“The Galentanos aren’t like the gangsters you see on TV,” I smiled wryly, thinking of old man Silvio with his twice-busted nose and sloping forehead and his son, Silvio Junior, whose taste for nubile females was so insatiable he kept a private kinky sex club just to provide himself and his associates with an endless supply of pussy.
The younger Galentano had made it widely known what he would do to me if he ever got caught up with me. To begin with, I was to be used by he and his lieutenants. A week or so of regularly scheduled rapes in some dingy hotel room, interspersed with a liberal dose of beatings. After that, I’d work in the club, alongside the pretty wives and daughters of his vanquished enemies. When the men tired of my cunt and ass, I’d be sold off to some shit-hole brothel in Tijuana or Bangkok.
“Really?” Jennifer lamented. “Well I’ve seen movies, too, you know. Analyze This and Scarface, too. Twice.”
I stopped short somewhere on the way to the parking garage. It wasn’t the silly movie references, but something else—something which if I wasn’t so self absorbed, I would have picked up right away. “Jennifer Leighton, I don’t believe I have ever seen you without jewelry. Not even swimming or giving a group BJ.”
Jenn-Jenn cast a quick glance at the stone-faced Rolf. “Yes…that is something I’ll have to explain, among other things. There’s a bar, near here, we could talk there.”
“Mr. Baines’ instructions were strict,” said Rolf, proving he did indeed have vocal cords. “The airport and home.”
I cocked my head, not liking either the tone or the content of the blond giant’s remark. My radar had been activated, every female instinct telling me that my well-meaning yellow-haired friend had gotten herself into yet another mess, man-wise. “Jenn-Jenn, if this guy is hassling you…”
Jennifer took my hand decisively. “It’s not that. Come on, we’ll talk in the back of the car.”
I asked for a pit stop first, having become suddenly terrified that in tight quarters there might be some olfactory evidence of my antics in the restroom. I thought that I’d gotten all of Rene’s cum off of me, but I couldn’t be sure. And there were my own juices, which for some reason had begun to flow again at the thought of the Galentanos putting me in their club, forcing me to take my clothes off to music and give myself to any man with the requisite cash to purchase the temporary use of one or more of my three orifices.
But there was more, too. According to rumors, the club catered to a special clientele. Men who liked their women…well, a bit more pliant. Belts and spankings were only the beginning. Some said there were whips in there, too, and honest to goodness chains.
Heretofore, I’d felt only fear and revulsion at the thought of such treatment, but now in the wake of the mysterious Rene and basking in the presence of the ever randy Jenn-Jenn, I was fantasizing like mad…about how maybe rape and white slavery might be fun. With the right guy, anyway, someone big and strong and masterful, like…Rolf.
Okay, I was losing it.
Thankfully, there was liquid soap and deodorizer in the women’s room and lots of cold water to splash on my face. A few minutes later, I emerged relatively freshened, the worst of my sins nicely covered in hospital antiseptic—a scent that would probably give my SoCal aroma therapist/crystal consultant heart failure.
Neither Rolf nor Jennifer saw me come out the other entrance, which gave me an uninterrupted view of something I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to see—something that should definitely not be happening between an engaged woman and one of her fiancée’s employees.
Well, at least I know part of the reason why she’s acting so weird, I thought to myself, watching the buzz cut barbarian put the moves on willing little Jenn-Jenn, pinning her to the wall with his mouth and crotch.
The really strange thing, aside from the kiss itself, was that Jennifer’s hands were at her sides, totally limp. Not exactly like she wasn’t enjoying it, but like it was something over which she had no choice.
Of the pair, she was the first to see me.
“Raven,” she pronounced dreamily, making no move to get the big man off her.
Rolf took his time, nuzzling her neck for a few seconds more. Letting go at last, he picked up my suitcase and resumed the walk to the parking area as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary. The rest of the way to the limousine was passed, not surprisingly in silence. I was allowed into the back seat first, with Rolf holding the door open for us both. Before Jennifer was allowed in behind me, however, the man treated himself to another open-mouthed kiss from his employer’s would be wife.
Once again, my stalwart sorority sister made no move either to encourage or resist, not even when he reached down and undid the uppermost two buttons of her white blouse to feel up her prize-winning breasts. As I suspected, my old friend was bra-less.
It was several more minutes before Rolf let her in the car.
“My relationship with Harold is not conventional,” said the still-unbuttoned Jennifer as soon as the limo was in motion.
I regarded the pink-cheeked girl, her barely covered tits heaving from the exertion and replied, “So I gather.”
“Raven,” she exhaled, moving to the edge of the seat, “you look so good…being on the lam agrees with you.” Jenn-Jenn’s eyes were getting bigger now, like they always used to when she was about to get herself in real trouble. She was weighing something in her mind, and it didn’t take a psychic to figure out what.
“Oh, screw it,” she exclaimed, tearing at the remaining buttons of her blouse with both hands. “See for yourself.”
I gulped hard. “Omigod,” I replied, at a loss for a more intelligent response. “You’re…you’re pierced.”
“You like?” she purred, pulling the blouse and jacket down over her shoulders to give me a better view of the twin set of gold nipple rings. “Harold, my fiancée, did it to me. He has chains to connect them and attach me to things.”
“He…put them in you?” I stammered, though the fact would have been readily obvious even to the stupidest of the Galentano goons.
“That’s nothing, honey. You should see what I have down here.” Jennifer worked her skirt up to her waist and spread herself wide to show me more gold, glittering on her clean, shaven, unpantied sex.
Labial rings. Three of them. This Harold bastard had actually run metal through my friend’s pussy lips!
“He puts weights on them,” she informed me, her nails flitting seductively over the imbonded petals. “And sometimes he walks me with a leash—on this one right here.”
Jennifer was fingering the middle one, the memory seeming to ignite something in her, something dark and wild. Tugging at the ring, she induced a flow of sweet and fragrant juice. “Nnn,” she sighed, flicking one of the nipple rings in conjunction.
At this point, my mind was racing, thinking of options. Was it feasible to jump from a high-speed automobile at night while towing my obviously psychotic sorority sister, or would it be better to wait till we stopped at a traffic light?
The door was locked, of course, so I supposed it didn’t matter. Damn. If only I had one of those guns the Galentanos always carry.
Then again, maybe there was another way to look at this. Not an intelligent way, but a way, nonetheless. Here we were, trapped anyway, Jenn-Jenn sitting across from me, playing with herself for my benefit—hot and slutty as hell, a little she-devil with eyes that practically telegraphed her need for sex. And here I was, wanting to come so bad I could scream.
Now, I’m no lesbian, but still…
Jennifer settled my dilemma with a sudden lunge across the seat, her knees flanking my lap, her crotch pasted to mine before I could raise any objection. For the moment, I was frozen in shock. I mean, I’d thought about this, sure, and there were one or two really fuzzy nights, when we might have done one or two things neither of us remembered, but this was different. We were grown-ups now.
And she was engaged, for heaven’s sake.
“Rave, you are so hot,” she pushe
d herself against me with all the aggression of a man. “Do you know how much I’ve always wanted you?”
I hadn’t, but it was pretty obvious now, the way Jennifer’s hands were molding my breasts through my shirt and bra, greedily forming themselves to the exact contours. Her hot little mouth was on my neck, too, and I was having a hell of time sitting upright. The leather seat beckoned, and over I toppled, ready to give up anything and everything.
I moaned as Jennifer fell down on top of me, giving no quarter. Call it jet lag, posttraumatic stress disorder from my near brush with the Galentanos, or just plain horny slut syndrome, but I was actually prepared to fuck my best friend. And to let her fuck me, too.
“Just…let me…work the…zipper…” I panted, wanting my pants off yesterday.
All that pent up tension from the plane, the heat and danger of being on the run, was going to payoff in one hell of a climax.
“Suck my breasts,” Jennifer demanded, seizing my head between her hands like a nursing mother. “Lick my rings and suck those tits.”
I took the nipple whole. The contrast between metal and flesh was deliciously wicked.
“Mmm, that’s it,” Jennifer sighed, “you know just what I like. I’ll do you, too, your tits and cunt both. I lick pussy really good, Rave. Harold trained me. I’m a good girl now, you’ll see.”
Jenn-Jenn’s bosom was covering my face. I could feel her hand reaching for mine, pulling it behind her, but there wasn’t anything to see but healthy, tanned girl flesh.
“I want you to touch my ass, Rave. I want you to feel what I am now.”
My palm was pressed to smooth skin, the contours of my friend’s perfect ass. More than one boy in school had wanted to worship that ass, but Jennifer had preferred spankings, preferably naked and over the knee.
“Right about here,” Jenn-Jenn guided.
My heart and fingers froze as I felt the ridge. A deep groove, circular…some kind of…design.
Jennifer laughed at the sudden tension in my body. “Bad girl,” she teased, “you have to be looser than that.”
The next thing I knew, my breasts were exposed to the air and she was taking them, chewing, nibbling suckling, making tiny teasing motions, in between which she was talking, saying things I couldn’t—or didn’t want—to understand.
“You like that, don’t you, Rave? You like to be underneath, controlled. You’d like to be like me, too, wouldn’t you? You know what that is, on my ass? It won’t come off, you know.”
“J—jenn,” I cried out, unable to get past her name. “Oh, Jenn.”
My slacks were off my legs, magically, and my panties, too.
“You want to be fucked?” she breathed, her mouth an inch above my quivering, expectant pussy. “Hmm? You want to be pierced, fucked…raped? Rolf can rape me, you know, whenever he wants. My fiancée said he could. But it isn’t really rape, not when they can make you beg for it.”
“Y—yes,” I whimpered as she licked my clit, just the tip of her tongue grazing my pleasure center, “please…”
A moment of heaven, and then abrupt nothingness. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. The car had stopped, Rolf had opened the door, and now he was pulling Jennifer’s head back by the hair, immobilizing her.
“You’re hurting her,” I cried, the need to cover my nude body from the gorilla’s eyes a mere afterthought.
“It’s okay, baby. He has the right.” Jennifer was smiling, a savage light in her eyes. She was in pain, but there was something else there, too. Still holding her hair, Rolf guided her trembling form through the door, slamming it behind him, leaving me by myself.
A moment later we were off again, the tires spinning out as the big black car reclaimed the road. I couldn’t see through the smoked glass divider, but I could hear Jennifer breathing heavily and occasionally squealing in the front seat. I tried to picture the big man, one hand on the road and one on Jennifer. At least he hadn’t left her by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere!
I dressed as quickly as I could, removing as much evidence as possible of our aborted attempt at sex. Talk about a bizarre night. On the old freak-o-meter, this trip was rapidly surpassing the time Jenn and Sarah and I let the Kowalski twins tie us up in that abandoned barn on tiptoes from the rafters and pee all over our nude bodies.
But that’s another story.
The drive took the better part of an hour, which gave me time to calm myself down and gather my thoughts. Suddenly I had not only my own life to save, but Jenn-Jenn’s too. I’d have to use my wits. To begin with, I needed to know where we were heading. Out the window I saw enough greenery to deduce that we had headed out of the city, probably up into Westchester or across the border into Connecticut. In both places there are enclaves of such fabulous wealth that it would make you cream your pants.
And that would be very bad, because super rich people were isolated. They also tended to be above the law, living in their own little worlds.
The Baines estate, lying on the end of a long oak lined private drive was apparently one of these places. There was a uniformed guard at the gate, and three servants waiting to greet us when we pulled into the u-shaped drive. The house was a high-columned mansion, white with evergreen trim. No doubt my dear old Dad, had he still been alive, would have given both nuts for five minutes good, clean cat- burglary time in a place like this.
A man in black and white livery opened the door for me—some sort of butler type of character, I assumed. “Good evening, Miss Lancaster, if you would come with me,” he bowed, “we will get you settled. Did you have a good flight from Los Angeles?”
“Yes,” I replied curtly. “Thank you.” I didn’t take it as a good sign that the man knew my last name or my point of origin. That meant Baines and whoever else was in this sex cult of his had been had been giving out personal data on me.
I stepped gingerly onto the fresh asphalt. It had been raining. A puddle of light—private light from a security light—reflected off the thin sheen of water—which was of course, private water. The red-blazered security men were private, too, as was the breathtakingly lighted fountain and the winged statue depicting some classical goddess.
Despite my recent short-lived opulence, I’m still easily impressed by such displays, never having owned anything bigger than a toothbrush free and clear till I was a year out of business school—fat lot of good that degree did me. It’s true, I had had plenty of clients with this kind of money, but far too little of it had found its way to my pockets before disaster had struck.
“Where is Jennifer?” I queried, noting her singular absence along with that of Rolf.
“The lady of the house is momentarily indisposed,” he bowed again. “I am instructed to allow you time to freshen up, after which Mr. Baines will attend you, along with Miss Leighton.”
I was led into the marble foyer, a cylindrical, gold-domed affair with a circular staircase rising three stories. The butler, a round-headed balding man with a ruddy but bland face, led me up the stairs to the second floor. There were a dozen or more doors along the long hall. Selecting the correct one, the butler showed me a bedroom decorated in French provincial. My suitcase had arrived before me and had been placed on the bed.
A shiver passed through me as I thought of Rolf touching my bag, touching Jennifer.
“I’ll wait outside,” the butler bowed.
I opted for a quick cold shower after which I donned a mid-length skirt and simple top along with a pair of flats. It wasn’t much in the way of escape or fighting clothes, but it was the best I could manage under the circumstances. Burying the soaked panties in the bottom of the suitcase, I closed and locked it and went out to the hall.
After yet another bow, I was taken back downstairs to another corridor, equally long and stuffy. There were paintings on both walls, quite old and regal looking. From their gild-framed perches, a long series of hawk-eyed Baines from past generations noted my progress with great skepticism.
“If yo
u would, Miss, ” the man extended a soft, pink palm, indicating I was to proceed alone through the mahogany door into the study.
“Miss Lancaster,” said the silver gray haired man who was waiting for me. “It’s a great pleasure.”
“Likewise,” I lied, warily accepting the man’s invitation for a handshake. It was firmer than I’d expected, and surprisingly warm.
“Won’t you sit down,” he inclined his head towards a wingback chair upholstered in rich red brown leather.
The elegant current Baines, dressed in dark silk trousers, fine Italian loafers and a silk smoking jacket sat across from me in a padded armchair, also leather. It was high backed, placed in the middle of the room rather like a throne. Behind him rose walls of books, two stories high—exquisitely bound volumes, brightly colored and gold embossed.
A show library, I thought contemptuously, and not for real reading.
“Jennifer tells me you’ve had a bit of…legal trouble.”
I watched as a dark-skinned servant in a white jacket entered the room and went to the bar, pouring out two glasses of brandy. The goblets were a bit large, in my opinion.
“Nothing I can’t deal with,” I smiled thinly, preserving my dignity as best I could under his penetrating, blue-eyed gaze. “You’ll find I take care of myself quite well. And my friends, too.”
Baines made a slight expression, indecipherable. If he picked up on my thinly veiled threat, he wasn’t saying so. I wasn’t surprised; most weasels hid their true emotions. Jeremy Rich was like that. Thin lipped, with beady eyes, a soft exterior that belied a heart of ice. This Baines character, on the other hand, was not too terribly bad looking, with his dimples, cleft jaw, and the way his lips kind of danced subtly over his face as he talked. Could he really be so evil?
Duh. I slapped myself sober mentally, reminding myself that Jennifer had obviously been brain washed, made to join a cult, or some such bizarre thing and it was my job to get her out, not flirt with her kidnapper.
Baines took one of the snifters from the wrinkled servant. The other was deposited in turn in my hand. I drank it down greedily, though I’d sworn just a moment ago I wouldn’t. It burned all the way to my stomach, in that nice, soothing kind of way.
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