Chapter 1: As You Remember Last Time...

Sharon Wilson sat on her bed, slowly dragging on her nylons. It was Wednesday, only a couple of days after her daughter Nora's Senior Prom - an event which had triggered several unforeseen consequences. Certainly, when she'd seen Nora to the door Saturday night under the somewhat reluctant escort of little Teddy Frick - who was lending a thin air of credibility to both Nora and her rather unfortunately shaped friend, Mary Nally, despite the fact that Sharon suspected that he had little interest in girls -- she hadn't expected the circumstances of Nora's return home! Sharon hadn't even bothered to take photos of Nora and the Frick boy -- she had known that as a couple they weren't memorable.

Early Sunday morning, though, the Frick boy was nowhere to be seen; Nora's replacement escort was a lanky black boy named Nate Adams. To say that this development had surprised Sharon no end was to understate the case; she'd been beside herself when she'd snatched them in off the porch in an attempt to keep Armand from discovering the sideshow...

Armand. The fact that she'd been divorced from the man for almost eighteen years didn't keep him from occupying a central position in Sharon's life. He'd divorced her when Nora was a baby, but that didn't mean his influence over either of them was at an end; in fact, to know Armand was to be influenced by him -- and to be married to him was slavery. Sharon had managed to survive for almost three years, but she was permanently marked -- and no one knew better than she that she would never fully escape Armand's control.

This morning was a case in point; Sharon had an eleven o'clock appointment to see her ex-husband at his offices in the City -- an appointment dictated by Armand. Sharon was, therefore, wearing hose and a garter belt. Why? Because Armand did not like pantyhose; they brought out his mean streak. He'd shred them thoroughly, and probably gag her with them or something equally fiendish. True, she'd wear panties, and he'd shred THEM, too, but that was a game; Sharon wore them as an act of defiance, and Armand shredded them to prove his control. It was a dance they'd repeated many times; Armand expected the token resistance, and took some mild pleasure in reducing the meager defense. Pantyhose, however, irritated Armand, something you did at your peril; the time he'd bound her to a chair with them and left her for several hours, ultimately to soil herself, had made his position in the matter quite clear. In fact, she'd borne marks for a month after from the bindings, not to mention the embarrassment and humiliation... The stained chair was present in his office for months after the incident, although she was certain that it only appeared just before she did, and disappeared soon after. And it would be the ONLY piece of furniture in the room available for her use, too -- Armand was like that; he loved to twist the knife, reminding her of her failures...

Armand ALWAYS met her in his office -- but that didn't keep him from renewing his hold on her in some manner, every single time. Sex was a favorite; he'd cow her into some act, and then, in the middle, he'd add to her misery by inviting in his latest 'toy' -- usually a competitor for the position she'd held so long ago. On the odd occasion, positions would be reversed -- Armand would have her watch in embarrassment while he throat- fucked or ass-fucked some model (who was usually on the way out -- humiliation before Sharon was a sure sign of failure). Armand could be brutal, and often was, particularly after he'd destroyed his victim's resistance; boredom would set in and he'd content himself with torturing their bodies, having broken their spirit. Sharon mentally reviewed the list and shuddered; Armand appeared to have no limits as a dilettante. Once, he'd entertained himself with some unfortunate male in her presence -- God knew what Armand had had on the poor man that he allowed Armand to ram his cock down his throat and then brutally sodomize him while obviously being traumatized by the experience. The act had been particularly disturbing to Sharon, and she'd stayed away for over a month afterward -- until Armand would no longer take no for an answer -- but on her return, things were back to normal, more or less; he'd bent her over his desk, and with his cock in her ass, called in some big-titted blonde on some pretext... Sharon supposed that Armand had had a couple of transvestites in his time, too...

Why did she continue to expose herself to his depredations? Well, there were three reasons: First, and foremost, unless Armand willed it, escape was absolutely impossible. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide... Second, the hand that lay so heavily upon her every few days also dispensed the good things in life for herself and her daughter. The alimony and child support that Armand's lawyers had bullied her into were meager, and she was unfit for normal work (she thought - the reality differed by a great deal), but the arrangement that they'd stumbled into wherein Sharon discovered charitable outlets for Armand's empire that managed to convey commercial advantage to him brought her 'gifts' -- additional monies that eased them through the tougher times and allowed occasional holidays or sprees. Last... Sharon shied away from an examination of that final reason; she knew it was there, but she couldn't deal with the admissions involved. Sharon had been raised in a tight, dark box bounded by her parent's Puritanical superstitions; Armand, from the first, had cared little for such foolishness -- except in the fact that it fueled the fires of her resistance to him. He would snatch her out of that box and use her without mercy, then allow her to return to the security of its confines and deny that she had the power to resist the awful acts while insisting that she'd TRIED -- and refusing to admit that she'd enjoyed both the acts themselves and the humiliation and sometimes pain that went with them immensely.

And enjoy them she did; Armand had seen to that from her earliest training. The night of their first date, he took her virginity, brutally, but he saw to it that she had one orgasm, and approached that point a second time -- then emptied himself in her, leaving her hanging, frustrated. Her mind remembered failure -- but her body remembered success, and it was traitorous forever after.

Events prompted by Nora's Prom Night escapade had made denial seriously difficult, for a number of reasons, first among which being that it is difficult to deny enjoying something when you've SEEN yourself awash in the throes of passion! Armand's telephone call early on that Sunday morning following the Prom had been thoroughly unexpected from the standpoint of his reaction to Nora's choice in boyfriends -- Armand had surprised them both with his approval of the Adams boy, despite his race and other apparent disadvantages -- but his dealings with Sharon over the phone had been pure Armand -- thoroughly fiendish... Sharon sat there on the bed, stocking in hand, replaying the event and those that followed in her memory...

Nora wordlessly passed the phone to Sharon, who took it gingerly. Having the advantage of being able to see her via hidden cameras, Armand announced without preamble, "It appears that you may have periodically done something right, after all! While I will continue to investigate him, I have no issues with Nora's choice in male companions at this time. In fact, I'm highly pleased that she had the backbone to take on such a challenge!" He paused a moment, enjoying the play of expression on his ex-wife's features, then: "You will write her a note excusing her from school starting at," he glanced at Jason's notes, "10:00 a.m. Jorge will pick her up in my limo to take her to my staff gynecologist, who will examine her and prescribe methods of birth control. She is to telephone my office regarding future needs in this area -- I will see to it that she gets the best. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Armand," Sharon murmured tonelessly.

"Nora's exercise in team calisthenics reminds me that your sexual horizons have been somewhat limited for some time. That doesn't seem fair to me. You DO appear to enjoy sex, still - even with me..." Armand smiled, watching Sharon's vain attempt to hide her reaction to his teasing. "Isn't that right?"

It killed her to admit it, and she blushed crimson, but she uttered the only possible answer, "Yes."

Armand pretended to be pensive, "Yet I have no evidence that in between your visits to me you conduct any sexual activity at all -- even playing with yourself! Why is that?"

"I-I," Sharon stopped, unable to continue. How could she answer with Nora sitting right there? "Uh, because I don't!"

"Why not? Surely you don't think I expect to approve your sexual partners?" Armand watched Sharon sit staring at Nora, fearful that she had divined the subject of the conversation. Sharon finally opened her mouth, but he forestalled her, smoothly, "Yes, you do -- and you would be correct." The steel under the velvet in his voice was distinctly detectable. "Still, I don't think I'm doing you justice. How long has it been since our last encounter?"

"Uhhh, two weeks," Sharon replied, voice beginning to shake. Where was he going with this?

"Seventeen days is more like it," Armand corrected. "Did you enjoy it? Hmmm, probably not -- as I remember it was just a blowjob, more for little Felicia's entertainment than anything else. Remind me to discuss Felicia with you next time -- she's been a surprise, and I think you may have contributed to it." Armand turned and locked gazes with the redhead, who was present in his media room with him. Yes, the realization that there was no possibility of escape that Sharon's treatment had engendered had probably been pivotal...

Actually, Sharon HAD enjoyed it -- at least that part of her that reveled in Armand's abuse had... But she couldn't admit it, and that inability was one of the things about her that gave Armand pleasure -- that and the fact that her face gave her away... Grinning, he continued, "Next time, we'll do anal -- be ready. In fact, why don't you come around on Wednesday? We can discuss our offspring, before -- or during..." Sharon was endlessly entertaining, he mused, as he watched her shudder with arousal and cringe simultaneously. Sharon DID enjoy anal sex -- but was even less capable of admitting it. It was wrong, and dirty -- and it was capable of generating powerful orgasms in her when Armand cared to do it right.

Armand chuckled and set the next needle: "In the meantime, what can I do for you? Send you some toys? Jason, make a note." He flicked a glance at his second in command, who began writing busily on the pad he was carrying. "How about a nice black buck of your own to keep you in tune? Someone decorative, that you can take to bleeding heart charity functions, but with a nice long, fat cock to stick in your holes?" Armand's pleasure was more than evident as the woman's image on the video screen shaded toward the red. "But why be stingy? Maybe I should round up two or three, to visit you in rotation, or -- dare I say it? -- simultaneously?"

Nora looked on, amazed, while her mother, beet red, clutched the phone in a white-knuckle grip and shook. What was he saying to her?

"I-I really don't need that, Armand," Sharon forced out.

"Nonsense!" Armand disagreed, "At a minimum, you can expect the toys and some videos this afternoon, by courier. Use them, or I will send someone along to help you, understood?"

"Yes, Armand," Sharon choked out.

"And another thing," Armand pressed, "It is past time that you informed our daughter that our sexual relationship continues in force -- I'll not have her holding your weak bones up for sainthood."

"B-but... !" Sharon sputtered.

"Do it, my Dear," Armand ordered, "or I will -- and I'll show video footage to prove it!"

"V-video?" Sharon was aghast.

"Of course," Armand replied, unperturbed, "I'll tuck a couple in with the other videos in this afternoon's delivery." He paused a moment, enjoying the visual effects of this new revelation. Sharon was near apoplexy. With artificial gentleness, he continued, "I know this is a big step for you, so I'll give you a couple of days -- but if you don't comply, I WILL show her, and then send her home to find you being checked for air- tightness by three big black bucks! Do you know what that means?"

"N-noo..." Real fear gripped Sharon. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good -- and she had a sinking feeling that it would be Armand's new favorite threat. And he ALWAYS followed through, eventually...

Armand chuckled, "It means that each of them will be filling one of your available holes with cock! Now are we clear? Or do I start looking for candidates?"

Sharon shook like a leaf; the threat was classic Armand -- horrible, yet magnetically compelling. It would live in her dreams, good and bad, for the near future... "I understand," she choked out.

"Good," Armand purred. "I'll see you Wednesday, then -- at eleven, I think. Unless something else comes up... Remember to use the toys -- but not on your ass, I want it nice and tight!" Armand hung up.

So badly shaken was Sharon that Nora managed to pry an admission of her ongoing sexual relationship with Armand from her within moments.

Jorge, Armand's chauffer, delivered Armand's little care package that afternoon, his grin showing nearly every one of his perfect white teeth. Obviously, the little Puerto Rican knew the box's contents. Sharon managed to limit the revelation of her humiliation to a mild blush as she took it and thanked the dapper little man politely. Jorge nodded and made himself scarce without comment. Nora was present, and the women had shared a significant glance, but Sharon had retired upstairs to inventory the box's content in privacy.

There were several items: a large, 'realistic' black dildo; two different 'normal' vibrators and a butterfly clitoral stimulator; some large beads on a string that Sharon didn't know what to make of -- and several DVDs. The lurid cases of the first half-dozen proclaimed their contents pretty clearly, but there were two at the back in plain cases... Opening one, she noted that the disk was marked with a series of dates -- that was all; but a little thought told her that she'd been in Armand's office on each of them.

That night, two glasses of red wine had fortified her to the point that she could attempt compliance with Armand's instructions. Selecting the least imposing of her new collection of vibrators, she bent to an examination of her viewing materials. The homemade items were rapidly returned to the box; Sharon would require some desensitization to porn before she could countenance anything so personal. Flipping through the other selections, she discovered a variety: some BDSM, gang-bang compendia, bisexual, interracial -- even something with dogs and horses, apparently. Well, interracial seemed to be the hot topic... Sharon had settled back and gingerly applied the vibrator while watching two sequences in which hugely endowed blacks plowed somewhat submissive if not actively masochistic white women. Orgasms turned out to be relatively easily produced; Sharon had four before she fell asleep, exhausted.

Sharon would have been a lot less at ease had she known that her every move was being taped from two different angles! While she was aware that Armand had both her and Nora under surveillance, she'd not been allowed to realize the intensity of it; Armand had her entire house wired for sound and video, along with a dedicated team of private investigators that tracked them EVERYWHERE. Sharon's gingerly executed antics with the vibrator went straight to DVD, to be delivered to Armand with his morning paper and coffee -- for Armand was a bit of a voyeur, and Nora and Sharon were the stars of his favorite TV show...

Monday went pretty much per Armand's instructions; the first part of that Sunday telephone call had included instructions for Sharon and Nora to facilitate Nora's appointment at Armand's staff gynecologist to acquire birth control. Jorge, Armand's chauffer, picked Nora up at school at 10:00 and delivered her to the posh offices of an uptown gynecologist, who poked and prodded her and wielded a speculum. "This looks recent," he announced, examining the remnants of her hymen.

Nora, already blushing at the unaccustomed invasion, (being examined in bright light, nude from the waist down, on a table with her feet up and spread was a new experience), replied, "Yes, Sir, Saturday night."

Doctor Beckman frowned, and announced, "I would normally launch into my standard lecture about the perils of STDs, but since you're coming from Armand Wilson, I'm going to assume that that's the least of your worries..."

"Oh?" Nora replied, interested, "My father sends you many patients, then?"

Doctor Beckman blanched. "You're his daughter?" Somehow, he managed to keep from bursting out with, "This is a new low!" In nearly two decades of dealings with Armand Wilson, he'd seen about everything, but deflowering his own daughter?

Nora, wondering what occasioned the response, murmured "Yes... Since I'm here for birth control so my boyfriend doesn't have to wear rubbers, I imagine Daddy would want you to give it to me anyway..."

"Oh. Hmmph." Settling in to do the cervical exam, Beckman proceeded to deliver his lecture, "Birth control protects you from pregnancy, but not disease. Rubbers, as you call them, protect you from both, despite the discomforts. HIV is only the worst of the evils out there; there is also herpes, which is equally incurable, and half a hundred more minor infections. Seventy-five years ago, syphilis would have been the most serious, but it's a brave new world. Do you intend having more than one partner?"

"Not at one time," Nora responded, combing her mouse brown locks with her fingers. "I have only one in mind, for now."

"Hmph. Good," Beckman responded. "Do you know where he's been?" he asked, while collecting Nora's first PAP smear.

"I have a pretty good idea," Nora responded. "He'd probably be reluctant to admit it, but I think I'm his only partner, ever. Certainly, he's been doing without for a while..." Nora smiled fondly.

"Hmph. Well, if things stay that way, it's better than nothing," Beckman responded. "If you can't abstain, and won't use prophylactics, keeping the number of your partners down is the next best thing. Of course, you have to control HIS, too..." Beckman gave Nora the fisheye. "Of course, being Armand's daughter, you'd know all about control..."

Nora rose up on her elbows and engaged Beckman's eyes. "Not really -- maybe you can tell me? You see, I don't live with my father -- yesterday was the first time I spoke directly with him in years. I know how he works, though..." She eyed Beckman for a moment, then: "What's he got on YOU?"

Beckman's blanch told her she was on target, but he refused to reveal anything. "Hmmph -- never mind. You're right, though - nobody ELSE gets next-day appointments. He can be VERY persuasive." He finished up and removed his gloves. "You appear to be fine, although I'm going to have my lab tech draw blood and test you for everything under the sun; it's too early for most diseases to show up, so if you start having any symptoms of any type, call me." He inked a number on a prescription slip and passed it to her, murmuring, "Take it easy on that -- it's my private number." Nora nodded, silently recognizing more evidence of her father's hold on Dr. Beckman. "Go ahead and get dressed," he added, handing her another slip with a Pill prescription and a third with a morning-after contraceptive prescription. "The Pill takes a bit; don't expect it to be fully effective until your next period. This should tide you over, although it tends to cause cramps. Best if you continue to use prophylactics until then. If your relationship is stable then, fine. If not, and if you're NOT sexually active, I'd advise not using the Pill. Tell my assistant I said to give you some foam samples on the way out, in case you just can't handle rubbers. And you can get THEM from my assistant, too." He turned and walked out.

Dr. Beckman's assistant directed Nora to his lab where his tech fulfilled the promise of the blood draw, after which she returned to the assistant for the product samples. On the way out, however, Beckman was standing there, scratching notes on her chart. Handing it to her, he directed, "Give this to your driver."

Nora gave it a glance; yes. it was hers. "Why?"

"It's a duplicate. He'll want to know."

Nora frowned, but compared this with her mother's comments of the day before. "This seems to be old hat. How many women has my father sent you?"

Beckman eyed her for a moment. "I take care of the women on his household staff, and he habitually sends me his current partners to check for disease."

"You're not telling me something -- maybe several things. How many is that?"

Beckman sighed, "Come with me." The entered what was obviously his private office, and he waved her into a chair. "You don't live with him, then? What do you know of your father?"