- Part XVII -
I returned to our bedroom door soon after hearing my wife's
screams slowly fade. As I neared the closed door, I found her shrieks
had become quiet sobs, her continuous crying just audible over the
creatures' disgusting grunting and growling.
Collapsing onto the floor against a nearby wall, I was assaulted
by the relentless sounds of her torture for the rest of the night. I
fought unimaginable levels of helplessness and rage as my mind was
filled with images of what must be taking place in our room.
As dawn approached, I was wrenched from a light sleep by my wife's
sudden, horrifying scream. It pierced the quiet morning, jolting me to
my feet, as it continued to echo through the house. Then, as suddenly
as it had begun, it stopped, replaced with a dead, eerie silence.
I ran to the door, watching in disbelief as it slowly opened ahead of
me. The hinges groaned a sinister invitation as it slowed to a stop.
Entering the dim, stale smelling room, I was shocked to find it
completely deserted. The furniture was not just overturned, it was
slashed, gouged, and broken into pieces. The carpet and bedding were
sopping wet, the smell of sweat and semen wafting by me as I surveyed
the damage. The only object left intact was the large mirror, rising
grotesquely from the piles of rubble.
A week passed, then two. My wife had vanished without a trace, taken by
the demons to a place I remembered all too well. I had tried to smash
the full-length mirror, but each time I entered our bedroom, the smooth
surface began to distort and ripple, many pairs of glowing eyes warning
me from the other side. I was resigned to the despair I felt, living
from day to day, helpless and defeated.
Two months later, I received the first email.
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Friend,
We can help. Look for your wife in the Grotto.
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The header included a cryptic address, containing symbols unlike any I
had ever seen. Was this a trap set by Spike or one of the other demons?
Was it possible that someone, somewhere, knew of the creatures, that
they walked among us, using us as they wished? I had to find out.
The Grotto was not the pleasant sounding place its name implied.
Located on the west side of town near an abandoned industrial site, it
had become a collection of biker bars, pawn shops, and adult book
stores. It was an area frequented by drug dealers, prostitutes, and all
varieties of the most unsavory characters the city had to offer.
Arriving thirty minutes later, I cruised the main drag, looking for
some clue to my wife's whereabouts. It was a Saturday night, and the
streets were crowded with hookers and their prospective clients. A
small group of "ladies of the evening" strutted and posed in their
scanty outfits as they hovered near a gathering of leather-clad thugs.
The largest of the group climbed off his bike and took one of the women
by the hand, leading her to the closest alley.
As my headlights flashed across them, I was stunned to see my wife's
face, almost unrecognizable under the heavy makeup. She strolled
willingly beside him, headed for the dark alley. The black, leather
halter barely concealed her breasts, pushing them up and over the front
of the skin-tight top. A long expanse of bare waist led to a tiny,
black, leather skirt, just covering the bottom of her firm ass. Her
hips swayed as she skillfully maneuvered on the four-inch heels. The
once long and luxurious black hair was now cropped short and slicked
back over her head, exaggerating the bright blue eyeshadow and red
lipstick.
Shaken at the sight of what she had become, I continued down the
street, pulling over a few blocks away. I circled the block on foot,
entering the alley from the opposite end. Halfway into the alley, I saw
them. She was bent at the waist, holding the dumpster for support. The
tiny skirt was pulled up, exposing her to him as he pumped his huge
cock into her. The biker towered over her as he worked, arching her
head backwards as he grasped her by the hair. Each of his savage
thrusts jolted her compact body, crushing her large breasts against the
side of the rusty container.
Her eyes were closed, her face expressionless, showing neither
excitement nor disgust, as she allowed him to use her cunt for as long
as he wished. Then, with a loud grunt, he came, spewing his cum into
her as he rode her like a mindless animal.
When he finished, he shoved her to the ground, throwing a fistful
of bills at her before returning to his gang. She just sat there,
breathing hard, staring at the far wall of the alley. Finally, she
collected the money, crawling to recover it on her hands and knees. I
watched her from behind as the tiny skirt remained gathered around her
waist. Her gaping labia were slick with the biker's semen, thick globs
dripping from the reddened slit as she scrambled for the scattered
bills.
As I walked toward her, she turned, crawling in my direction to snag
the last bill. She looked up from the pavement, surprised to see
someone standing so close. Slowly raising her head to look into my
eyes, she stared at me, her face showing the horror and humiliation of
her new life. The meager halter failed to contain her breasts, which
now spilled out over the top, both dark nipples pointing toward the
damp cement beneath her.
"Oh,...nooo!" she sobbed, still looking up from below me. "H-how did
you f-find me?" she asked, now crying openly. I reached down, pulling
her up into my arms, allowing her to cry harder as I tried to comfort
her. We stood in the dark alley, holding each other, each of us
struggling with the onslaught of emotions that suddenly overwhelmed us.
"We're going home now," I promised.
"No...you don't understand...I can't," she sobbed.
"Why not?"
"They're watching me. They did horrible things to me. I just can't go
through that again! They make me give them the money I earn. They
said my torture would be worse if I didn't cooperate. Please, we
can't stay here; they'll see us. I have a room. We can go there."
I followed her out of the alley, fighting the rage from yet another
humiliating situation brought about by the disgusting creatures. The
bikers whistled and fondled her as we passed, assuming I was one of her
customers. She pushed their hands away halfheartedly, smiling coyly as
she led me into a nearby stairway. Climbing the steep stairs to the
third floor, she produced a key from her small, leather purse and
opened one of the doors lining the narrow hall, leading me inside.
The room was small, sparsely furnished, and smelled like dirty laundry.
Peeling wallpaper provided a depressing backdrop behind the simple
table and chair and the single unmade bed in the opposite corner. A
small clothes rack hung from the wall, containing a row of outfits so
revealing that at first glance, it was difficult to tell how they
should be worn.
She lowered herself carefully to the bed, sighing as she dangled her
bare legs over the side. I winced as I noticed the biker's cum still
leaking from her, the tiny skirt unable to hide her reddened slit as
she sat facing me.
"So, how did you know I was here," she asked. "I really can't-or, um,
shouldn't tell you that now," I answered, believing she was safer not
knowing. "Just get in the car and come home," I demanded.
"I told you, I can't. They're watching you too. They see every move we
make. Oh, God! What are we going to do?"
She began to cry again, the tears melting her makeup into a pitiful
mask of blue and black streaks.
Suddenly, we heard the doorknob rattle, then the furious pounding from
the other side of the door.
"I told ya to keep the fuckin' door unlocked, bitch!"
Horrified, she jumped to her feet, shaking as she stared at the door.
"Oh, God...it's Spike! Hurry, hide in there," she whispered, pointing
to the bathroom door. I bolted across the room, closing the door behind
me just as she let Spike in.
I watched through a small crack in the rickety door as he circled her,
inspecting his investment.
"So, you're cryin' again, huh? Won't you ever learn? Jesus, you're
harder to train than my fuckin' dog! OK, let's go over this one more
time. If you don't start showin' me that you like your new life, we'll
take a little trip back to "my place" for some extra training."
"Now, what are you?"
"I'm your whore, Spike."
"Good. Do you like being my whore?"
"Yes, Spike."
"OK. Who do ya love, baby?"
Her hands went to his belly, sliding up under the t-shirt to his
scrawny chest as she answered.
"I love you, Spike."
"Show me!"
Shaking with rage, I watched her kneel in front of him, pulling the
punk's jeans to the floor. She closed her mouth around his thin, white
cock, capturing it as it bobbed inches from her tear-streaked face. As
he buried inch after inch of it into her throat, she raised both hands
to his pale, hairless scrotum, gently teasing his balls with her gentle
fingers. She licked and sucked hungrily on the purple, rubbery head,
leaving thick strings of saliva when she paused briefly to catch her
breath.
Soon, he began to thrust harder, stomach tensing, as the demon spurted
the vile contents of his body into her. She closed her mouth tightly
around him, not allowing a drop to escape as she pumped the thin, hard
shaft with both hands. Swallowing desperately, she milked every drop
from him, knowing that his disappointment would bring unbearable
torture.
He watched her lick and suck his shrinking erection, knowing she would
not stop until he gave his permission. "Alright, alright, that's
enough," he said, grinning with satisfaction. Turning away from her, he
hiked the torn jeans to his waist, now looking through the only window
onto the busy street below.
"Strip," he ordered, his attention still focused on the passing
riffraff as they prowled the sidewalks beneath him. Visibly shaken, she
rose slowly to her feet, hesitating just a little too long.
Turning to watch her, Spike exploded. "I said, get your fuckin' clothes
off, bitch! We've got work to do! NOW!"
Deliberately, mechanically, she shrugged the leather halter from her
shoulders, then peeled the tiny skirt over her hips, letting it fall to
the floor. She stood before him, naked and dazed, wearing only the
black heels, afraid to imagine what he had in mind.
He strolled to the rack of outfits on the far wall, removing a
particularly tiny item from its hanger. Returning to her, he fastened
the narrow leather collar around her neck, then attached the six-foot
leash to it, tugging several times to test its strength.
"Let's go," he ordered, as he led her by the leash, disappearing
through the door into the hallway beyond. After several minutes, I
opened the door, hurrying across the dreary room to the window. Shaking
with anger and disgust, tears clouding my eyes, I watched him parade
her, naked, into the street.
Whistles and cheers rose in a sudden chorus as the bikers spotted them,
the outrageous display quickly drawing a small crowd. As a sea of
leather surrounded them, an imposing figure drifted from the growing
circle of bystanders to where Spike offered her to the highest bidder.
She sauntered boldly to face my wife, stopping two feet in front of
her. Well over six feet tall, she smiled cruelly at my wife, eyes
roving over her firm, naked body.
Her resemblance to my wife was uncanny. Except for her towering height,
the hard, slim physique and black, cropped hair made them a perverse
match, silencing the circle of anxious spectators.
I continued to watch from the window as Spike spoke to my wife while
removing her leash, grinning excitedly at the stunning, statuesque
beauty. My wife went to her knees, reaching for the zipper at the side
of the lesbian's skin-tight pants. Then, with a few firm tugs, she
peeled the soft leather down over her long, muscular legs, pulling it
over both six-inch heels.
Kneeling before her, she placed a hand on each sculptured thigh, then
slowly traced a path to her moist slit. Parting the meaty labia with
both hands, she leaned forward, burying her mouth in the slick valley
between her shaking fingers. Her mouth and throat pulsed rhythmically
as she worked her tongue along the wet, swollen inner lips, then
plunging into her warm depths, finally circling the hardened clit with
the tip. Her customer grasped her hair with both hands, guiding her
mouth, forcing her face against her sopping cunt, while my wife
struggled to please her.
The scene below was almost surreal; my wife worked feverishly between
the beautiful dom's legs while the street filled with an ever
increasing crowd of eager onlookers. Spike was in his glory as he
watched his new possession, now defeated, willingly perform the
ultimate act of submission, a public display of her obedience.
Eyes closed, full lips parted, the panting amazon soon shared her
orgasm with her audience as she gyrated wildly against my wife's
face, now soaked with her juices. The crowd's "oohs" and "ahhs" quickly
turned to outbursts of cheers and applause as they watched her cum,
using my wife's wet, aching face until the violent orgasm finally
subsided.
She backed away from my wife as she recovered the leather pants, then
returned to Spike, handing him the money, retrieved from the small
pocket. After planting a quick kiss on his pale cheek, she turned and
disappeared into the cheering crowd, proud of her performance.
Spike returned to my wife, still kneeling on the street, her face shiny
with the secretions of her latest customer. Reaching down, he fastened
the leash to her collar, then, with a sudden jerk, pulled her to her
feet. The crowd parted as she followed him, many of its members bidding
for the next chance to sample her, begging Spike for her submission to
their depraved fantasies.
He led her through the frenzied crowd, domination and profit buoying
him to new heights of satisfaction; he, the proverbial piper, she,
the intoxicating lure that attracted the vermin that followed them.
