Chapter 13

Another night, another date. Or another couple of dates, one for Miranda and one for Murielle.

"This is Harcore," the dating service exec (actually a male secretary) announced in a droll, tired voice. "From our database, he has selected you, Murielle." The two young ladies and the exec, dressed in gowns and tuxedoes, turned to watch the handsome, sandy-haired gentleman in a white tux step forward.

"Oh my god! He's be-you-i-ful!" Murielle groaned, nearly drooling onto her bodice.

"He's okay," Miranda shrugged, wondering what the boy-toy looked like who awaited her. "What's mine look like?" she wanted to know.

Andres, the 'exec', smiled patiently at the simpering, useless rich cunt and bowed, stating, "Yours is named Roger," in a condescending tone to let Miranda know she was beneath his notice except for her tagging along with her rich-bitch sister.

'Roger' was shorter than Miranda and, in the black tux and white ruffles, looked like a penguin as he waddled forward. Miranda's jaw dropped and she stared rudely. "What the fuck is that? It's not my date, is it?"

"I assure you that it is," Andres informed the girl, thoroughly enjoying Miranda's discomfort. "If you can't give enough advance notice, you can't always get what you want. You may, of course, decline our services and stay home. I understand that Staked Out is beginning its third season tonight.

"I'm not sure she's up to my standards, Andres," the penguin squawked. "She has a bit of belly fat on her."

Andres smiled down at his porky friend. "I'm certain you can find several things to do with an extra handful of girl meat, my friend." He grinned down, then glared at Miranda. The girl shivered with a mixture of dread and anticipation.

"I'm ... I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't realize you were a ... a specialist." Miranda forced herself to grin at the squat little troll, trying to ignore the squeamish feeling of actually allowing him to touch her and concentrating on the exquisite pain he could provide. 'I bet he has a lot of anger issues. Can I survive it if he takes them out on me?'

"Very well, then," the little man leered up at the tall, barely dressed female. "Apology accepted." Miranda barely flinched when he offered his arm to escort her down to their transportation.

Club Douleur Exquise had a small entrance accessed by a dozen concrete steps down to a reddish-brown steel door. Roger knocked twice and the burly doorman pushed open the door, stared at the foursome a few seconds, then stepped back to allow entrance.

Murielle took a deep breath, reveling in the drugged fumes and released a pleasant sigh. The doorman locked eyes with her for an instant, and she shivered, fully understanding what the heavy-set man would like to do to her. Turning, she glanced as Miranda, who looked worried with her own thoughts, stepped forward to catch up with Roger.

Leaning against Roger's shoulder and pressing her left breast into his arm, Murielle sighed, "Are we going to eat first? I'm famished."

Roger smiled at her and patted her hand. "Of course, my dear. I wouldn't think of torturing such a lovely lady with a lack of sustenance." Murielle gazed into his eyes, wondering what he would like to torture her with. To the Matre'de, he said, "Pardon, monsieur, nous voudrions manger d'abord."

Their escort immediately turned and bowed slightly, then indicated another direction, holding his palm out inviting the foursome to follow him. Miranda kept turning her head, taking in the sights as she followed her sister and Roger as they passed several rooms with heavy, glass doors, Harcore following behind. In one room, a slender woman was tied, bent backward over a large wheel while a man dribbled steaming, colorful liquid down over her breasts and belly. Miranda could barely hear the screams through the heavy glass, but she trembled excitedly as she watched.

An impatient tug on her arm led her to the next door, where three men were inserting long, slender needles into a woman's over-endowed breasts. At least a dozen more needles were visible where they had been passed through the muscles of both thighs, and across the front of the woman's belly. Long, slender, dark trickles of blood ran down her naked flesh and dripped onto the floor. The woman was silent; her head tilted back with her eyes squeezed shut as though fearful of viewing what was being done, her mouth set in a tight, thin line of pain.

Miranda stared, transfixed by the blood. Suddenly she felt a sharp prick against the rounded bottom of her left breast and jumped, staring down at what had stuck her. Harcore had a tiny penknife in his hand, the tip of which glistened with a drop of her blood. Instantly enraged, Miranda gritted her teeth and held back from taking the knife and shoving it up Harcore's rectum. She allowed herself to be led, quickly trotting to catch up with Murielle and Roger.

"Hey, Twin, is there a room for us?" Miranda breathlessly asked when they'd caught up with her sister. "What do you think they have in mind?"

A chuckle from Roger attracted her gaze. "First, my lovely lady, we are going to dinner. Then, I promise not to do anything so violent as to cause you to lose it," he said to Murielle.

Miranda's eyes widened at the images caused by the man's silky, smooth voice. Sex would be involved, with the certainty of a little pain. She smiled.

"I'm not going to promise you'll keep your supper," Harcore grumbled, causing Miranda's smile to instantly vanish.

"I'd better not eat too heavily, then," she replied softly, almost to herself, refusing to look down at him.

Dinner was pheasant, cooked so tender Miranda could suck the meat off the bone. She barely touched the side dishes, except for a few fried green beans and half a biscuit to add some texture to the meat as it slid down her throat. She allowed herself only half a glass of wine, as she was already dizzy from the drug fumes wafting through the air.

Murielle sipped on her third glass as the table was cleared. She was so dizzy she wasn't certain she could stand, so she kicked off her expensive, toeless, fuck-me-please heels, not wanting to fall on her face trying to balance on them. Reaching down, she fumbled under the table until she'd recovered them and placed them in her lap. When she looked across the table again, she caught Harcore staring. 'I must have given him a good show when I bent down to get my shoes, ' she thought, refusing to return his leering smile. She looked over at her date, hoping to be rescued.

Roger was right on queue, standing up and offering Murielle a helping hand. "The changing rooms are off to the side." In response to Miranda's questioning look, he continued, "We certainly wouldn't want to get any stains on those exquisite gowns, now, would we?" Harcore snorted a laugh and Miranda blushed, quickly looking away.

"C'mon, sis," Murielle chided her twin, "It'll be fun. You'll see." She almost tripped over her own feet while grabbing at her Cho's to keep them from falling out of her lap as she stood up. Roger was quick to help, taking possession of them before Murielle dropped them again.