Chapter 16

Marcy stripped down to a tiny yellow bikini and danced around the cowering executive. Over the past week, the routine the two had gotten into had changed quite a bit. This was yet another change in their routine.

Harold's erectile problems had continued when he went back to Marcy. Seizing the opportunity, she had added a few variations. First, she had doubled the dose of Viagra in his morning coffee. Second, she didn't strip down now. Harold did. She wore a lot of leather things and carried a whip and a paddle, part of her standard hooker gear.

When Harold was naked, he kneeled at her feet, licking her boots until he was hard. That took a long time, sometimes, especially on the two days when she cut out the Viagra altogether. She loved to torment him, cruelly punishing him for being lazy and incompetent. And impotent. He would cry when she said that. When he was finally hard and she was satisfied with the shine on her boots, she would allow him to lick her cunt until she came. That also took a long time, almost always.

It wasn't long before she had Harold gagged -- when he was through licking her, of course -- and handcuffed as part of the routine. He accepted most anything she did now. And with the gag in his mouth, she didn't have to listen to him complain all the time. What a whiner!

She introduced him to cock bondage and whipped his balls with a little flogger. He had squealed and fought until she pointed out just how much bigger he was and how much longer he could stay hard. He didn't know, of course, that she had reintroduced the Viagra that morning. After that, it was an easy sell.

He hadn't liked the leather paddle she had used on his ass or her riding him like a horse, but she just stroked him once on his puny cock and he had actually turned around and offered his ass to her again. He had become, in just a few short days, a total wuss.

Thank God, Mr. Smith had called. Finally! In three days they were going to be headed for the British fucking Virgin Islands. BVI! She was wearing her new bikini to celebrate. She only hoped Harold wouldn't slobber all over it. She did look hot and her big tits were obscenely exposed by the tiny swatches. She didn't care. She was going to be rid of this lump for good! Or if not, at least she knew how to effectively control him.

Marcy had been toying with the germ of an idea to double-cross Mr. Smith. She knew the whole plan for the insurance scam from bits and pieces she had heard. Harold couldn't keep his mouth shut, anyway, so they must have trusted her if they wanted her to keep him quiet and out of circulation. They were sure paying enough. She knew where the weak spot in the plan was. Someone had to withdraw the money as soon as it was deposited and move it to another account. That's why Harold was going down to the islands.

She had heard of these places down in BVI, places where you could buy and sell people. People who could disappear and wouldn't be missed. An ex-boyfriend had told her about snuff films and how they got the 'actors' for them. When she called him last week he had given her a name to contact when she got down there. With her hold over him, it wouldn't be hard to convince Harold to be an actor, especially in a sex film. He would jump at the chance.

That would happen after, of course, he had withdrawn the cash. Marcy, with her newfound power over the wimp, had no doubts she could get the cash transferred to her own account. She had already set one up in the same bank as his was.

She saw Harold's eyes light up as he heard the news they would be leaving soon. The greed was almost palpable as he, too, thought of the islands. She mentioned acting in a sex film and he got hard without the Viagra. She smiled to herself, knowing her plan would work. Harold was a very good licker that morning even if he did slobber a little. And she could get a new suit. She could afford it.

Mr. Smith's attitude at the table the next morning was a radical departure from the abusive man of the last three days. He smiled and chatted with her, letting her eat uncontrolled and even stroked her cheek. She began to relax a little but was still wary. She always got hurt when he was nice.

She was allowed to work unbound but naked in the apartment and upstairs in the club. One of the smaller areas was having a private party tonight and the bar needed to be stocked. If her nakedness bothered her she didn't show it. The other staff, both male and female, were wary of her because of her special relationship with Mr. Smith. They could see his mark, his brand on her.

For the most part, they tried to ignore her nudity, but for some of the men, it was awkward to walk when she was around. The women, dancers and waitresses, were nice to her. When they had a break, they chatted a bit and Alex listened to them. Once she chanced a few questions. Mostly, she kept to herself and worked hard. The others respected her for that.

By the early afternoon, Mr. Smith came in and got her. He led her back down to the apartment. There he told her to get ready for an evening out. He laid her clothes out on his bed, selecting and caressing each article of clothing as she dressed. He had laid out the naughty underwear, her hosiery and heels, and her sexy dress. She now knew what was going to happen. In a way, she was glad. He had accepted her. And she was ready.

He helped her with her makeup and hair, fussing with it until it was just the way he wanted. It was perfect. He stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her, looking in the mirror at their image. They made a stunning couple. He smiled at her and she melted.

Almost as if he didn't want the ruin the moment, he hesitated before picking up the clipboard with the forms that he wanted her to sign. But he did, and she shook her head 'No.' The look that flashed across his face was murderous but it was gone in an instant. She could almost pretend it hadn't been there.

He took her up to his office and poured her a generous glass of whiskey while they waited. She was kneeling in her familiar spot by his desk. She tensed until she saw both of his hands were empty. She remembered how he had helped Lewis with his coughing after giving him a drink. He hadn't gone near the cognac bottle, either. She had watched.

In fact, she had been checking on that fake bottle nearly every day. At least, every day when they let her do cleaning or other work. Even on those days when Alvin had let her sleep, she had made him bring her in here so she could check. The syringe and the small vial of the drug were still there, untouched as far as she could tell. One of her jobs was to clean and stock the bar in the office, so she had arranged the bottle so that she could tell at a glance if it was out of place. Just like she had arranged her dollies on her bed at home to catch Benny snooping for her diary. He never did figure out how he always got caught.

The cognac bottle was turned so that when she knelt by the desk in her usual spot, the label of that bottle and the label of the bottle in front of it were perfectly aligned with the seam in the mirror. Basic geometry; three points make a line and from here she could sight along it. Since you had to move the bottle in front to get to the bottle with the syringe, the chance of both of them being put back perfectly aligned was unlikely. In a hurry, or when Mr. Smith or Alvin were in the room, all she had to do was check on the alignment. A quick glance and Alvin could take her downstairs.

She took the crystal glass from him.

"You don't need to get me drunk, Sir."

"Why should I get you drunk?"

"I know what to do tonight, Sir."

"Really? Are you going to be a slut tonight?"

"I'm not a slut, Sir."

"Then tell me, why are you going to do this?"

"For you, Sir. Because you want me to."

"And you? Will you enjoy it?"

"Yes, Sir. You have trained me to enjoy it."

"I've trained you to be a slut! And tonight I'll prove it to you."

"Yes, Sir."

After a moments thought, she tossed back her drink, the strong whiskey burning her throat. She looked up at him, grinning derisively down at her.

"May I have another, please, Sir?" she asked, holding out her glass.

He handed her the whole bottle and laughed cruelly at her, letting her drink five more large tumbler's full of the conscience-numbing fluid before leading her out to the private party. You could barely notice the wobble in her step.

Mr. Smith took her to a part of the club she had only been in a couple of times before, backstage in one of the smaller rooms. She could hear the noise of the party on the other side of the heavy curtain. Mr. Smith looked around and pulled up a stool. He knew just where to put it so that he would remain just at the edge of the shadows.

Mr. Smith didn't say a word to her. When the music started and the curtains opened, he moved to sit on the stool, watching her.

She danced. She was drunk and she knew it, but she danced. With all her new-found skills and more, now that her few remaining inhibitions were damped by the alcohol. She was beautiful. The bright lights shining down on her caught the brilliant colors of her hair. As it moved with her, it looked alive, flashing and flowing, caressing her face.

She had wound the black cord around her neck, not too tight, but in a narrow band so that looked like she was wearing a collar. The silver bands at the end of the cords were tucked in under the windings. It wouldn't come undone until she wanted it to.

With her hands free, she floated in the lights. The party-goers, sensing something special, hushed. The reverent silence added to the effect, letting her dance for one man alone. The man she wanted.

He was there in the shadows, watching her as she moved. She reached for him and he knew. He nodded and the first strap of the shoulder fell, baring the top of her breast. Then the second fell. Her nipples held up the dress, even through her skimpy bra, until she shrugged her shoulders and they gave way letting it fall to her hips. Only a wisp of lace covered her breasts, barely containing them. She unclasped the bra and it fell away from her orbs like a nuisance.