"Did you hear that, Mr. Nelson?" he said. "The young lady requests that we, as she so quaintly puts it, 'get on with it'."
"Yeah," said Slackjaws. "I heard, all right."
"Shall we comply?"
"Awww," said Slackjaws, terribly disappointed. "Come on, Steve. I thought we were gonna, you know…"
"You fucking idiot," said Paul. "What do you think I meant?"
"Oh," said Slackjaws. "Well…"
"Oh," mimicked Paul, "well." He looked at Slackjaws in disgust, then turned to face Judy. "Miss Burton," he said softly, "would you step over here a moment?"
Judy tried her best to blank out her mind, to use her old trick and leave her body, but fear prevented her from doing it. Although she wasn't sure what they were going to do to her, couldn't figure out why they had brought that big dog along, she knew this would be no ordinary fucking. She took a halting step toward the bed.
Steve Paul reached out his hand. "Come along, Miss Burton," he said gently. "There's nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all."
When Judy had nearly reached the bed, Steve Paul suddenly stood up, reached out and grabbed her by the hair. "You little bitch," he snarled, "get over here!" He threw her onto the bed face down, turned her over, and took both her wrists in his hand. "Slackjaws, get the rope," he said.
The muscleman brought the rope, quickly and expertly tied one of Judy's wrists to each bedpost.
"No, please," she whispered. "I'll do anything you say, whatever you want, but please don't tie me up."
"Shut up!" snapped Paul. "We're calling the shots, not you." This was getting better, now that she was complaining a little – he liked a woman with spirit. She'd be complaining, all right, she'd be complaining plenty as soon as that dog started to work on her, but she'd be loving it too, the little bitch. They all loved it, no matter what they said; and they all looked the same when it was over: exhausted, sweaty, and beaten, completely defeated, completely under his control, and oh, so satisfied!
He stood over her, slowly began to remove her clothing as she squirmed under his touch. "What's the matter, Miss Burton?" he said. "Don't you like me?" He hoped she would say something insulting, giving him an excuse to bring his open hand down hard on her face or her breasts, but she didn't respond. This made Paul so angry that he slapped her anyway, cracking his palm across her face as hard as he could. "You little cunt," he yelled. "Answer me when I talk to you!"
Judy looked up at him, her teeth clenched, tears in her eyes. "You bastard," she whispered. "I hate your rotten guts."
Paul grinned. "Much better," he said. "Much, much better." Hard words and insults were all part of the game to him – the more hate involved, the better he liked it, the more aroused he became. He continued to strip her, whistling softly as her luscious breasts popped into view, revealing her soft, brown, silver-dollar sized nipples. "Mmmm," he said. "Little Timmy-boy sure found himself a pretty morsel here. Too bad he doesn't know what to do with it, eh, Slackjaws?"
"Yeah," said Slackjaws, his eyes wide with lust, "too bad, all right."
"But I suppose," said Paul as he peeled Judy's pants from her, "that we'll just have to show him how to enjoy this little playground. He should be here to watch, of course, but that's all right. I'm sure Miss Burton will have plenty to tell him later on, if she can still talk, that is."
Judy wriggled on the bed, forgetting her resolution to lie still and take whatever they had to offer. She wasn't worried about Tim – he'd understand, she knew, and it might even help him get the courage to leave Jay, and she wasn't too worried about herself either. She'd been had by each of these punks at least once before, knew exactly how much they had to dish out, knew she could take all that and more. Still, she'd never been officially "punished" before, never with Jay Snyder's knowledge and sanction, and she knew that Steve Paul was famous for his cruelty and perversion. And the dog, she thought: what the hell was that dog doing here?
Paul was still perched on his knees above her, fully dressed. Now he began to stroke her, starting at the base of her neck, moving his open palms down her chest, over her breasts, down her stomach to her abdomen, brushing the soft black mound of her cunt lightly before returning to her shoulders. Judy found herself aroused in spite of herself – she had expected anything from Paul except gentleness, and now she found that his light stroke was beginning to stir her body, to awaken the juices of desire that lay deep within her.
"Like that?" Paul cooed. "Well, there's plenty more where that came from. We're just starting, Miss Burton; we've got all afternoon. And a very long afternoon it's going to be."
He continued to move his hands over her in the same way as before, then altered the stroke slightly, using his fingernails instead of his open palm. The gentle scraping of his nails sent chills up Judy's back – she could feel the machinery of her cunt beginning to respond, beginning to manufacture the first squishy fluids of sex. She thought of Tim, of how he had excited her so wonderfully the night before, how she had been sure that no one could ever make her feel such desire. And now here she was, with Tim just barely gone from her apartment, being aroused all over again by the touch of someone she didn't even like, someone she hated, in fact. Is this what it means to be a whore, she wondered, to be a slave to one's own body and at the mercy of any anonymous man who touched her? How could love mean anything if one man's touch was just as good as another's? No, she thought, I have to fight this. I have to reserve my deepest self for Tim and Tim alone; otherwise I'm just a no-good whore.
She clenched her teeth, tried to close her mind to Paul's stroking, tried to turn her body off. She concentrated as fiercely as she could on Tim, on her love for him; but it did no good. Paul's expert hands were like firebrands; each touch seemed to sear at her flesh, seemed to carve their way inside her body to the deepest, most hidden place – there was no denying the excitement that this man created in her, no escape from the prison of her own aching desire. Oh Tim, she thought. If only it could have been different. If only you could have been the first to touch me instead of just an interlude between customers. Then I'd never know what it was to be excited like this by another man, and I could take all my pleasure from you, only from you. Now it's too late; now I'm already ruined. She began to weep softly.
"Why Miss Burton," said Paul, genuinely surprised. "Whatever could be the matter?" Usually his women didn't begin crying until later, until his play changed from gentleness to cruelty. Again he felt as if he were being cheated – this girl would simply not play according to the rules. But on the other hand, he thought, if she's crying already, what will she do when I really turn on the pain? Maybe this was going to be even better than he imagined.
This thought made Paul want to hurry, but he reminded himself that the longer he took with her, the more satisfying would be the result. "Patience is it's own reward," he told himself, laughing inside. Yes, he thought, patience. Patience and practice and time; he had only to follow his own elaborate instincts, and this girl would soon be reduced to a condition of abject slavery, exactly like Cindy and dozens of girls before her.
Paul shifted his position slightly to allow his fingers to reach the sweet flowery confines between her legs. He began to probe questioningly at the soft flesh, softly kneading her cunt-lips with his middle finger, lubricating himself with her spicy fluids. Judy moaned softly as he separated her lips, exposing her clitoris to the cool stimulating air of the room. She writhed helplessly, straining her wrists against the ropes that held her fast while her clitoris began to harden with excitement. Already her thighs were soaked with the hot thick liquid that leaked out from her most secret places; already the thought of Tim had begun to recede from her mind as she lost herself in the lush sensations that Steve Paul was creating.