Posted by Ripper X on July 29, 2003 at 21:28:01:
In Reply to: Doctors Orders 2/2 posted by Ripper X on July 29, 2003 at 21:24:16:
Nikki Crawford silently cursed herself for not keeping her service revolver with her. Over the months of surveillance, she had grown careless, leaving it at home rather than bringing it with her to her 'job' as a receptionist for the doctor. Now, when she really needed it, it was sitting at home, useless and forgotten in her desk drawer.
The office door was locked. Strange, given the fact that no one had left. Nikki once again considered reporting in to Hender and calling for backup, but she quickly dismissed the idea. Hender had been explicit in his instructions that she wasn't to call in unless she had proof.
Well, she'd get him his proof.
She reached into her purse and pulled out the key. Not the usual office key, the one opening the receptionist's area in the front of the office, but Dr. Astor's key; Or, rather, the duplicate she had gotten made up after 'borrowing' her employer's key. This one opened not only the main office door, but the other areas as well. She slipped it in and twisted. The lock turned over with a small click.
Heart pounding furiously, Nikki Crawford pushed the door open.
"Mom . . . NO!"
Lisa Forbes, naked and unrestrained, stood behind her young daughter, her brown hair matted down over her forehead. She wore a large, black, strap-on dildo. Her hands worked furiously up and down the black monster, covering it with grease as she had been ordered to do by the doctor.
"That's right you bitch," Dr. Astor told her. "Grease it up real good."
Lisa shuddered with obscene delight as the doctor's words triggered the hypnotic suggestion and the now-familiar (now fervently longed-after) waves of pleasure rocked her naked body. Nothing mattered now; Nothing other than pleasing her mistress so she could hear those words again. She lived to hear those words. Those wonderful words . . .
She didn't have long to wait. "Now, you stupid slut, shove it in. Ream your daughter's asshole until it bleeds."
"Mommy . . . "
Ignoring her daughter's cry for mercy, Lisa obeyed, shoving the glistening phallus into her daughter's virgin asshole. Anna was bent over the examination table, held down by a set of leather cuffs wrapped around her thin wrists and clipped to the legs of the table. Anna twisted and bucked, but her mother gripped the teenager's narrow thighs with a strength born of madness and shoved forward as hard as she could. Anna squealed herself hoarse with pain and horror as the invader slipped past her desperately squirming sphincter muscles and invaded her ass. The pain was unimaginable.
"Now fuck her, bitch."
Lisa shuddered with pleasure and began sawing the dildo in and out as fast as she could, eyes vacant, drool seeping over her slack lower lip and dripping down onto her sweating, hard-nippled breasts. Maybe if she did well enough . . . Maybe she would be allowed to experience another orgasm.
Maybe . . .
Dr. Astor leaned down in front of Anna's tear-stained face. The girl had stopped screaming now. She just stared straight ahead, her mouth wide open in a silent mask of shock and pain. But she was silent. Unable to resist, the doctor moved forward and pressed her lips against those of her young victim. Anna tried to turn her head, but was unable to escape. All she could do was lie there in silent agony as her mother raped her ass and the doctor explored the insides of her mouth with her tongue.
Nikki heard the screaming, but couldn't make out the words. The noise seemed to be coming from behind the door to the examination room, but when she tried to open it, she found that it had been bolted shut from the other side.
Shit.
Then she remembered; There was another way in. Through the doctor's office, there was a back entrance.
Maybe she could get in through there.
Time passed . . .
Jacqueline Astor let her head hang back as she enjoyed the extraordinary sensation of Anna's hard-working, if inexperienced tongue. Inexperienced because the poor girl had never serviced another woman's pussy before; Hard-working because the girl's mother, (panting and whining with the need to orgasm) was bringing a large paddle down on the girl's reddening ass, all the time urging her daughter to 'make the mistress cum'.
Jacqueline had told Lisa that when she came, she would say the word that would allow Lisa to orgasm. Lisa had immediately grabbed her daughter by the hair and shoved the crying girl in between the doctor's legs. She then began encouraging her with the large paddle. Thus motivated, the eighteen-year-old had stuck out her little pink tongue and begun work.
"Little bitch . . . Little whore . . ."
The doctor kept up a constant string of verbal abuse. The words served both to degrade the girl, to teach her her new role in life and to keep the girl's mother on edge.
A light blinked on over the main door.
"Fuck!"
Dr. Astor pushed Anna's head away. The young girl, eyes glazed with pain and face covered with pussy juice, sat back on her heels.
"Get her to suck your own pussy, whore," Astor ordered, pulling the medical lab coat back around her body. She was angry at having her pleasure frustrated, but had a pretty good idea of what was happening, "When I get back, we'll get serious."
Lisa obeyed instantly. Once again, she grabbed her daughter by the hair, but this time pulled her young daughter around and jammed the girl's face into her own crotch rather than the doctor's. "Come to mommy," She burbled, half insane with lust. Anna, limp and broken stuck her face in her mother's pussy and began licking.
Dr. Astor left them there, going over to a drawer and taking out a hypodermic needle she had prepared that morning for just such an event.
It paid in her experience, to be prepared.
Nikki froze, halted in her tracks by the sight that greeted her as she entered the doctor's private office (locked of course, but susceptible to the copied key).
It was a girl!
She was naked. Her pink flesh pocked and matted with crisscrossing scars, mute testimony to innumerable sessions with the whip. The cane. The scalpel. The match. Stunned, Nikki moved slowly forward. Her horror grew as the details of the girl's present condition grew apparent.
She was bent over backwards, back arched, and her chest shoved forward over a small stool. Her whip-stained breasts defied gravity, reaching straight up to the ceiling. They were held that way by two long strips of elastic which ran from the ceiling down to a pair of fish hooks stuck deep through the girl's nipples. The more she relaxed, the harder the elastic pulled.
This was just the beginning, though. The girl's legs were pulled wide and fastened to the floor with leather cuffs, exposing her pussy . . . Exposing what had been done to it. The flesh to each side of it had been pierced with large, silver rings. Elastic straps had been attached through these rings and ran through a D-ring on the base of a large dildo which jutted obscenely from the poor girl's pussy. These straps ran down through her ass-crack, under her body and across to her head, where they had been fastened to the long, brown braid of her sweat-matted hair. If she tried to pull her head up, this in turn would pull on the dildo, propelling the massive instrument further into her already tortured pussy. As well, a tight strap from a large ring in her nose ran down her chest to the fish hooks in her nipples. Thus, if she moved her head forward, the dildo was pulled further into her pussy. If she moved her head back, this put pressure on the hooks in her nipples. A lose-lose situation. Finally, the girl's arms had been fastened tightly to her ankles, making it almost impossible for her to move.
As if she'd want to.
Breathlessly, tears filling her eyes and caution all but forgotten, Nikki rushed forward to help.
Michelle felt her awareness being tugged from its accustomed niche in the haze of pain that was her existence. Blearily, she opened her eyes to see a young blonde woman, dressed in the uniform of a receptionist bend over her, mumbling something about not being afraid.
As if she could ever not be afraid again.
Still, despite all that had happened to her, Michelle still had some spirit left. That's why if she could have, if the ring punched through her tongue and threaded through the holes in her lips in such a way as to prevent her from ever pulling her tongue back into her mouth. She would have cried out a warning as she saw Dr. Astor appear from the examination room and bend over her unsuspecting rescuer.
But she couldn't.
The ring in her tongue had effectively reduced her powers of speech to an incoherent grunting and moaning, neither of which served as an effective warning. Michelle could do nothing but watch in horror as Dr. Astor plunged the hypodermic needle into her rescuer's arm. The woman turned and tried to struggle, (She was strong and quick) but whatever drug the doctor had used was proving all too effective. Within seconds, the woman, the rescuer was lying unconscious on the floor.
Unable to prevent herself, Michelle began to cry helpless tears. It had been weeks since she had cried. Dr. Astor looked over at her and smiled.
"Michelle," She said, "Feeling lonely?" The doctor walked over to the bound girl and opened the lab coat. Smiling an evil smile, she straddled her victim's face and ground her pussy into her mouth. "Let's put that tongue of yours to work," She ordered.
The pain was incredible as the weight of Dr. Astor's body pushed her head downward, tightening the pressure on the fish hooks, but Michelle stuck out her pierced tongue and began lapping at her tormentor's pussy. She knew (Oh how she knew) that no matter how bad the pain got, it could always get worse.
And, of course, it always did.
Despite the fact that he had spent many of his recent years in the Bureau behind a desk, Special Agent Lance Hender was still able to break open the locked door with a single shove of his shoulder. Pistol in hand, he lead three of his men into the silent waiting room of Dr. Astor's office. He gestured two of the men through a door into what looked like an examination room and led the other one along a hallway into the doctor's office. He was familiar with the layout from Nikki's reports.
Nikki!
He hated it when one of his people went missing.Particularly when it was a promising new agent like Nikki Crawford.
Particularly on this kind of assignment.
The rooms were empty. The paraphernalia of the medical practice had been left behind, but all records, all evidence of who had been there and what had happened had been wiped clean.
Or had it?
"Hender," He looked over. Bateman was holding up a manila envelope. It had Hender's name scrawled on the front. "Take a look." The man looked like he was going to throw up.
What the hell?
Hender took the envelope and looked inside. Pictures. He slid them onto the desk and took a close look.
Oh God.
Nikki!
. . . This kind of assignment.
He stared for a few moments, (for an eternity) before slowly replacing the pictures in the envelope. He was proud of the fact that his hands trembled only slightly. His men gathered around, waiting for orders.
Hender looked up.
"Make a full search. Fingerprints . . . The works." He knew they wouldn't find anything, but they had to try. Hender briefly allowed his mind to skirt over the images on the pictures, just for a moment, before filing them away in the compartment of his mind reserved for dealing with situations where his agents went down in the field.
As usual, he would deal with it later on, by himself.
At night. With the aid of rather a considerable amount of whisky.
. . . This kind of assignment . . .
The bartender gazed sadly at the long row of glasses that needed wiping. Sighing to himself, he picked up a grimy towel and set to work.
Really though, he didn't know why he bothered.
People, customers . . . Gringos . . . Whatever, they didn't come to the El-Maceia for the cleanliness or for the decor. The only thing that saved the club from looking like a complete pest-hole was the fact that the lighting was usually kept low enough to shroud the general shabbiness of the place in a forgiving darkness. Likewise, they didn't come for the booze. Sure, they served all kinds of alcohol at the El-Maceia, but so did lot's of other places. And, if you didn't mind cheap Mexican beer, most other places were less expensive too. No, they came for one reason and one reason only: Sex. Not only did the El-Maceia boast an infamous whorehouse with incidentally, a large number of white-skinned Americano girls from up north. But it also ran the raunchiest live sex show in all of Mexico.
Or so said the rep.
On the well-lit stage, the club's newest act (a mother and daughter team) performed the first of their three shows for the evening. Only a week into their run, they were already a big hit. Particularly the daughter, with her curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes.
Well . . . not so bright anymore.
The current part of the act featured the mother fucking her daughter's ass with a large dildo. A man, their 'keeper', stood behind her, whispering gringo words that most of the customers didn't understand: "Bitch . . . Whore . . . Slut." Whatever the words, they seemed to drive the woman wild. (But, then, it was always like that with the doctor's merchandise.) She groaned and panted with lust as she drove the gigantic cock deep into her daughter's asshole. The girl was obviously in a lot of pain. Unlike the mother, she wasn't being sexually aroused, but she had been trained not to show it. She almost succeeded too, with her large, fake smile and hoarse panting. The second show involved caning and a display of lesbian action culminating in a long, hot 'sixty-nine'.
It was the last act, however, the one with the dogs that really got the customers going. The keeper figured that these two had a good six months in them before they would have to be 'retired' to a mining camp somewhere in the interior.
Six months of packed houses and satisfied customers.
The bartender (who also owned the club) smiled at the thought.
Meanwhile, his new waitress was kneeling under a table, sucking hungrily at a customer's cock. She was also quite new, having arrived in the same shipment as the performers. It was her job to prance about, naked except for high-heels and two shiny silver badges marked 'FBI' sticking permanently through her nipples (She had arrived like that. No one believed that she was really a member of the FBI, but everyone agreed that the badges looked good, despite covering her nipples), from table to table, taking orders and - when requested - sliding under the table to relieve the customer's sexual excitement.
Unlike the two on stage, this one had put up a bit of a struggle. It wasn't until after a couple of sessions with the cane and one memorable night with the tailor's donkey that her spirit finally broke. Now, with her shiny bright badges glittering on her chest and vacant ‘please-fuck-me' bimbo smile on her face, she was a huge hit with the customers, usually servicing a score of them nightly.
The bartender kept her chained naked at the foot of his bed at night.
On stage, the act reached its climax, the mother screaming out in uncontrollable ecstasy as her keeper said the magic word. The club, packed as usual, erupted into a cacophony of applause and catcalls, and the stage was showered with money. Still on her knees, the waitress crossed to another table and started work on another cock.
Another good night at the El-Maceia.
The bartender smiled again. And there were still two shows to go . . .