by Smith, Bryan
There were problems on many levels. After working together as lovers for the first few years, they separated when Megan started getting back into sleeping with men. There was some bitterness about this, but they continued working together because the act was too profitable not too continue with it. Mostly they remained cordial and professional in their personal interactions, but things soured further as Megan’s cocaine habit—prodigious to begin with—finally began to spiral out of control. She spent too much money and got in trouble with the wrong people.
In the end, she wound up dragging Helga into the muck with her. Turned out Megan had promised these people her partner would pay off her debt. This she’d done without consulting Helga, who only found out about it when representatives of Megan’s debtors paid her a visit.
This happened on the last stop of their final tour. She was sitting alone at a table in the smoky lounge of a hotel in Denmark when a slim and professionally dressed dark-haired woman pulled out a chair and sat across from her. There were two men in black suits and ties with her, both wearing dark sunglasses. One was bald and one had close-cropped brown hair. Muscular bruisers in tailored clothes.
Right away, Helga didn’t like the feel of it. Stubbing out her cigarette, she grabbed her purse and started to rise, but one of the men—the bald one—circled the table and gestured for her to sit down. He was standing with his back to the bar, where the lounge’s only other patrons were seated. He pulled back a flap of his blazer to reveal a shoulder rig. The grip of a 9mm pistol jutted from the holster.
Helga sighed. She sat back down. “Right. Who are you? What do you want with me?”
The dark-haired woman leveled an icy stare at her. “We are here to settle your debt.”
Helga frowned. Having no outstanding debts whatsoever, she was deeply confused. “The fuck are you talking about? I don’t owe anybody anything.”
The woman smiled. “Oh, but you do. I believe you are in business with a woman known professionally as Vivian Ice.”
Helga groaned as a knot began to form in her stomach. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“You acknowledge knowing her, then?”
Helga tapped another cigarette out of her pack and lit it, blowing smoke across the table. “You already know I do, but I’ve got nothing to do with whatever that bitch is into now. Aside from the act, that is.”
The woman shook her head. “According to her, that is not precisely true. She says you agreed to pay her outstanding debt to us.” The woman’s smile widened slightly, though her eyes remained cold and unfriendly. “In full.”
Helga couldn’t help it. She laughed. Not because she wasn’t afraid. She was. These were serious people. They meant business. But the absurdity of what she was being told was just too much.
“I told her no such thing.”
The dark-haired woman shrugged. “I assumed as much.”
Helga exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Then why are you here?”
The woman leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the edge of the table. “Because whether you actually made this promise or not, we intend to collect the money from you.”
“And what if I say no?”
“That would be unfortunate.”
Helga grunted. “Let me guess. You’d have to break my legs or something.”
The woman shook her head and didn’t visibly react as Helga blew another cloud of smoke directly at her. “I’m afraid not. The organization I work for doesn’t believe in half measures.”
Helga frowned. “You mean you’d kill me? Really?”
The woman nodded, said nothing.
Helga stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in frustration and sudden rage. “Maybe I should scream for help. This is a public fucking place, you know.”
“That would also be unfortunate.”
Helga snorted. “I bet. For you.”
The woman shook her head. “No, not for us. For you. And for everyone else here.”
Helga gave her a dubious look. “You’d kill them all? Really? In broad fucking daylight?”
“Yes.”
The woman held Helga’s gaze as she uttered the single chilling syllable in an even, unconcerned tone. Helga stared back and decided within about two seconds that she believed her. It was crazy, but crazy, insanely violent things happened all the time. The news was full of the bloody proof on an almost daily basis.
“How much does the bitch owe you?”
The woman’s smile returned and now there was even a faint glint of something like warmth in her eyes. “We’ll get to that soon. But first, you should know our business with you today is not merely about collecting a debt.”
A silent moment went by as she allowed this enigmatic pronouncement to hang in the air.
Helga felt a deep wariness. She was sure she didn’t want to know what else this was about, but that didn’t matter, not really. She knew she wouldn’t be allowed to leave this place without hearing the rest of it. “Okay,” she said, her nerves causing her to reach for her cigarette pack without taking one out. “I’ll bite. What else do you want with me?”
“I work for an organization called the Order of the Dragon. We are an ancient society with influence at the highest levels of government in every developed country. The other reason for our visit today is to offer you an opportunity within the organization.”
Helga laughed. “You’re fucking kidding me. You’re, what, a corporate headhunter?”
“In a manner of speaking…yes.”
“And you’re here to offer me a job?”
“An opportunity. Yes.”
Helga laughed a little harder. “And this organization of yours, the way you describe it, it’s basically like the Illuminati, right? The behind-the-scenes people who control everything. Right?’
“You are not far off the mark.”
Helga felt like she should laugh again. What this woman was telling her was too ridiculous to believe. And yet no laughter would come. Instead there was just this deepening chill. It was caused by the apparent fact that this woman was either telling the truth or believed she was telling the truth. In that moment, she wasn’t sure which possibility frightened her more.
This perception slowly began to change as the woman told her more about the supposed opportunity. Drinks were ordered. They discussed it in detail. She would be taken out of the comfortable, jet-setting life she’d known, but she would be placed in a position of near absolute power within an unusual, challenging environment. More importantly, the nature of this environment would allow her to indulge her darker appetites, the secret ones she’d had to—mostly—stay away from since her days at the Sin Den.
The Sin Den was a now-defunct backwoods strip club where she’d essentially been held prisoner until her eventual escape. Which was bad, of course. She hadn’t liked not being in charge of her own destiny. On the other hand, she’d been the star attraction, and she had, on occasion, been allowed to torture and kill people for fun and entertainment.
She still messed that part of it.
Missed it a lot, in fact.
The Order of the Dragon had been tracking Helga for some time. Or so the woman said, though by the end of the conversation Helga had lost all doubt on that count. They knew all about her past. Far more than they should, in fact, including things she was sure she’d never said out loud to anyone, things about some of her deepest, strangest desires. That part of it was creepy, but it was also intriguing, as it added credence to what the woman had said about the nature of the organization.
An arrangement was made. She would be allowed time to think about it. A week. If she was not interested, she would be allowed to go on with her life after paying off Megan’s debt. She would not be harmed. Helga wasn’t certain she believed that last bit, but it didn’t matter. Her interest was piqued.
At the end of that week, she was contacted again, this time by phone. She talked to the same icily efficient woman, Ms. Ludmire. The next da
y she got on a plane and was flown to Prison 13 for a tour. At this point, she was interested, but not convinced. However, by the end of her tour of the facility, Helga knew she would accept the offer.
She made just one request of her new employers, one that was happily granted.
Turning away from the mirror, Helga touched a button on a wall panel and an electronic trapdoor in the center of the room slid open with a quiet hum.
An until-then unheard whimper immediately became audible. The hidden compartment was soundproofed. This was to keep things quiet in the room when that was what Helga desired. Other times Helga left the door open—or partly open—to hear the sounds of suffering emanating from her slave’s prison.
She stepped to the edge of the compartment and peered down at the naked, shackled woman inside it. Her flesh was ghostly pale from many months of confinement spent mostly in total darkness. She had been shaved bald and her flesh was dotted with burn marks from Helga’s cigarettes. Several laceration scars were also visible.
An odor of urine and shit wafted up, making Helga wrinkle her nose. The compartment was ventilated and was equipped with a system for flushing out the woman’s waste. But the system wasn’t perfect. The compartment—and its inhabitant—would never be completely clean, nor would the odor clinging to her dirty body ever really be a pleasant one. But that was fine with Helga. It was part of the point, in fact. The woman was a filthy whore. It was only right she should be forced to wallow in her own filth for the rest of her pathetic life.
Helga smiled when the woman turned her head and cringed upon seeing the face of her tormentor. “Come up out of there, Megan. I want to play with you before work.”
She returned to the wall panel and jabbed another button. There was a loud clack as the shackles bracketed to the walls of the compartment popped open. Helga returned to her prior position at the edge of the compartment and waited.
Megan moaned, but did not move. It was possible she lacked the necessary strength. Though she’d always been thin, Megan was now a bony, wasted-looking thing. A shriveled, emaciated husk. Her strength had been declining at a faster rate in recent weeks. While all aspects of her former partner’s suffering pleased her, Helga did not want to see her die. Eventually, of course, but not for a long while yet.
An adjustment to the cunt’s diet might be in order. Right now she was getting a once daily feeding of barely nutritious mush. At least half the time she threw it up without digesting it, which was not exactly conducive to life longevity. Some more meat would have to be put on her bones, just enough to get her a bit healthier and able to last for many more months to come.
Helga made a mental note to deal with it later. “Come the fuck up out of there, you sickening pile of shit. Do it or I’ll give you the electricity again. You don’t want that. Do you?”
Megan moaned as she braced a shaking hand on the dirty concrete floor beneath her and tried to push herself up. It took a while, but she was eventually able to get to her knees. Facing her was a set of three concrete steps leading to Helga’s bedroom.
Megan’s mouth moved as she looked at Helga. An inarticulate mumbling emerged. Her teeth had been removed. So had her tongue. Her attempts at verbal communication were laughably pathetic and mostly incomprehensible, but in this instance Helga took her meaning.
“Yes, I know the climb won’t be easy, but I have faith in you. I know you can do it. I’ll be on my bed, Megan. Come to me. Perhaps if you get to me fast enough, I’ll take it easy on you today.”
Helga smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed and waited. She wouldn’t take it easy on Megan—not today or on any other day—but she was a believer in providing at least the illusion of an incentive.
Megan’s moans and whimpers grew steadily more plaintive and pitiful as she struggled to climb those measly three steps to floor level. At one point, she slipped off the first step and lay sobbing on the floor again for a few minutes.
Helga made a loud tsk-tsk noise. “Now that just won’t do, Megan. I’m about to give you the first of several jolts. Starting in five seconds if I don’t hear a renewed effort. Five, four, three…”
Megan mumbled something.
Then she started moving again.
Ten minutes—or thereabouts—later she heaved herself out of the compartment and lay panting on the floor. She was wet and she stank, but Helga didn’t care. Her old partner was here to please her again.
“Crawl to me, Megan.”
Mewling all the while, Megan crawled to her. In a few more minutes, she reached the bed and lay quivering at Helga’s feet.
Helga laughed. “Very good, little worm. I’m proud of you. Now kiss my pretty feet.”
Megan whimpered.
Seconds later, she lifted her head off the floor and placed her lips against the toes of Helga’s left foot. She kissed them all, one by one, softly and slowly.
“Now the other foot, little worm.”
Megan moaned and again did as she was told.
Helga played with her for another half hour, forcing her to perform multiple submissive acts, all of them exercises in deep humiliation. At last, tiring of this, she rose from the bed and kicked Megan in the face.
Next she dragged Megan over to the compartment and threw her into it. She stood at its edge with her hands on her hips, features twisted in a disdainful sneer. “You didn’t do the things I asked of you well enough. Next time do better. Or else.”
Megan just kept crying.
Helga listened with a big smile on her face until the trapdoor slid back into place.
15.
After more than an hour of pouring various caustic liquids into Holly Carmichael’s anal puncture wounds to deeply satisfying effect, Livia decided it was time to shift gears. She summoned some guards who helped her get the woman flipped over onto her back. Once this was done and Holly was again safely shackled to the bed, Livia took a few moments to examine Holly’s broken wrist. It would probably heal in a reasonable amount of time if treated and cared for properly.
She took hold of the wrist firmly in both of her gloved hands and gave it a good twist, rotating the hand in one direction and the forearm in the opposite direction. Judging from the ensuing scream, this resulted in a significant level of mind-bending pain.
This was all very pleasing, but it was a rather pedestrian form of torture. Livia let go of the woman’s arm. She stepped back and chewed her bottom lip as she observed Holly’s agonized writhing. As she watched, she felt a renewed flush of sexual arousal.
Then an idea occurred.
Yes, she thought. Some psychological fun. Then more pain.
Livia took a scalpel from the medical cart and waggled the instrument over Holly’s face. “Let me tell you about the options I have in mind for the next phase of your treatment.” She held the tip of the scalpel close to one of Holly’s rapidly blinking eyes. “Understand I intend to do all the things I’m about to describe. It’s just a matter of deciding which comes first. I think, for instance, that it could be very interesting to cut a slit in this eye here…” She moved the scalpel a millimeter closer to the jittering orb. “I would then pour some drain cleaner into the incision.”
Holly started blubbering.
Livia ripped the scalpel blade across one of Holly’s cheeks, laying the flesh open to the bone. “Stupid, piglet. Stay quiet while I talk.”
Holly screamed.
Livia cut her again.
After that, Holly managed to contain the sounds of her agonies for a time, with the exception of a soft, pitiful sobbing. Livia gave her a pass on that.
“Here’s the other primary option I’m considering for you,” she said, still holding the scalpel over Holly’s face. “You’ve probably read the stories of genital mutilation that occur in certain cultures. The clitoris is removed to prevent women from getting carried away with their sexual impulses. I find this a disgusting indictment of a repressed, male-dominated society. It’s repugnant. You�
�ll be relieved to know I have no intention of cutting off your clit, Holly.”
Holly sniffled. “Th-thank you.”
Livia placed the edge of the scalpel blade against the woman’s clitoris. “However, I see no reason why I shouldn’t slice it open and pour in some hydrofluoric acid.”
Holly screamed as Livia began to press the blade down.
Then the infirmary’s doors banged open.
Livia glanced that way and frowned as several women clad in red booty shorts and white T-shirts with swastikas emblazoned on the front entered the infirmary and came striding rapidly in her direction. An immediate sense of intense dread gripped her.
These were members of a widely feared gang known as the Frauenschaft, a moniker derived from the annals of history. It was shortened from Nationalsozialistiche Frauenschaft. In English, the National Socialist Women’s League, an organization that had been the women’s faction of the Nazi party in WW2-era Germany.
The gang was alternately known as Eternal Reich or True Reich, though non-affiliated inmates often referred to them as “those fake-ass Nazi bitches” or just “Reich girls”. They had formed in the aftermath of last year’s riot. How much they really bought into the whole Nazi thing was debatable, but at least a few—the ones at the very top, probably—were unquestionably true believers.
Strangely, since the gang’s formation, not a single member had been selected for random execution or torture. Livia had even put in a subject requisition for a specific inmate she knew to be a Frauenschaft member. She did this just to see what would happen. Unlike nearly all her other requisitions, a terse reply came through within just a few minutes.
It was just a single word: “No.”
Point taken.
The Frauenschaft was untouchable. She didn’t know why and no one would talk about it. It was a troubling development, but Livia mostly didn’t give it much thought. In theory, she supported what the gang represented. She, too, was a true believer in the fallen Reich’s cause.