"Answer me," he snapped.
Grace nodded her head acquiescently without opening her eyes, and thus did not see the look of gloating that lit up Ricky's round moon face like a neon sign. He stared at the ripe contours of her body only partially hidden by her dress, relishing the thought of the humiliation he was about to bring the proud bitch. She deserved everything she was going to get. He would start her training by making her crawl across the room on her hands and knees to him, and she would continue to crawl – like some well disciplined, frightened animal – until he was ready to discard her.
"Take off your clothes… slowly. The dress first," he said.
Only then did Grace look up, an abject pleading in her eyes. Oh, God! It was going to be just as bad as she had thought. He was expecting her to go to bed. The last plea remained unspoken as she saw the look of warning on his face and remembered the two thugs outside the door.
Refusing to think about what she was doing, Grace lifted the hem of the dress over her head and she stood there, shamefully submitting to his inspection. His eyes were like twin spotlights on a police launch, sweeping up and down the hidden estuaries of her body, taking note of the green nylon undergarments, the dark brown hosiery encasing well rounded calves, the smooth curved spheres of her white young buttocks. "Now take off your brassiere. Do it slowly, I want to enjoy it." Ricky watched as she put her long slender arms in back of her, causing her proud full breasts to protrude even further, and unfastened the bra snap. The undergarment hung loosely to the magnificent globes for a moment before she hunched her shoulders together and removed it all together.
He drew in his breath. Christ! Her firmly rising young tits were better than he had even suspected. They were big, but perfect, he thought, staring at the milk white mounds of succulent flesh – looking even whiter in contrast to her golden tan. The aureoles were the size of brown half dollar pieces and the nipples were the size of pencil erasers. He walked up to her and reached out with the thumb and forefinger of one hand, rolling the nipple between them as if he were testing the fineness of some rare material. She cringed her breasts away from his touch and had begun to draw back when she apparently saw the look of warning on his face. Her shoulders slumped in resignation.
God, he thought. She's just too God-damned good to be true. I wonder what her snooty little snatch and asshole looks like. "Take off your slip."
With the removal of each new garment, Grace felt the growth of shame and helplessness. Again and again as she found herself balking she silently said, "Your life depends on this man. Do as he says. Don't think about what you're doing. Just do it."
There was actually a low groan of lust and anticipation from Ricky Karl when he saw her standing there just in high heels and stockings, and a jade-coloured garter belt with tiny black flowers made of lace which framed a pair of sea green bikini panties that clung like a second translucent skin to her delicious curves and body indentations. Beneath her panties, Ricky could see the swelling bulge of her pouting young pubic mound and a lacy dark shadow where her raven black pubic hair grew in sparse little curls between her thighs.
Grace knew now how a terrified female slave must feel when hauled before a cruel, unrelenting, sadistic master. She was afraid to refuse his commands, even more afraid to accede to them for it was obvious what the filthy beast had in mind… he was going to make her go to bed with him. Torn by the battle waging inside of her, she stood trembling waiting for his next order, for there was only one thing more repugnant, more frightening than being here in this room with this vile fat man… and that was to be not in this room, to be outside where Andy and his torturers and murderers could lay their hands on her. She wasn't sure she understood his next request, but when he repeated it, angrily, this time, Grace did as he instructed. She unfastened her garters so she could roll her soft flimsy panties, down over the curves of her hips and legs, then refastened the snaps again and stood upright. Now she wore only high heels, sheer hosiery, and the garter belt. She felt the cool breeze from his air conditioning unit on her nakedly trembling buttocks and between her thighs. Somehow, wearing these items only she felt more nude than she had ever felt before.
Grace watched as the heavy-set man finally unknotted the silken rope around his waist and removed the gown. She knew revulsion was written on her face; it was impossible to hide it. She assumed that he had an erection, but his penis was so insignificant that it was difficult to tell. Ricky backed away until he reached the couch, then sat down with knees splayed out obscenely and hands clasped behind his head. His testicles hung down in front of the cushion. "Get on your hands and knees," he said.
What could the gross, contemptible beast have in mind, she wondered dully, as she obediently got down to her knees, feeling the thick pile of the rug pressing up between her widespread fingers soft against her knees.
"Now crawl over here to me," he said hoarsely, his voice a croak of feral lust.
As though she were viewing some obscene horror film too disgusting to believe, she saw his testicles, his stubby fat penis, his hairy belly coming closer, ever closer, as she crawled from the one side of the room to the couch. She stopped when about six feet away.
"Okay, baby. Now blow it." Ricky said.
"What?" She didn't understand, for a moment – one insane moment of glorious hope – she thought he was telling her to "blow", to go… was giving her permission to leave, that she had done what he had wanted and now she wouldn't have to go to bed with him.
Ricky, seeing her hesitation and indecision, thought for a second that she was refusing him, and his mood abruptly changed from wild anticipation to blind anger. "You stupid bitch," he yelled. "You agreed to do everything I asked. I'm not going to tell you again. Blow me!"
"But I… but I…" Grace immediately felt a rash of tears. She wanted him to know she wasn't being disobedient. She had agreed to do anything – even, if necessary, going to bed with him. She sobbed, "I don't know what you want me to do." She looked up piteously pleading to him.
Ricky saw the tears and the expression on her face and it dawned on him that she was telling the truth. "Let me get this straight," he said slowly, without taking his hands from behind his head, "You've never given a blow job to a boyfriend or your husband."
"I don't know what you mean by 'blow job'."
That put a completely different perspective on the situation, Ricky thought. He wasn't displeased, not at all. And the thought of being the first man ever to spew a gob of hot cum down her lovely, virginal throat made it all the more exciting. There was one thing, however. If she hadn't done it before, she might rebel – no telling what hang-ups a broad has until she's done it the first time. The second time they don't think it's quite so bad, and by the time they've gone the route ten or twelve times they accept it quite naturally. To get rid of any hang-ups Grace might have, Ricky felt the shock treatment might be best. "Get to your feet," he said, his voice less harsh than before.
Grace, feeling something almost akin to happiness because the master was no longer threatening her, stood as instructed.
"Go over to the top right hand drawer of my desk in the corner there." He watched as Grace's undulating buttocks moved enticingly toward the desk. "There's a large manila envelope in the drawer. Take it out. Open it." He almost laughed when he heard her horrified gasp and saw her face blanche in fear. These were even larger reproductions of the same pictures she had seen at Andy's. "Oh… God…" she moaned.