Chapter 1

She regained consciousness slowly, in stages. First there were sounds: the clank of chains, the scrape of something heavy being dragged across a concrete floor, the whir of an electric motor, voices.

No, actually just one voice — heavily accented, fruity and breathless. Like Vincent Price doing an impression of Zsa Zsa Gabor, or vice versa.

The speaker occasionally gave an order to some subordinate who remained silent, but mostly he chattered about home décor.

"I mean, I told him in no uncertain terms," said the voice. "I said, 'Hector, you have got to ditch the gold lamé. It clashes with absolutely everything.' — No, Corgi, we're not going to use the clamps. I don't want to damage her more than necessary. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, so I simply insisted..."

Ms. Americana became aware that she was tied to a sturdy, straight-backed chair, with her wrists bound behind her. She made an enormous effort and finally opened her eyes. What greeted her, at first, was a blurry pattern of light and dark. The pattern changed as someone, or something, moved in front of her, but she couldn't make out what it was.

She blinked several times, hoping to clear her vision.

"Look," someone whispered.

Then the first voice said, "Well, how nice, Miss American Pie has at last joined us in mind, as well as body. The fluttering eyelids, the color restored to those lovely cheeks. How are you feeling, my dear?"

"Where... ?" But MA couldn't finish the question. Her small reserve of strength had quickly been exhausted, and she again closed her eyes.

"Where are you? Is that what you're wondering," said the voice. When MA didn't respond, the voice became sharper. "Corgi, can you get her attention, please?"

MA felt a stab of pain as someone twisted her left nipple. She opened her eyes just in time to see a blur of motion, as that someone slapped her hard on the side of the head.

"I know it's difficult," said the voice, which now came from farther away, "but you really must try to pay attention and stay awake. We have an awful lot of work to do."

Finally, MA got a glimpse of the speaker who went with the voice. It was a tall, slender man in a black satin leisure suit. He was arranging cushions on a chaise lounge on the far side of the room. His back had been toward her, but now he turned, and her blood froze. It was the Magyar.

"Look, Corgi. The shock of recognition — isn't it lovely? I believe she is quite frightened. Are you frightened, my dear?"

When MA didn't answer, the Magyar made the slightest nod of his head, and Corgi's fist slammed into her jaw.

"Not too hard, Corgi dearest. We want her to be able to cooperate."

It took MA half a minute to regain consciousness. When she raised her head, she was looking into the bland, stupid face of a thickset man in a grey T-shirt. So this was Corgi, she thought.

"She's awake again, sir," he said. Then he stepped aside, and the Magyar was looking down at her.

"Are we ready to chat?" he asked brightly.

MA nodded.

The Magyar knelt before her, put his hand under her chin and lifted her head.

"My, you're every bit as beautiful as advertised," he said.

"And you're every bit the Hungarian Queen I was told you were," she said hoarsely.

She waited for the blow to fall, but the Magyar's expression didn't change. In fact, he smiled.

MA pressed on. "I know you're new to this country, asshole, but that's no excuse for dressing like it's still 1977. And your teeth! Don't they have orthodontists in Budapest?"

"Ah, yes. They told me you were a tough cookie."

"Tough cookie?" said MA. "Who writes your dialogue? That went out in the '40s."

The Magyar rose and turned to Corgi. "See. Exactly the response one would expect from a tough cookie. Here she is, barely begun to recover from a powerful neurotoxin that will leave her weak for days, and with her hands tied behind her. But does she grovel and plead for mercy? No, she insults my teeth, my clothes, my idiomatic English. And her expression of bored insolence! I just love that in a woman. It means she's too stupid to know she's in danger."

Actually, MA was well aware of how much danger she was in. But wisecracking seemed a better course than begging. Everything she had learned about the Magyar from Interpol suggested that he killed mostly out of boredom.

She didn't intend to let him get bored.

The Magyar walked over to the chaise lounge and picked up what looked like a cell phone. "Spaniel, get the bitches and bring them down here. I'm going to get some lunch and I want all of you to work on her a while. Nothing too heavy. And be sure to tape it. I want a record of the proceedings to send to her handlers."

The workout was brief but brutal. MA was untied, yanked upright and dragged across the room, past a variety of torture implements and devices, to a full-length mirror. She looked at herself and had to fight back tears. She was naked except for her red boots. Her face was puffy from repeated blows. Her power belt was gone. Her big, beautiful breasts were exposed — and red from what appeared to be bite marks. Her vagina hurt, and she assumed she had been raped more than once.

Spaniel, a slim young man with a mop of auburn hair, stood next to the mirror, videotaping her as she looked at her reflection. Corgi held one of her arms. A big, tough-looking woman in a black leather jerkin and black jeans held her other. In the mirror, MA could see two other women, also dressed in black, behind her.

"Enough of this narcissistic bullshit," said one of them. "Let's do it."

Corgi spun her around, and the woman hit her hard in the stomach. MA bent over, retching.

"Tough cookie tosses cookies," said Corgi, grinning.

A knee slammed into MA's face. It straightened her up for half a second, then her knees buckled. Corgi caught her from behind, his big hands reaching around and squeezing her tits.

The Magyar's three "bitches" were relentless. Several times, Corgi had to tell them to back off.

"Why," asked Wolfhound, the biggest of the bunch. "She's supposed to be some kind of fuckin' super heroine. We've been beating the shit out of her, and she still looks fresh as a daisy. I say, anything goes."

With that she kicked MA in the crotch so hard that her boot disappeared up to the instep.

"Yeah," said Corgi, "but it ain't what you say that goes. The boss says don't hurt her too bad."

"Wait," said Spaniel. "Let me get a close-up of this." He moved the camera to within inches of MA's crotch as Wolfhound shook and twisted her boot, pulled it part-way out, then shoved it in again.

"She's drooling," Bulldog said with a laugh. Spaniel pointed the camera at MA's face, and sure enough a string of spittle hung from her parted lips.

"I think she likes you, Wolfie," said Corgi.

"I bet she'll like this even better," said Mastiff. She had strapped on a foot-long studded copper dildo.

"Great," said Wolfhound. "I've already got her pussy lathered up."

"Pussy, hell," said Mastiff. "Get her face down and put that cushion under her. I'm going to butt-fuck her until her ass is as wide as Mammoth Cave."

"I don't think that's a good idea," objected Corgi. But he didn't interfere as the others pulled MA's legs apart and Mastiff plunged the giant dildo into her anus.

MA, who had been only semi-conscious, awoke with a scream. Mastiff was pumping vigorously. MA struggled to free herself and nearly succeeded, despite the lopsided odds and the lingering effects of the drug. But at last she went limp, and Mastiff continued to ream her until Corgi pulled her away.

"Not hungry?" said the Magyar. "You really should eat. You need to build up your strength."

"You want me to be strong? Give me back my belt."

The Magyar laughed. They were sitting at a wicker table on a terrace overlooking his Hounds County estate. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn that led down to the formal garden.

"No, I want you to be strong enough to cooperate with us, not to..." Here he hesitated and looked over at Spaniel, who stood a few feet away, videocam still at the ready.

"Kick ass," said Spaniel.

"Right. We don't want you so strong that you can 'kick ass.'"

"So you're a coward, as well as a sadist," said MA.

"A coward? But of course. Only a fool puts himself needlessly in harm's way. I am very careful about my physical safety. But a sadist — no, I don't think so."

"No?" said MA with a grim smile. "You could have fooled me. I've seen pictures of the girls you've worked on. In some cases, they were unrecognizable. And your goons did a pretty good job on me today."

"Goons? I have no goons. The men and women who 'kicked ass' today are my associates. Like most American employers these days, I have no employees or servants. Or goons. We are all associates — are we not, Spaniel?"

"Absolutely, sir," answered Spaniel.

"And as for being a sadist, I believe a sadist is someone who gets sexual pleasure from hurting others. But my pleasure, I assure you, is purely aesthetic. You may be sexually appealing to most men, but to me you are merely a promising subject for experiments in cruelty."

MA decided to change the subject. "How come all your 'associates' have dogs' names?"

"No, not dog names — names of canine breeds," the Magyar corrected her. "I don't know why. Perhaps I am sentimental. I love dogs very much. And this is, after all, Hounds County."

"And you are, after all, such a bitch," MA added.

The Magyar evidently had grown tired of her cockiness. He nodded, and MA suddenly felt something hard and heavy hit the back of her head. She slumped forward, and her face landed in the vichyssoise.

"Get her out before she drowns," the Magyar said grumpily. "Then put her in the kennel. A night with real dogs might do her some good."

"Yes, sir," said Corgi. "But if I might make a suggestion, shouldn't I first remove the pit bulls? I mean, you said you didn't want any unnecessary damage."

"Yes, of course. You're quite right. No pit bulls. And no Dobermans. But I definitely want the Pyrenees and the two male St. Bernards in with her. They have such deliciously big dicks. And be sure to give our princess a squirt of Heat before you lock her up."

Corgi and Mastiff laid MA facedown in the little courtyard at the center of the kennel. Mastiff slipped a burlap sack filled with dog biscuits under MA's pelvis, so her pussy would be more accessible. Then Corgi sprayed her behind and crotch with the aerosol sex stimulant that the Magyar's staff veterinarian had concocted.

"Okay, boys, come and get it," Mastiff yelled as she opened the cages of the Pyrenees and the St. Bernards. They came out full of eager playfulness, ready for a romp on the grounds. But when they got a whiff of Heat, their demeanor changed instantly.