birth. She was sure something would go horribly wrong.

In fact, it went very smoothly, once the moment came. MA had been lightly
sedated but was conscious as the midwife told her to “push, that’s it, push,
just a little more.”

Then the midwife bent between MA’s legs and came up with — a nine-pound,
three-ounce piglet.

“It’s a boy,” she called out.

Dr. Foley looked over her shoulder. “And he’s a handsome little devil,” he said,
admiringly.

Marietta, no longer able to restrain herself, rushed to MA’s side and squeezed
her hand. “You were so brave,” she said.

MA smiled weakly. “Let me see my baby,” she whispered.

The midwife had wrapped the piglet in a cotton blanket. She gently lowered it
into MA’s arms.

MA looked into its little, still closed eyes. “A face only a mother could love,”
she said softly. Then she looked up at the others and laughed through the tears.

 

# # #

 

Donald Stepford and Hilda Heftig were indicted by the same grand jury — he for
false imprisonment, perjury and obstruction of justice, she for assault and
battery. Later, the feds added a civil rights charge against Hilda, who insisted
she had been framed by a sexist power structure.

Stepford was convicted on all charges and sentenced to 20 years in the state
pen. Hilda never stood trial. She choked to death on a piece of roast pork while
in the women’s corrections unit she once had ruled with an iron hand. Her nephew
Sam, who suffered six broken ribs when Hilda landed on him, was fired in a
sweeping police department shakeup. He and Fred Malins opened a private
detective agency — and vowed to get even one day with Ms. Americana.

Thanks to his connections with the rich and powerful, Dr. Bohner was never
formally charged with a crime. MA and Flag Girl testified before the grand jury
about his role in kidnapping and sexually abusing them, and the jury even saw
taped sessions of him raping both women with the Magyar’s wand. But the jury
foreman, a large, gregarious Irishman who ran an auto body shop, persuaded a
majority of his fellow jurors that, from the look on the superheroines’ faces,
it was clear that both women enjoyed every minute of their “torture.”

# # #

 

The wand, like everything else at Moulton’s estate, came into the possession of
Marietta. She had known nothing of how it was used on MA and Flag Girl and was
shocked when she discovered the videotapes. But shock wasn’t her only reaction.
She had to admit to herself that she found the images, and the moans of the
victims, sexually stimulating.

Later, when MA had recovered from delivering Pascal, Marietta hesitantly
broached the subject of this powerful instrument of ecstatic torture.

“You know where it is?” MA asked.

“Oui. I keep it locked up.”

MA tried to control her emotions. “Can I see it?” she asked.

Marietta brought her downstairs, to the room where she and Flag Girl had
suffered such terrible abuse. She opened a closet, knelt and twisted the dial of
a combination lock on a small safe. Then she rose and held out the wand.

“Would you like to hold it?” she asked.

MA stiffened. “Yes. I guess I must.” She took it in her hands. It was heavy. She
touched the silvery sphere at the end. There was no sensation. She looked at the
base. There was a small dial with an arrow. It pointed to “off.” She turned it
to level one and brushed the sphere across her forearm. It produced a pleasant
tingle — and a flood of memories.

“Will you use it on me?” Marietta asked shyly. “I would like to feel what you
felt . . . . at least a little.”

“Yes,” MA said. “Where would you like me to touch you?”

Marietta opened her blouse and displayed a lovely pair of breasts. “Here and
here,” she said, pointing to her nipples.

It was the start of something neither of them could control. At the very first
session, after having her breasts caressed by the wand, Marietta insisted on
being chained to a big padded X and raped. She shrieked and squealed, all in
French. MA understood only a few words, but she knew precisely what Marietta was
experiencing.

Two days later, Flag Girl was invited to join, and she and Marietta teamed up to
send spasms of pleasure through MA’s body.

Then it was Flag Girl’s turn, and that was the most exciting and exhausting
session of all.

In the geometry of sex, there are no equilateral triangles. Consciously or
unconsciously, two always pair up against one. Flag Girl was the one. Before
long, only she was chained, or placed in stirrups, or bent over a table and
raped. She came to expect it. And MA and Marietta came to see it as part of the
natural order of things, like Pascal‘s rambunctious romps through the house.
Flag Girl’s status, never very secure because of her invincible stupidity, now
slipped to a level below that even of the house servants.

She became an object, something on which to vent one’s anger and frustrations,
to indulge one’s lust, or simply to exercise power. Her weak brain and sensual,
hyper-responsive body made her irresistible yet expendable.

She became, in short, a sex slave.

 

 

THE END

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