"You shouldn't have done that, my dear," he said in a low, coldly composed fury. "No, you shouldn't have done that at all…"
Melanie shrunk back in the chair, her heart leaping into her throat. She saw his eyes flicker with a cruel hatred, and she knew that any compassion he may have held for her before had been totally destroyed. Deep fear gripped her belly as she watched him bring his hand slowly to his mouth and wipe the blood away. His gaze glanced to the smeared streak on the back of his hand and then quickly back to her.
He slowly untied the satin sash of his velvet smoking jacket, exposing his bare, muscular chest beneath, and without a word withdrew a long leather belt from his pants. Melanie huddled in frozen terror, her eyes staring in wide-eyed horror as he raised his arm and cracked the belt through the air, the tip biting through the cloth of her dress and brassiere to snap at her left breast with a sudden excruciating pain. She cried out in agony, and fell limply to the floor in front of him, hands clutching his pants legs in a beseeching manner.
"No! I'm sorry! Oh God, Amos, I'm sorry!"
The belt sang through the air again, this time catching her full across her back and as far down as her buttocks. She screamed again, this time deeper as the cruel leather cut its way into the bare flesh of her legs, leaving a tiny red welt rising on her skin behind its cruel path.
"Aggg! Aggg! No! No more, please! I'll do it! I'll do whatever you want! I'll do anything!" she blurted out after several more lashes of the sickening torture. The pain was unbearable and she knew if he hit her enough she would faint dead away. Her mind was beyond logical thought, the only thing mattering to her was to escape his horrible punishment.
"Say fuck, shit, cunt!" the evil movie house owner harshly demanded. By God, he would break this proud girl's spirit yet!
"Ohhhhh, fuck, shit, cunt!" the words spurt from her mouth without hesitation, no thought of resistance left.
"Again!"
"Fuck! Shit! Cunt!" she shrieked.
Amos Andersson held the belt threateningly over his head for a moment longer, a lust-eager smirk dancing across his lips. Then he tossed the belt aside and reached down for the young wife he had just savagely tortured. Melanie closed her eyes tightly as she felt the humiliation of his hands moving over her, stripping her clothing away. He didn't bother with buttons or snaps, but ripped her thin summer dress from the neck down to the hem, peeling the pieces away roughly and throwing them haphazardly to the floor. She clenched her teeth together, fighting off waves of nausea as he drew her thin nylon panties slowly down her rounded full buttocks and off her tapered legs. Her brassiere came last as he took each cup in a hand and tore it away brutally, her firm full breasts popping out like ripe succulent melons ready for harvest. The tiny red nipples hardened involuntarily as they hit the warm air of the living room, and stood up like dainty pink buds of a spring flower ready to quiver into blossom.
Andersson stood back from her a few feet then, and turned to pick up a cosmetics case nearby. This should be a most entertaining and profitable day combined, he thought happily, as his gaze once more wandered over the voluptuous young body sprawled naked and defenseless before him.
Melanie huddled docilely in the center of the carpet, her thoughts a jumbled mass of humiliation and hopelessness. She knew she was at his mercy. She could not fight against pain or even the threat of it, and she wished she was dead this very minute to escape the degradation she knew was to be heaped upon her naked body now. But there was no way out, only helpless submission to a brutal man who was entirely without scruples or compassion. She had no idea what to expect down in that cellar he'd spoken of, but her imagination ran wild with fears. What could ever be enough for a man like him? Great tears of self-pity swelled through her clenched eves and rolled silently down her cheeks.
Suddenly she shuddered as she felt the long, manicured nails of Andersson's smooth fingers caressing her face. She opened her eyes and saw he was kneeling beside her with a large, hat box shaped cosmetic bag open before him. Humming delightedly to himself, Amos began combing her long blonde hair out into its full length beauty again, spraying it gently as he worked with some kind of lacquer that made it shine more radiantly than ever.
"Don't be so frightened, my dear," he said in a calm voice. "You were most accomplished with Syble and myself last Wednesday night. It really won't be different – much. There are some marijuana cigarettes in the make-up bag there, if you would like one."
"No," she protested, shivering under his light, sure, touch. "I won't ever smoke one of those horrid things again."
"That's up to you, my dear. I brought them over here in case you wanted some help overcoming those silly inhibitions of yours."
Melanie sat in dejection as Andersson applied make-up to her in an effort to erase the marks of her crying and beating until she was presentable again. She looked at the thin brown cigarettes and pondering whether she should have one or not to relieve her horror and fear. She was deathly afraid that she would suddenly be gripped with revulsion and not be able to go through with it. Once it had resulted in a belt whipping… the next time it should happen, she was afraid it might destroy her chances forever of getting those pictures back from Andersson, and with that all her hopes for a decent life again with Tim.
The nakedly trembling young wife reached forward slowly and picked one out of the cosmetic bag and lit it. She took a deep, deep drag, feeling the familiar pungent sweetness within her lungs, and then quickly inhaled again. As she smoked, she sat before the mirror that was in the uplifted lid of the cosmetics case; and with each pull from the thin, burning cigarette, she gradually felt a calmness relax some of her tense, frayed nerves.
She watched with detached interest as Andersson worked on her face and hair, studying in the reflection of the mirror the motion of his fingers across her skin and the quivering curves of her naked flesh. She was more beautiful than she had really noticed before, and she moved slightly so she could examine all of her in the mirror. Her breasts were creamy white and firm as a teenager's, and she could see, as well as feel, her nipples tingling into taut erection, protruding from her swelling round globes into the open air. She drew further from the soporific cigarette, holding the smoke long – long – until her lungs would almost burst from the delicious pressure being exerted upon them. The mirror began to haze her image… Amos' fingers were feeling like little spider's legs on her flesh… she could feel within herself anything she concentrated upon… the insidious marijuana again began to take its toll upon the logic of her mind…
"There now," Andersson eventually said, standing up to admire his handiwork. "You're all set for your debut. Come, my dear," he said, lifting Melanie to her feet with his hand, "Come and see where I will make you famous…"
He led her as he would a timid child across the living room to a door at the opposite end. With every step of her bare feet, Melanie felt more naked and defenseless than ever, and with it, a gripping return of her initial shame and terror. But the marijuana had braced her a little, and she now felt prepared to go through with it in spite of her revulsion toward the depraved, handsome man who had her at her mercy. She had created this horrible situation by her moment of weakness, and there was no one to get her out of it except herself. She just hoped to get it over with as quickly as possible and get away with those damning pictures. Then, perhaps, she could piece together a semblance of a normal life again.