The only item of clothing he left her in were those appealing high heels that sent a pair of intoxicating crisscross patterns of white leather up past her bare calves. Other than that she was naked. Strung up by her wrists inside his basement. On display.
Which wasn’t entirely true. For the fact remained that the panties she had been wearing yesterday afternoon (when she was kidnapped) were now stuffed partly inside her mouth. Along with a pair of bikini bottoms off a less fortunate girl who the proprietor of the cellar had tortured recently. Both saliva soaked lingerie items peeked humiliatingly out from in between the new prisoner’s lips…as she dangled at the mercy of the man who owned her.
Then again, one could consider the abrupt and blatant tan lines painted across the fresh victim’s pelvis and bosom as a sort of garment. They immediately drew a passerby’s gaze towards the inviting contours of the breasts that the kidnapper now held as private property. And thoroughly emblazoned the pathetic female’s vulva as a designated ‘landing zone’ for the pending (incoming) assault.
As she had hung like an ornament within the basement - and sobbed - the pretty girl with the undergarments shoved halfway down her throat stared longingly at the embarrassingly tiny pile of clothes in the far corner. Her short skirt…the tight fitting top that she knew drew the attention of males. There really wasn’t anything more for her abductor to dispose of. Just that miniscule pile. The thought rent the helpless dainty with guilt…and shame. No wonder she had been chosen. No surprise she was currently on private display.
No doubt she was about to suffer intensely.
She whimpered each and every time her admirer would saunter over towards her body. Inside the torture chamber. Adjacent to the rape rooms. He would snap fotos of her nakedness. Then comment aloud as to the feasibility of her body being able to satisfy him. Sexually. Often he would stroke - caress - the contours of those perfect breasts. Once or twice he’d moistened those trembling nipples with suckling kisses…as his former prey wept before him. A plaything before his immense power and wide open ‘opportunity’.
‘Not yet’ he would whisper in her ear.
Then the man who had selected the pretty girl for sex slavery would be absent for an hour at a stretch. And his victim - in her degrading high heels and slutty tan lines - would hear the unmistakable sound of other women screaming in agony. Or pleading for mercy. Which caused the undergarments inside the waiting girl’s mouth to feel so invasive. Her arms and lower back ached. She was cold. Utterly alone.
‘Not yet…not quite yet.’
Twenty-seven year old Anna Haggart had been obtained by the worst type of sadist available. The kind of man who had all the time in the world…to do what he desired with Anna’s body. But a man also who could focus the entirety of his effort and his lust and his ingenuity upon THAT body without any fear of interruption. Once the Controller started ‘in’ on his lovely new brunette there was no turning back.
‘Very soon. Be patient pet. Very, very soon……’
In the meantime the newest guest to arrive beneath 2112 Division Street dangled helplessly by her wrists. On display.
