Bad Luck Black Money Page 21

  "I hope we didn't miss anything," said the Duke.

  "Not a thing," said a fat man wearing a food stained toga. He was arranging a tiny army of lead soldiers on a miniature battlefield in his viewing box. Boss took an educated guess that he was the man called, Pace.

  "Well, lets get this show on the road," commanded the Duke. "Milton, why don't you go help your wife? She may need some help with the whipping."

  "Yes, sir," answered Boss, and he made his way down into the pit.

  "Stand her up," Esmerelda ordered the servants.

  "Please, please, don't do this," begged Felishae, while wiping tears from her cheeks. "I'll do anything, please!"

  "Put her on the table," Esmerelda ordered the servants. They lifted the shivering lady onto the table, face down. "No, I want her, face up."

  As the servants were flipping her over, Felishae cried out, "Not my face! I can't work without my face. I'll be useless to you. I beg you, please don't!"

  "Shut the hell up," demanded Esmerelda. "I'm not going to scar your lovely face... bitch."

  They used leather cuffs attached to iron chains on the sides of the table to spread her arms wide apart. Another set of leather cuffs wrapped around her ankles held her legs wide open. Felishae whimpered as she laid helpless, spread eagle on top of the torture table.

  "You won't be needing these," said Esmerelda as she roughly ripped the girl's thin bikini from her quivering body.

  A servant girl brought Esmerelda a bottle of baby oil. And Esmerelda began to slowly massage the oil into Felishae's skin. She started with the reporter's shoulders and worked her way down to the girl's fingertips. Slowly and sensually, she worked her way down Felishae's body.

  When she started massaging the woman's breasts, Esmerelda looked up into the crowd. A grunting sound had drawn her attention. A middle-aged man with a goatee was banging a serving girl, while watching her massage Felishae. Esmerelda then glanced at her husband, who was staring at the grunting pod member with a disapproving look on his face.

  "Honey," said Esmerelda, while backing away from the table and towards Boss. "Will you do me a favor?"

  Boss got close to his wife and put his ear to her lips. Esmerelda was dripping baby oil from her hands that were held out in front of her, like a surgeon not wanting to contaminate her sterile hands.

  "Get that look off your face," whispered Esmerelda. "Now, go get some salt shakers from some of the tables and put them down at my feet."

  Nodding his head 'yes', Boss set to his task. It was an insightful thing, what his wife had just done. Everyone in the stadium was after their scalps, and openly showering the pervert members with scorn wasn't helping matters. Boss would have to remind himself to seek Esmerelda's council more often. After all, it was her mind that he married her for.

  Walking around the coliseum, Boss had an opportunity to study the pod. Swiping the saltshakers from unoccupied tables seemed beneath him. But the act of asking other members if he could borrow their salt was enlightening.

  The first person he asked for salt was Gloria McNeil. At least, he guessed it was she. A woman with a haughty look and contemptuous eyes gave him permission to take her salt shaker with a dismissive wave of her bony wrist, which was attached to her bony arm, which was attached to her bony body. Gloria was one of the few women of the pod, who held her own membership.

  It was going to be harder to pick Cornett out of the crowd. Boss looked for a man with bloodlust in his eyes, but most of the pod seemed fascinated with what was going on in the pit. But there was one particular man, who evidently lived in a gym, judging by the defined, massive muscles poking through his toga. The muscle man was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He would lick his lips, once in a while, definitely a candidate to be the psycho Cornett.

  Although he had more than enough saltshakers, Boss strode over to the man, who he believed was probably, Gardner. Upon closer inspection the man actually looked like a villain from an old black and white movie. He had finally stopped grunting after getting off of the serving girl.

  "May I borrow your salt?" asked Boss.

  "What do you want it for?" Gardner asked, as he flopped down on his sofa without bothering to cover his nakedness.

  "I don't know. My wife asked me to collect some salt shakers and bring them to her."

  "That slut right there got most of my salt," said Gardner, pointing at the stunned serving girl who was trying to regain her composure, after having been taken roughly by the bastard, Gardner.

  "I see...."

  "Esmerelda's a lot hotter now, than when Duke Winterfield first introduced her," said Gardner. "I don't suppose the two of you swing. Do you?"

  "Nope," said Boss as he turned to leave the man in his filth.

  "Wait, wait," Gardner called out. "Take my salt shaker. It might give me a thrill to think that my salt is adding to that TV bitch's pain."

  "Thank, you," Boss said, picking up the saltshaker and adding it to his pile. He turned his back to Gardner and walked away. While walking away, he felt the pervert's eyes watching him, studying his ass.

  The thought crossed his mind that these people weren't any better than the troglodytes, up on the surface. These New World Order members acted like savage beasts. But he reasoned that it was easier to fight and defeat wild beasts than it was cold, calculating men. Then Boss began to feel more confident about his chances of winning this twisted game of the uber rich and mega powerful.

  When Boss retuned to the pit and placed the saltshakers at his wife's feet, Esmerelda had stopped massaging the girl's chest, and was now working on Felishae's feet and calf muscles. Despite her terrible predicament, Felishae's feelings of fright were evaporating and being replaced with waves of relaxation.

  Early in her college years, Esmerelda had considered becoming a practicing medical doctor. She had read scores of medical books and journals, retaining all that information in her memory. Unfortunately for Felishae, her tormentor knew more about the human nervous system than most of the doctors who specialized in pain alleviation.

  Chapter 31

  Esmerelda was tenderizing her victim. A whip slapping against cold, stiff skin would do considerable damage, but if that skin were warm and the muscles underneath relaxed, the pain would travel deeper into the tissue, resulting in a more intense, longer lasting agony.

  Felishae involuntarily gasped when Esmerelda found a nerve in her foot, which had a connection to her vagina. That quick, little breath alerted Esmerelda that she was on the right spot, and she began methodically massaging it. Before long, Rodriguez was squeaking like a little mouse trapped by its tail in a rattrap.

  At first, Esmerelda would work on her feet then massage her calves, going a little higher with each change up. After awhile, she was at Felishae's upper thighs, and it was driving the reporter mad with desire. But then Esmerelda would return to the girl's feet and work her sweet spot some more.

  Forgotten were the leather restraints, which kept her imprisoned on the table. All that mattered at that moment was for her captor to touch her most private of body parts. Felishae used what little free movement she had to thrust her pelvis up and then downward toward Esmerelda's hands. She was making noises that she wasn't even aware of. It was like an adult, Japanese anime cartoon had come to life before everyone's eyes.

  Gardner was back on top of another serving wench, and this time he wasn't alone. Two other men had grabbed women and were plowing their fields. An orgy was spontaneously forming within the stadium. Even Boss had to avert his eyes at times from the scene unfolding before him. It was the only way he could keep himself from having an obvious erection.

  Finally, Esmerelda made her way up to Felishae's vagina. The massage leading up to that point was so erotic that the girl had a series of body shaking orgasms once her pussy made contact with Esmerelda’s hand. Her eyes rolled up in her head, her feet came closer to rolling up into little balls than one would have thought humanly possible. Drool escaped down one side of Felishae'
s mouth and her body convulsed like she was being electrocuted. Orgasm after orgasm washed over her until she was physically and emotionally exhausted.

  Sensing that she'd released the maximum amount of the woman's pent up, sexual energy, Esmerelda stepped back from the torture table. She took a moment to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Felishae was spent. She looked as if she'd been ridden hard and put away wet.

  "Flip her over," Esmerelda commanded the servants standing nearby, who had awe written all over their faces.

  The servants did, as they were told and un-cuffed Felishae's restraints. They had trouble picking the girl up and then turning her face down because she was more limber than an overcooked spaghetti noodle. But quickly enough, Felishae was bound again and spread eagle, this time facing downward.

  Once again, Esmerelda started massaging baby oil into the girl's shoulders and making her way out to the fingertips. Again she slowly and methodically worked her way down, this time to the small of Felishae's back. Then she started massaging the girl's feet. Since she knew the exact spot and amount of pressure to apply, the poor girl was moaning again in no time.

  The serving girl, who had been Gardner's first victim, was once again his sexual plaything, this time on top. She was being bounced around like a lewd rag doll. Her moans of pleasure or pain weren't alone. The sex fever had spread and half the pod were in mid coitus.

  Remembering that night at Slutty Teasers with Duke Winterfield, Boss glanced as subtly as he could in the Duke's direction. To his surprise, the Duke was in total control of himself. He seemed to enjoy watching his pod hump like sex starved chimpanzees, although he wasn't participating.

  Somehow, the Duke felt Boss looking at him and turned to look his newest pod member in the face. The Duke raised his glass of iced tea to Boss in a toast of sorts. It was his way of letting Boss know, that he knew what Boss was thinking. And that 'yes', the Duke was in complete control of both the pod and himself.

  A sick feeling came over Boss. He wiped sweat from his forehead. Something was wrong. Then it hit him. Someone had cut off the air-conditioning. While the temperature hadn't risen but a couple of degrees, the lack of air circulation was taking its toll.

  The smell of sex in the air was thick and overpowering, Boss had to fight the urge to vomit. And the sounds of grunting and groaning and bodies slapping against each other was drowning out Felishae's moaning. Boss wished that he could leave but didn't dare.

  Once more, Boss looked in the Duke's direction, and the old man smiled knowingly at him. The Duke had ordered the air shut off. Nothing happened without the Duke's consent.

  Turning his attention back to Esmerelda, Boss asked, "Would you like something cool to drink?"

  "Thank, you, dear. That would be lovely," said Esmerelda as she kneaded the girl's big, firm buttocks.

  Boss walked over to a table, which had a large pitcher of ice water on it and poured him a glass of water, which he downed in four seconds. He refilled the glass and took it to Esmerelda.

  Esmerelda was sweating profusely, and the sight of the cold drink, thrilled her. "Honey, my hands are covered in ass. Will you help me, please?"

  "Yes, of course, Esmerelda," answered Boss. He put the glass to her lips and gently poured a trickle of ice-cold water into her mouth. After a few swallows, the glass was empty. Boss offered to get her another, but Esmerelda was refreshed and returned her full attention back to her toy.

  Felishae was brought to climax so many times that it was having less and less effect. That meant it was time to move on to the next phase. Esmerelda signaled the servants to bring her the whips.

  They brought a huge piece of plywood into the pit, which had every type of whip imaginable attached to it. As her head rested on the torture table, Felishae had an unobstructed view of the whips. Even though Felishae could see them and knew what was coming next, she was too physically relaxed and emotionally exhausted to react at the sight of the instruments of torture.

  Esmerelda picked up an old fashioned, buggy whip. She whipped it through the air, making it snap like a firecracker, but she rejected it. The buggy whip would draw blood too fast, and she wanted Rodriguez to suffer at her hands.

  Letting her hand glide over a coiled whip that must have been over six feet long when fully extended, Esmerelda was tempted to take it over to Felishae and lay it beside her head. But it would serve no purpose other than frightening the woman. That whip would be deadly, and death was not what she had in store for the celebrity reporter.

  Then she came upon rods of various thickness and lengths. While not really interested in them, Esmerelda took a rather nasty looking one from the board and swung it through the air. It made a whistling noise with each stroke.

  Esmerelda stopped in her tracks when she spotted a thick, wide leather strap attached to a wooden handle. This might be exactly what she was looking for. Plucking it from the board, Esmerelda swung the handle like a sword, and the supple strap would lazily follow the handle's motion and flop from one side to the other. It was perfect.

  With the leather strap, Esmerelda would be able to beat the poor girl's body for a long while before drawing blood. The longer the session went, the more pain would be inflicted upon the reporter. A mean little smile crossed Esmerelda's lips.

  Before she could start, Boss put noise-canceling headphones on her. In fact, every member of the NWO was wearing a pair. Evidently, they knew from experience just how loud a beating could become. The lowest of the servants and serving wenches weren't offered any. It didn't matter if their hearing was damaged.

  Boss wondered if Felishae was already too spent. She might have been too tenderized to feel the beating. But his question was answered when Esmerelda drew back the handle attached to the leather strap and brought it down on the girl’s buttocks with all her might.

  Felishae screamed so loud that Boss could actually feel the sound vibrate all around him. The coliseum was designed with sound in mind. Noise made within the pit ricocheted off the stone seating and up the stonewalls and then bounced off the ceiling, scattering in all directions. Sound waves were amplified naturally, just as they had been in Roman times.

  As Felishae watched Esmerelda draw back the strap for the first blow, she was too tired to care. She didn't think that anything could bring a reaction from her exhausted body. How wrong she was. When the leather hit her ass, it sent shockwaves of pain throughout her entire body.

  Felishae would have sworn that she could feel the impact of the stinging leather strap from the bottom of her feet to the end tips of her hair. She screamed so loud that her throat hurt from the yell. There must have been a reserve of energy hidden somewhere within her body because she pulled against the leather restraints so hard that they stretched a little bit.

  After Esmerelda landed a hit, she would then gently massage Felicia's body where it had landed. This seemed to extend the time of suffering after each stroke.

  Boss took the opportunity to scan the coliseum for the muscle-bound man, who fit the definition of the psycho Cornett. The big man was literally salivating. Bits of drool ran from the corners of his mouth. Each time leather hit the girl's skin, his ripped muscles would flex. Yeah, this guy had to be the bloodthirsty Cornett, who the Duke warned him about.

  "How could that overstuffed bag of muscles be a threat?" thought Boss. Still, it never paid to underestimate your enemies. The Duke of Winterfield had gone through the trouble of naming pod members, who he considered to be Boss's primarily competition.

  It was Boss's experience that you couldn't really tell what a man was made of, until he was tested by fire. Many a person, who appeared to have all the right qualities, would crack under pressure. While others, who should have melted like butter, actually had spines made of steel. Boss resolved, not take any of these freaks lightly.

  Esmerelda had to put on a pair of latex gloves because, at last, her whip had drawn blood. She had worked the girl over hard, concentrating on her buttocks, the soles of girl's feet, and the area of the
back where her bra straps normally rested.

  Felishae was screaming at the top of her lungs, but nothing was coming out of her mouth except for a sick, hissing sound. She had fried her vocal cords. Days later, when Felishae's voice returned, it had changed from a high girlish pitch to a low throaty one. Lucky, most of her fans found her new, deep voice to be less grating on their ears than her previous one.

  Once the reporter's butt was covered in blood, making further strikes pointless, Esmerelda turned her attention to other parts of Rodriguez's body. She beat the soles of the girl's feet with her strap, and then made Felishae's back, look like a bloody mess. Then Esmerelda stooped over, picked up a saltshaker, and loosened its top.

  She poured a small pile of salt into the palm of her gloved hand and began rubbing it into Felicia's open, bleeding wounds. The woman's level of pain went off the scales, releasing enough adrenaline in Felishae's bloodstream that she was able to snap one of the leather cuffs holding her to the table. Two servants rushed over and pulled her arm straight to the side in place of the cuff. It took all of their combined strength to hold her arm in place.

  The lack of fresh air, combined with the thick scent of sex and blood made Boss retch. In turn, the sound of him vomiting brought up the urge for others to throw up, as well. Adding the scent of vomit to the already foul smelling stadium, made the whole place feel like one of the lower levels of hell in Dante's Inferno.

  Unfortunately for Felishae, she was tougher than she looked. Only after Esmerelda had applied the last coating of salt to her wounds, did the poor girl lose consciousness. Then it was Esmerelda who felt sick.

  Taking off her blood-covered gloves, Esmerelda asked, "Can we go to our room, now?"

  "I don't know," said Boss. "I'll have to ask the Duke."