She was soon awake, soon finding her sight restricted by the cream carrier bag he had loosely slipped over her head, the green lettering upside down proclaiming it was Marks and Spencer`s finest. A quick struggle showed his best boy scouts knots were good, and that she was going nowhere. He hissed at her “you missy are now my prisoner to do with as I will this weekend, understand!” she nodded. He had her stand, led her to the stairs, and up to the bathroom, sitting her on the toilet and saying, “make good use missy it will be tomorrow when you get the next chance!” he left her to herself, for half an hour in which he locked up and doused lights, adding ropes to beams and collecting the riding crop. Totally ready he returned to his victim, did the necessary wipe and flush, then led her to the readied room raising her hands above her wrapping rags round the wrists and attaching the hanging ropes so as not to hurt her. He removed the hood, she saying it was hot and steamy, which jogged. . ! Her pussy! So she gets a merkin - a pussy wig! Whaddaya mean they don't make pussy wigs? Shit yes, they do, oh hell! Then get another broad. Throw the dumb cunt out on the street."He slammed down the receiver and stared ferociously at Tiffany. "In the year of our Lord nineteen seventy-three," he intoned dramatically, "the decade of Hair! She goes and shaves her pussy. Who does she think she is, Dolly Dimple? I swear to God if my mother wasn't Jewish I wouldn't be alive today. Show biz! Do me a favor. Go tell it to the East River. Siddown, kid."He popped a pill into his shark-like mouth, washed it down with a swig from a bottle of vodka he kept stashed in his desk, and leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head to survey Tiffany with his beady little eyes.Tiffany avoided his gaze. The office with its shabby dingy walls, plastered with more obscene photographs, and its odor of stale cigar smoke and... she sometimes imagined... stale cum... depressed her beyond words.To begin.
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