Chapter
8 Violation and
Vindication
Molson had taken only two steps when he stopped and stared in
amazement. The chest of the heroine
was rising and falling rapidly.
Clearly she was still alive, but the bullet should have killed
her. He had nailed her dead
centre. Keeping his gun trained
on her heaving bosom he knelt beside her.
Sure enough, there was a neat hole right between her tits and both
the front and back of her costume were stained with
blood. The bullet had gone right
through her. She should be dead
as a doornail. His eyes widened,
but not because of the seeming reincarnation of the heroine, but because
of what she was wearing about her neck.
Christ, what a gem! An emerald
of such brilliant intensity that it hurt to look at it blazed in a choker
about her slender throat. “This thing must be worth a fortune,”
he thought. Reaching behind her
neck he unfastened the choker. It
took a little bit of effort. The
heroine had taken care in strapping it
on. As her removed it the unconscious
woman gave a little moan. The
colour of her skin seemed paler and her breathing was
shallower. The slight noise reminded
Molson that he was squatting next to a woman who had hurled two of his toughest
men through the door of the restaurant like a couple of rag
dolls.
“Han,” he yelled to the stunned restaurant
owner. “Get me some rope
and make it snappy.”
“I… I… don’t have any rope, Mr. Molson,” stammered
the restaurant owner.
Molson glared at him. “Then
get some, you moron!”
“Yes, Mr. Molson,” Han replied.
He began to move away and then
hesitated. “Would telephone
line do?”
“Get it fast,” Molson ordered.
The heroine was beginning to stir.
At that moment one of the henchmen Natassia had thrown into the street
appeared in the doorway, his once stylish suite torn and
dirty. “Clanton,” Molson
barked. “Give me a
hand.” Grabbing the
heroine’s left arm he pulled her into the middle of the
floor. Together he and Clanton
rolled her onto her stomach. Molson
couldn’t help running his hand over the unconscious woman’s tight
backside. “What an ass,”
he said. “She’d be
a fantastic screw, hey Clanton.”
The big henchmen grinned.
“Sure would be boss.
You planning on nailing her?”
“That and a lot more. I
plan on enjoying every part of her.”
At this point Han returned carrying a length of telephone
cord. From the frayed end it
appeared that he had probably torn it out of the
wall. Molson took it from him
and quickly lashed the Heroine’s wrists behind her
back. Then he drew up her feet
and hogtied her. Just to make
sure he took the remaining cord and wound it about her neck so that the
woman’s body was arched tightly
back. If she tried to struggle
she would choke. It would probably
keep her immobilized for awhile if she woke up before he got her to the
brothel.
Han helped Molson and Clanton carry the heroine to the
car. They also picked the remaining
thug out of the street and stuffed him into the
trunk. The motionless heroine
was stuffed into the back seat where Molson could keep an eye on
her.
Han hovered near the door.
“Mr. Molson,” he asked, “does this mean I can keep
the restaurant?”
“For now, sure,” growled
Molson. “But you better
have that payment ready tomorrow.”
He did not wait to listen to the restaurateur’s
reply. He motioned to Clanton
to drive off. Beside him the
insensible heroine moaned. Molson
smiled. There was a lot he wanted
to know about this mysterious woman and he was really going to enjoy questioning
her.
Natassia blinked in confusion. She
was lying face down on some sort of hard
surface. But it didn’t seem
like a floor. And there was something
wrong with her arms and legs. What
had happened to her? Oh, now
she remembered. She had finally
caught up with the Mole. Or was
it the other way around?
Pain. There had been terrible
pain. Molson had shot
her. She had been too
arrogant. Too confident of her
power. Why wasn’t she
dead? The memory of the bullet
as it tore through her body was incredibly
vivid. It must have passed right
through her heart. The
Dragon’s
Eye! It must have saved
her. She tried to move again,
but something was holding her arms and
legs.
A moment of incredible fear swept over
her. Had she been
crippled? Perhaps her spinal
cord had been severed. That might
be something the
Dragon’s
Eye could not repair.
Almost desperately this time she tried to get
up. To her relief she could feel
her arms and legs, but they would still not
move. At the same moment her
head cleared enough for her to realize that her arms and legs were tied and
the hard surface she was lying on was the top of a
table. She was bent over it,
her legs spread wide and tied to each leg of the
table. Her arms were stretched
toward each corner and tied to the top of the legs on the other side of the
table. She strained to break
free, but nothing happened. It
was then that she realized she was no longer wearing the
Dragon’s
Eye. With some relief
she noted that she was still wearing her
costume. Except for her boots,
belt, and gloves. She could feel
the cool air on her feet. And
her cowl and mask had been removed.
At that moment a voice sounded behind
her. A voice that awoke memories
of a night of terror six years ago.
“Ah, the bitch is back.”
She felt a hand settle in the middle of her
back. “You’ve got some
explaining to do, honey. And
it’s going to be my pleasure to ask the
questions.”
Natassia almost cried out in fear at the sound of Molson’s
voice. Every detail of the night
she had been abducted came back to her.
She had sought vengeance against this man and now he had her in his
clutches again. Almost convulsively
she jerked at the ropes that held her to the table, but succeeded only in
making them even tighter.
Molson laughed. “Not so
sure of yourself now are you babe?
What I want to know is why you aren’t dead and how come you think
you know me? But take your time
with your answers. I’m going
to enjoy the interrogation.”
Natassia turned her head. From
her face-down position she could just see the thug standing behind and to
her right side.
“Scared?” Molson asked.
“I’ll bet you are.
I’ll soon have you telling me everything about
yourself. Let’s start with
your name. What do you call
yourself?”
Natassia did not answer. Molson
did not seem disturbed. “Good
for you,” he said.
“I’d have been disappointed if you gave in that
easily. But let’s see if
I can’t get you to be a little more
chatty.” Slipping his hand
up her back, he caught the zipper at the base of her neck and drew it down
the back of her costume.
“Feel more like talking?” he asked as he slipped his fingers over
her bare skin and down the side of her rib cage, touching the rounded curve
of her left breast.
Natassia gasped. No man had ever
touched any part of her body. To
be fondled by the man she blamed for her parents’ death filled her with
fear and mortification.
“Nova,” she responded.
“My name is
Nova.”
“That’s a start,” said
Molson. “But now the rest
of it. What is your real
name?’ His hand was now
working its way along her side toward the curve of her
hip.
“Just Nova,” she answered.
“I don’t have any other
name.”
“Sure you do honey, but take your time telling me what it
is. I have plenty of
time.”
There was a sharp clicking sound.
Natassia recognized it even though she had only heard it a few times
in her life. It was the sound
of the blade of a switchblade snapping into
place. She took her breath in
quickly as she felt the cold steel against her
neck. She was so
helpless. How could she have
been so arrogant and careless as to allow herself to be captured so
easily? But she couldn’t
give out her real name. Not only
would there be the humiliation
of letting Molson know that he had captured her a second time, but it would
place the life of her aunt in danger.
She could not let that happen no matter what happened to
her.
The blade of the knife left her neck, but to Natassia’s chagrin Molson
slid it under the material covering her
shoulder. The thin silk cut
easily. It took him only seconds
to slit her sleeve from shoulder to
wrist. He did the same with the
left sleeve. Natassia knew it
would now be easy for the thug to slip the top of her costume off, but she
held her silence. “Still
not talking?” Molson asked.
“That’s fine by
me.” Grasping the top of
her costume, he pealed it down her body.
Only her lacy white bra now afforded her any privacy from the prying
eyes of the thug.
Natassia took a slow deep breath.
Her heart was beating like a drum, pounding against her
ribcage. Using the techniques
she had been taught by the Reverend Mother, she calmed
herself. Her only chance of getting
out of the mess she was in was not losing her self
control. But she almost panicked
as Molson snicked through the straps of her bra and pulled it away from her
body. Naked to the waist, she
involuntarily pulled at the ropes about her
wrists.
Molson ran his hand down her back, tracing the beautiful curve of her
spine. She was the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. The fact
that she was a superheroine made her even more
desirable. He could feel his
member hardening. It was time
to get on with the
“interrogation.”
Natassia’s luxuriant raven hair was tied up in a long
braid. Molson lifted the heavy
plait and began to unravel it. When
he was finished it covered her back like a silken
veil. Gathering the heavy tresses
into his hands he parted them so that he could place his hands on her
shoulders. He massaged the satin
flesh, sliding his hands down her shoulders and then to each side of her
ribcage. He stood directly behind
her, his groin pressed against her
backside. It was almost more
than he could bear. He would
have to take her soon or he would
explode. Slipping his hands to
her shredded costume he pulled it over her hips, exposing the sweet curves
of her derriere. Using his knife
again he sliced down each leg from her hip to her
ankle. Pulling the tattered remnants
of her costume from her, he ripped off a couple of feet of silk and set it
to one side. He had plans for
that later.
As Molson stripped her Natassia’s anxiety
grew. She was almost naked and
tied face down on a table top completely at the mercy of a man she both loathed
and hated. The man who had destroyed
her childhood and killed her parents.
Her breathing quickened as each article of clothing was removed and
her body chilled as beads of sweat burst through her
skin. She was having great difficulty
believing that this was happening to her.
It all seemed like such a bad
dream. The power of the
Dragon’s Eye should
have made dealing with this low life thug effortless, but she had squandered
her advantage through overconfidence and
stupidity. Now she could only
struggle helplessly while her captor did whatever he wanted with
her. And it took very little
imagination to envision what that might
be.
“Remember you real name yet?” Molson
asked.
“No? Alright, I’ve
got another question for you. Why
weren’t you killed when I shot
you?” He slipped his hand
under the waistband of Natassia’s panties as he spoke, he could feel
the smooth muscles of her buttocks contract as he moved his fingers toward
the cleft between her legs.
Natassia had promised herself that she would not plead with the thug who
had captured her. But she was
now almost beside herself with fear.
The words popped out before she could stop
herself. “Please
don’t,” she whispered.
“Don’t?” Molson echoed.
“What’s to stop me?” His middle finger fingered the
hot fissure between her thighs. The
heroine gave out a low inarticulate cry.
“You like that, honey?
Well how about this?”
His finger slipped into the crevice of her
vulva.
Natassia wiggled her hips as her nether region was invaded for the first
time, almost as if she was inviting further violation of the most sacred
region of her anatomy. She almost
screamed as Molson’s finger probed her hit love
tunnel. “No one’s ever
been there before have they, babe?” Molson
jibed. “Well that’s
about to change unless you tell me what I want to
know.” He withdrew his finger
and gripping her panties tore them from her
loins.
“Please,” Natassia pleaded.
“Don’t do this.”
She could hardly believe it was her
speaking. Her proud heroine arrogance
was gone, replaced by the demeanor of a frightened
girl. At the same time she cursed
her stupidity for delivering her into the hands of the sadistic thug that
was mauling her.
“Then answer the question.
Why are you still
alive? I hit you dead
centre.”
“You must have missed,” Natassia said
desperately. “You just thought
you hit me.” Next to her
identity she had to keep the secret of the
Dragon’s Eye.
She could imagine the consequences if a brute like Molson discovered
the properties the mysterious gem.
“Missed hell,” replied Molson.
He held up what was left of Natassia’s costume, poking his finger
through the bloodstained hole of the entry
wound. “The bullet went
in here.” He stuck his entire
hand through a second bloody tear.
“And came out here. You
should have a hole in you the size of my
fist. But there’s
nothing.” His voice went
menacingly lower. “Stop
giving me this shit and tell the
truth.”
“You’re mistaken,” Natassia
insisted. “You didn’t
hit
me.”
“Aaah!”
She yelped. Molson had
brought her own belt down across her naked
backside. Unable to see
what the thug was up to, the blow caught her by
surprise.
“Lying bitch,” Molson said.
“I’m tired of this crap.
You won’t tell me what I want to know I’ll beat it out of
you.” He raised the belt
again and swung it in a wide arc before bringing it own on Natassia’s
trembling buttocks.
This time she merely winced as the belt made contact, even though the second
blow was much harder than the first.
Trained by the Shaolin to ignore pain, she was ashamed of her
undisciplined outburst. She set
her jaw as the third blow struck.
The impact shook her body, but this time she didn’t even
quiver.
“Tough bitch ain’t you?” said
Molson. “That’s all
right, honey. I’ve got lots
of time.” He brought the
belt down again and then again.
Half an hour later, Natassia’s body was shaking as each blow struck
her. The back of her thighs and
her buttocks were purple with the bruising caused by the
belt. Tears of pain stained her
cheeks and her lower lip quivered as the anguish of the beating
intensified. Even the slightest
touch of the belt now caused exquisite
agony. The swelling of her thighs
and buttocks guaranteed that each additional blow sent unbelievable waves
of pain through her. Finally
she broke. Her voice rose in
a scream of pure agony as Molson brought the belt down for the forty-fifth
time.
Sweating and panting from the exertion, Molson lowered the
belt. “Ready to talk now,
honey? I can keep this up for
as long as it takes. Let’s
go back to the beginning what is your real
name?”
“N…Nova,” Natassia gasped through quivering
lips. Her breath came in hoarse
sobs as she fought back the pain.
Even using all of her Shaolin training, she could not fight off the
agony of the beating, but she was not going to give
in.
“Have it your way,” Molson
said. His erection had become
as hard as steel while he beat the helpless
heroine. It was time to relieve
the pressure. Tossing the belt
aside he moved to the other side of the table and undid his
belt.
“No, don’t, please,” Natassia whimpered as Molson revealed
his throbbing penis. During her
stay in the monastery she had occasionally seen a male member, but never
in a state of erection. The closest
she had come was observing the mating rituals of domestic animals like horses
and goats. She had never seen
a male organ up close, much less only a few inches from her
face. It was the most frightening
object she had ever seen. As
Molson grabbed her hair, she tried desperately to turn her head away, but
he held her fast, holding a handful of her dark tresses on either side of
her head.
Almost gagging from the male stink of Molson’s swollen member, Natassia
clamped her mouth tightly, but the thug pushed his fingers into the hinge
of her jaw forcing her mouth open.
As her lips parted he thrust his tumescent organ between her soft
lips. Fighting to the end, Natassia
tried to bite down, her teeth scoring Molson’s phallus as it thrust
home, but she was prevented from applying full pressure as the thug dug his
fingers into the pressure point on either die of her
jaw. Molson drove through to
the back of her throat, filling her mouth with his swollen
shaft.
Grunting as Molson raped her mouth, Natassia continued to struggle, biting
down as hard as she could. With
an oath, Molson pulled back.
“God damned, cunt,” he
swore. Viciously he slapped her
face, snapping her head to one side and then slapping it back the other
way.
“OK,” Molson continued.
“Let’s try the other
side.” Moving to the other
side of the table, he bent and untied Natassia’s ankles from the table
legs. Natassia suppressed a whimper
as he positioned himself between her thighs and lifted her
legs. Despite the pain in her
backside and thighs Natassia tried to kick him, but Molson seemed to have
figured her out. He caught her
flailing leg and lifting it spread her and positioned himself for entry into
her quivering vulva.
The pain of having her legs spread was excruciating, but the fear of losing
her virginity was much worse.
Clutching at the ropes that bound her wrists she tried to pull herself
across the table top.
“No,” she gasped.
She was almost sobbing in fear.
Then as she felt the tip of his manhood against her vulva she cried
out in terror.
“No,
please stop. Please don’t
do this.”
Molson’s only reply was a mocking
laugh. Then he thrust into
her. Natassia screamed as her
virginity was taken from her and then burst into
tears. Molson’s only response
was a grunt of pleasure as her tight vagina closed about his engorged
shaft. He had never had such
a great fuck. It was not that
Natassia was especially tight, although her virginal vagina clamped him like
a vise, it was the fact that he was screwing a
superheroine. It was every
villain’s dream to punish the haughty bitches that paraded around
Natassia wept uncontrollably as her virtue was stripped from
her. She had known from the start
that this would likely be her fate, but she had hoped against hope that something
would happened to save her. Now
she had been deflowered, her sacred love garden plundered and defiled and
she wept for her lost innocence and the bitter humiliation of being violated
by the villain she most despised and
hated.
She continued to weep even after Molson shot his vile cream into her, and
even after he retied her and his henchmen dragged her from the room to a
small cell where they dumped her on the floor, still bound hand and
foot. Finally, she lapsed into
an exhausted and fitful sleep, her body twitching as if she was still being
assaulted.
Natassia groaned as she awoke. The
lower region of her body was ablaze with
pain. Still bound hand and foot
she could hardly move. Her mouth
was dry as dust and her throat hurt from the intensity of her
screams. As her eyes focused
she became aware that there was a bucket of water and a plate of food on
the floor beside her. It was
another form of cruel punishment.
With her wrists and ankles bound she had no way of gaining access
to the food or drink. With a
moan she rolled so that she was no longer lying on her wrists and struggled
to free herself. Straining with
all of her strength she managed to stretch the ropes a
little. Encouraged, she worked
her wrists back and forth and managed to slip the bindings down a
bit. The effort soon had her
sweating, but with continued exertion she slowly loosened her
bonds. It took her awhile, Molson
had tied her well, but eventually she managed to work one of the loops of
rope over her wrists. After that
it was relatively easy to loosen the rest of the
ropes. An hour after she started
she was free. She didn’t
bother to untie her feet, but gulped down the water, gasping in relief as
the torment of her thirst was relieved.
Then she turned to the food.
She didn’t have much of an appetite and the food was nothing
more than some cold porridge, but she forced herself to
eat. If she was to survive this
ordeal she would need her strength.
Finishing her meal, she removed the ropes from her ankles and tired to rub
the circulation back into her legs.
Then with a grunt she forced herself to her knees and pulled herself
onto the bed. She was in a narrow
cell, containing just the bed and a bucket for her bodily
functions. She lay down on the
thin mattress. She desperately
wanted to relieve herself, but could not bring herself to use the bucket,
and she was very tired. The ordeal
at Molson’s hands had taken a great deal out of
her. Within seconds of laying
down her head she drifted off into an exhausted
sleep.
She was awakened again by someone pounding on the door of the
cell. “Wake up, honey,
it’s time for our next
session!” The voice was
unmistakably Molson’s, and Natassia’s gut wrenched with
fear. Suppressing a moan of pain
she sat up in bed. Suddenly she
had to use the bucket very badly.
Pushing herself off the bed she squatted and did what she had
to. In the meantime, Molson was
shouting instructions through the door.
Apparently in spite of defeating her so easily he still was wary of
her superheroine skills.
A small hatch opened in the centre of the
door. “Put your hands through
here, babe, and don’t think about defying
me. There’s a fire hose
a few feet up the hall. Play
cute with me and I’ll fill your cell with cold
water.”
Natassia hesitated for a few seconds, taking in what Molson
threatened. Much as she dreaded
placing herself in his hands again, she knew there was no way she could win
if he carried out his threat. The
thought of being blasted about the tiny cell by the force of a fire hose
made up her mind. Reluctantly
she placed her hands through the opening in the cell
door. Immediately she felt the
cold steel of handcuffs on each of her wrists and the bolt on the door was
drawn back.
As the door swung back she was taken with it, as the man who had placed the
cuffs on her wrists kept hold of them.
Now standing behind her, Molson placed a tether on her ankles and
then looped a length of rope about her arms, binding them to her
torso. She was now completely
helpless. Holding her on either
side, the henchmen unlocked the cuffs and twisted her arms behind her
back. With her arms pinioned
there was little she could do to stop
them. The handcuffs clicked in
place again, securing her wrists behind
her. Unresisting, but filled
with dread, she allowed Molson and his two henchmen to escort her to the
room where she had been raped and beaten.
Her knees almost buckled as she entered the scene of her violation and
degradation. A wave of nausea
swept over her as she relived what had been done to
her. Almost gasping in fear she
stumbled as she was led towards the table once
again. Molson’s two henchmen
held her up and dragged her forward.
“Come on, baby,” Molson
jeered. “You’re supposed
to be a superheroine. Show a
little bit of backbone.”
“Supposed to be a superheroine,” Natasha
thought. Supposed to
be. She hadn’t shown much
skill in that direction so far. She
had been easily defeated and captured by a low life like
Molson. She was entirely in his
power. It was a feeling of
helplessness and fear that she had never imagined
possible. Her desire for vengeance
had delivered her into the hands of the man she most despised and
hated. Instead of vengeance she
had become the victim. As she
was dragged into the room she had to fight hard to keep from crying in shame,
frustration, and dread.
This time she was led to the centre of the
room. Imbedded in the floor were
two eyebolts each about three feet apart.
Molson’s henchmen shackled her feet to the eyebolts and then
removed the rope pinning her arms.
Natassia’s eyes widened in
fear. Molson was already unbuckling
his belt in preparation. While
she trembled in near panic, a rope was attached to her handcuffs and passed
through a third eyebolt in the ceiling.
As Natassia fought to prevent what she knew was going to happen her
arms were drawn upward in a brutal strapado pitching her forward and exposing
her to whatever Molson intended for her.
She was completely vulnerable to attack form the
rear. As Molson moved behind
her she rolled her eyes in fear.
The thug laughed at her terror, at the same time admiring her perfect
body. Her stunningly beautiful
breasts swayed beneath her as she pitched forward, but kept their exquisite
shape. The gorgeous half moons
of her rounded buttocks quivered slightly as he stepped up to her, his rigid
organ pulsing in anticipation. He
touched the tip teasingly to her slightly parted
vulva. “Remember your name
yet?” he asked.
Natassia took a deep breath. Molson
was simply tormenting her. Nothing
she said would stop him from raping her
again. “I told you,”
she replied. “It’s
Nova.”
“I think you need a good fucking,” said
Molson. “Perhaps that will
help you to change you to change your
mind. He leaned forward, pushing
partway into her. Reaching beneath
her he found her nipples and twisted each of them between his
fingers. The soft flesh was amazingly
firm and resilient, resembling the breasts of a fourteen year
old. Molson silently gave thanks
for the way this incredible woman had been delivered into his
hands. Giving her breasts a final
tweak, he moved his hands to her hips and holding her steady, thrust into
her.
“Unngh!”
Natassia’s grunt of agony burst from her lips as Molson entered her
swollen vaginal canal. Still
bruised and sore from the previous day, the second violation of her love
tunnel was even more painful than the
first. As Molson drove into her
she writhed violently, arching her back and desperately trying to free herself
from his brutal penetration.
Her breasts bounced wildly beneath her and her arms were almost torn
from their sockets. Molson raped
her in a most leisurely fashion before exploding within her with a groan
of pure pleasure.
Molson stepped back from the helpless heroine he had just
raped. He didn’t really
care whether she talked on not.
Sooner or later she would tell him everything he wanted to
know. No woman could stand up
to continuous rape and torture. At
least he had never met one who could.
She might be a superheroine, but she had the same weaknesses all women
had. Sooner or later repeated
sexual violation would bend her to his
will. In the meantime he and
his henchmen would enjoy her to the full.
“Your turn, Monk,” Molson said, nodding to one of his
henchmen. The thug needed no
second invitation. Unbuckling
his belt, he took Molson’s place.
For Natassia this second assault was almost too
much. Her vagina was raw and
swollen from the first two rapes.
Monk’s violation of her was by far the
worst. He was much larger that
Molson and his heavy weapon felt as if it was ripping her
apart. Even as he entered her,
Natassia squealed in pain.
“Aahhh!”
she
screamed. “Please
Stop!” She wrenched her
body, arching her back so much that its curve resembled the letter
“C.” Her light brown
nipples stood out from her breasts and her entire body shook
violently. Tears poured from
her eyes, and her mouth opened wide, gasping for
air.
It was too much for Molson to
resist. The sight of the
heroine’s desperate struggles revived his erection in record
time. Stepping in front of her
he grabbed her dancing hair and pushed his throbbing phallus into her
mouth. This time Natassia did
not bite down. She was too busy
trying to scream from the agony of Monk’s formidable
weapon. Her screams were muffled
as Molson deep-throated her, pumping in and out of her lips with bruising
force.
The double rape lasted a good hour.
Natassia struggled to the end, finally hanging limp and exhausted,
but her tormentors were not yet finished with
her. “That’s more like
it. Molson
said. You put up a good
fight. You couldn’t have
done more to turn me on.”
Natassia merely stared at him with pain filled
eyes. The agony of the rape had
been much worse the second and third
times. If it was worse the next
time she did not know if she would be able to stand up to
it. It was therefore, with great
apprehension that she watched Molson’s third henchman slowly unbuckle
his belt. Somehow she would have
to endure another round of sexual torment.
The henchman moved behind her, but did not take her right
away. He was doing something
but she did not turn her head to see what he was up
to. There was nothing she could
do to prevent it anyway. The
touch of his finger in her anus shocked her back to
reality. As lubricant was applied
to her rectum she whimpered in fear.
“Oh no,” she murmured.
“Please not that.”
She cried out as she was penetrated, but she did not make it easy for her
assailant. Tightening her sphincter
she fought with all her strength.
Incredibly she actually kept him out of her anus for several minutes,
until he finally exhausted her.
Using sheer brute strength her overcame her defences and entered her
deeply. The pain was incredible
as his large phallus ripped open her tiny
anus. It hurt far more than anything
they had done to her so far and Natassia’s screams were so shrill that
Molson ordered her gagged. Strips
of her own costume were forced down her throat and tied in place with the
same material.
The anal rape seemed to go on forever.
Molson and Monk amused themselves while she was violated by pinching,
twisting, and sucking on her pliant
breasts. Then when the rape finally
ended it started all over again with Monk taking her in the mouth and Molson
raping her vaginally once more.
Natassia continued her muffled screams until, completely beaten and
exhausted; she went limp, almost dislocating her shoulders as she took all
of her weight on her arms.
She was almost insensible as she was taken back to the
cell. She did not even recall
the door being opened and her handcuffs being
removed. Only later when she
came out of her semiconscious state did she realize where she
was. Slowly and painfully, she
dragged herself onto the bed.
Molson was winning.
Gradually he was breaking her
down. So far he had not completely
beaten her, but she did not know how much longer she could hold
out. It was the feeling of total
helplessness that almost overwhelmed her.
It seemed almost impossible that she could escape and if she did not
how could she survive what Molson was doing to
her? Sooner or later she would
break. She wondered what Aunt
Priscilla was doing. By now she
expected her aunt would be frantic with
worry. It was an aspect of being
a superheroine she had not considered.
It was bad enough placing herself in jeopardy without worrying the
elderly woman who was her guardian as
well. With these thoughts in
mind, she felt into a fitful sleep and did not stir until
morning.
When she awoke the food and water was there as on the previous
day. She was very thirsty, but
had absolutely no appetite. She
could not even force herself to eat.
Whenever she moved relentless pain coursed through her
body. Her nether region was
absolutely on fire, and her breasts were covered with
bruises. Her badly beaten buttocks
were swollen and aching. No matter
what position she assumed, from standing, to sitting, to lying down, she
was in pain and discomfort. Wracked
with fear and pain, she waited for her tormenters to show up once
more.
She was not kept waiting long. A
few minutes alter Molson showed up outside her
door. He handcuffed her the same
way he had done the previous day, but this time instead of being taken directly
to the room where she had been raped and tortured, she was taken the other
direction. She had to be partly
lifted by Molson’s henchmen, due to the fact that she could hardly
walk. Reaching Molson’s
chosen destination, he shoved her into a
bathroom. “Time to clean
you up honey,” he jeered.
“You smell like a syphilitic
whore.” He pushed her into
a shower stall and turned on the
water.
Natassia gasped under the cold spray, but Molson made no effort to
adjust the temperature. Instead
he forced her to turn under the water until the sweat, sperm, and grime was
washed from her body. Then, shivering
with the cold and still dripping water, he dragged her out and pushed her
down the hall. This time Natassia
did not shudder with fear when she was returned to her place of
torment. It was something she
had already come to expect and she used her Shaolin training to control her
fear. She knew however, that
her calm veneer would be very quickly shattered once Molson and his thugs
started on her. She took a deep
breath as she limped into the room.
She was secured as on the previous day, her ankles tied to the eyebolts on
the floor and her arms drawn up behind her in the strapado
position. Then Molson and the
other two men raped her in quick
succession. It was as painful
as on the previous two days and Natassia rewarded the three men with loud
screams of pain as they violated her.
But this time there was a
difference. Instead of drawing
out the multiple rapes each man climaxed
quickly. It was as if they were
merely going through the motions of ravishing
her. She soon found out
why. Molson had something else
planned for her.
He ordered Monk to bring him a large box that was near the table where she
had first been raped. Molson
fumbled in it and produced a jumble of wires and other
apparatus. A shiver ran down
her spine. Molson was holding
a set of crude electrical torture
devices. Eyes wide, she watched
as he took out a pair of large alligator
clips. “Today honey, you
are going to tell me what I want to know.
I’m tired of waiting for your tongue to
loosen.” As he spoke he
squeezed Natassia’s left breast and snapped one of the clips over her
nipple. Natassia gasped at the
pain, but managed to bite off the urge to
scream.
She began to breathe heavily as the second clip was fastened to her right
nipple. “Any time you want
me to stop, just start talking,” Molson said, as he took out a long
piece of insulated wire. Otherwise
this is going to get painful.”
It was already painful, but Natassia could not tell him
that. Instead she could only
watch in growing fear as he attached wire or each of the alligator
clips. By this time Monk had
taken out several large telephone batteries and had lined them up on the
floor. Molson handed him the
wires and he connected the first one.
Now all that was needed to send a surge of current through the wires
was to connect the second.
“Last chance baby,” Molson said holding the wire next to the
contact. The look on his face
said that he would very much prefer that she remain
silent. Natassia took a deep
breath and shook her head.
With a malicious smile, Molson completed the
connection. For a few seconds
Natassia gritted her teeth as the current coursed through her
nipples. Then she howled like
a banshee, arching her back and thrashing
frenziedly. The brutal criminal
stood back to watch her agony, admiring the way her body jerked as the current
surged through her. Drops of
sweat flew off her and her long dark hair swirled in all directions as she
writhed in torment. Her incredible
gray eyes were wide with pain and her mouth was open as she cried out in
agony. Just a little more time,
and then she would tell him everything.
Her body was incredible. He had
never seen anything like her. Her
muscle definition was unlike that of any woman he had ever
seen. Smooth powerful muscles
flowed beneath her satin skin. As
she twisted in torment her high, perfect breasts, bounced and
quivered. She had unbelievable
endurance. He had fully expected
that the ordeal he had put her through would have broken her by
now. He wondered how many times
she would have to raped before she was properly “broken in” and
suitable for the clients who frequented his brothel.
He frowned suddenly. In the back
of his mind old memories stirred.
There was something about her that he should
recognize. “Palmer,”
he called to his second henchman.
“Get me this week’s
newspapers. Molson usually only
read the sports pages of the paper, but this time he was looking for something
special. While he waited he sat
back and watched the heroine scream.
Palmer returned with in minutes.
Molson scanned the front page.
His eyes narrowed. He
had found what he was looking for.
Heiress
Missing
This morning Metro City Police reported the
disappearance of wealthy socialite
Natassia
Green.
Miss Green who created a sensation
with her return from the orient a few
months
ago …
There was more, but Molson had what
he wanted. There was even a picture
of the missing heiress and her Aunt
Priscilla. It matched perfectly
the woman he was torturing.
“Should read the paper more often,” he
mused. Disconnecting the wire,
he stopped the flow of the current.
Natassia’s screams dropped to moans as the flow of electricity through
her body ceased. Her body dripped
sweat, and her shoulders felt as if they had been
dislocated. Through eyes glazed
with pain she stared in horror at the newspaper Molson had thrust in front
of her face. “So Miss
Green,” he sneered, “we meet
again. I’m damned if I know
how you got out of
Natassia could only stare at the
mocking thug with her mouth open.
Above all else she had wanted to keep her identity
secret. Now her greatest fear
had come to pass. Monk knew who
she was and was prepared to use that information to threaten those she
loved. Finally, she gasped
out a reply. “I… I’ll
pay… you what … you
want.”
“You bet you will, babe and just to remind you who is in charge I’m
going to give you one last fucking before I put you
away.”
Still helpless in her strapado position, Natassia could only moan in protest
as Molson thrust into her for the second time that
day. This time he took much longer,
pounding into her ravaged vagina for over an hour before releasing into
her. Monk and Palmer then enjoyed
her as well, leaving her whimpering in pain before they finished with
her. Only then was she led back
to her Spartan cell, to await what further pleasures her captors had for
her.
Natassia could not have felt more miserable and
degraded. All of her resistance
had been in vain. Molson had
figured out who she was by the simple expedient of reading a
newspaper. How stupid she had
been to think that she could emulate the accomplishments of the Jade Dragon
and Scarlet Falcon, whose identities she had never been able to fathom in
spite of months of trying to track them
down. And what an idiot she had
been to imagine that she could come close to matching their
exploits. She had been captured
only her second time out and everything about her had been
revealed. Now her only surviving
relative was in grave danger and it was all her
fault. Worst of all, was the
fact that there was nothing she could to improve the
situation. She would have to
agree to Molson’s demands and hope that the thug would keep his word,
an event that was most unlikely.
She would have been better off
dead.
Dead. Her eyes
widened. She nodded slowly to
herself. It was her only
chance. But she would have to
make it look good. Raising her
beaten body to a sitting position she drew the edge of her thumbnail across
her forehead, slicing through the tiny blood vessels
there. Immediately blood flowed
down her face and over her chest.
Soon she was almost scarlet with the crimson
fluid. Then she lay face up on
the floor and tried to compose herself.
The tiny cut in her forehead would soon heal
over. Now it was important that
she appear as dead as possible. For
this she would need all the skills of her Shaolin
training.
Slowly she composed herself, slowing her heat rate and then her
breathing. She kept her eyes
open and focused on the ceiling.
Bit by bit she shut her body down.
It was a technique that she had practiced extensively at the Shaolin
temple, but she had never gone as deep as she wanted to go
now. It took her an hour to complete
her transformation. She sent
herself deep into a state of mediation.
Barely conscious of the world she
waited.
Palmer opened the door to set the food and water
inside. Usually the beautiful
heroine was too exhausted to even notice he was
there. Nevertheless, he had been
warned about how dangerous these heroine bitches would
be. Just as a precaution he had
two other goons with him.
Cautiously her opened the door and almost wet
himself. The entire floor of
the cell and most of the heroine’s seemingly lifeless body was covered
in blood. With a curse he set
the tray of food down and opened the door
wide. “Give me a hand with
her,” he ordered. Grabbing
one of the heroine’s legs he dragged her out of the bloody cell and
into the corridor. The thug he
had spoken to knelt beside the body and took her
pulse. After a few seconds he
shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Shit,” swore Palmer.
“Molson ain’t gonna like
this. Better get him
here,” He stayed with the
body while the henchman ran off to find his
boss. Staring at the naked body
of the heroine he shook his head again.
“What a god-damned waste,” he
muttered. He had never had a
better fuck.
It didn’t take Molson long to
arrive. He was almost running
as he came down the hall.
“What the hell happened?” he
asked. “Did she try to
escape?”
“She was like this when I got here.
Covered with blood and dead as a
mackerel.”
“Christ,” cursed Molson.
“That bitch was worth a
fortune. How could she have killed
herself?”
Palmer just shook his head. Molson
knelt by the body to check the corpse
himself. Placing his fingers
on her neck he checked for a pulse.
The skin was distinctly cool and the heartbeat
undetectable. He cursed again,
this time letting out a string of invective that took him an entire minute
to finish. “Biggest opportunity
of my life and she kills herself.
Get her out of here. Weight
her down and dump her in the
harbour.”
“Right,” said Palmer, grateful that Molson had not taken out his
anger on him. “Get a
sheet,” he said to one of the other
henchmen. “we’ll wrap
her up.”
It was like being at the bottom of a very deep
well. Natassia had never gone
into a state of deep mediation before without being with one of the other
monks. They had always been there
to help guide her back if she needed any
help. Now she was on her
own. Dimly she could hear the
voices of the thugs as they discussed what to do with
her. She was able to determine
that they thought she was dead and were going to dispose of
her. It was time to bring herself
back to life, but she would have to do it very
carefully. Slowly, she quickened
her heartbeat and increased her shallow
breathing.
Palmer wrapped the dead heroine in the
sheet. He did not tie it
yet. First he and one of the
other thugs would carry her to the car.
Once she was at the dockside he would add some heavy weights and then
tie the sheet tight so she would be carried to the
bottom.
He took her shoulders and the other man took her
feet. Lifting her they carried
the heroine’s corpse toward the end of the
hall. They would carry her down
the back stairs. It wouldn’t
do to let anyone else see her.
Halfway down the staircase, Palmer had a
thought. He didn’t have
many. But this one was
intriguing. Something was not
right. If the broad was dead,
how come her body wasn’t cold?
He had seen a few bodies in his time and he couldn’t recall one
that ever stayed warm.
Coming out of her trance was like swimming up from the bottom of the
ocean. She could see light and
even hear sound, but everything seemed indistinct and far
away. She was aware that she
was being carried, but there was something confining
her. Something white and
cool. Suddenly a heavy jolt almost
startled her back into consciousness.
She had been dumped on the floor.
She accelerated her withdrawal.
Now she could clearly understand what was going on about
her. She was wrapped in something
white and at least two men were standing next to
her.
“I tell you she’s warm,” said
Palmer. “Dead broads
shouldn’t be warm.”
“You’re nuts,” said the other thug, a man called Rawlson,
“how can she come back to life?
She sure looked dead to me.
Let’s get on with dumping
her. I got a date with Rosie
tonight.”
“Rosie? Can’t you find
anything better than her?”
“Hey,” replied Rawlson.
“She’s free. One
of the privileges of working in a house.
Beside we all don’t get the pleasure of shagging a
heroine.”
“Yeah,” said Palmer grinning.
He pulled back the corner of the sheet, exposing the heroine’s
head. The movement of the
heroine’s hand was so quick that he didn’t even realize she had
moved until the heel of her palm shattered his
nose.
“Christ!” yelled Rawlson.
He almost wet himself as Palmer spun across the hall, blood streaming
from his shattered nose. The
supposedly dead heroine rose from the sheets like a corpse from its
shroud. Completely panicked
he fumbled for his gun, but he was too slow, the woman’s foot drove
into his groin with such force that he was lifted from the
floor. Then the heroine spun
away, turning back to Palmer, who was just struggling to his
feet. Her foot caught him in
the throat. With an inarticulate
gurgle he crumpled to the floor, his throat
crushed. Rawlson gasped in
pain. “Please no,”
he pleaded as the woman turned on him.
He looked into her eyes and froze in
fear. She was the last thing
he ever saw.
Natassia sagged against the wall.
The short battle had taken everything out of
her. Now she could barely
stand. But she could not just
run. Molson had the
Dragon’s
Eye. There was no telling
what the ruthless thug would do with it if he ever discovered its
power. Controlling her heavy
breathing she tried to settle herself
down. Then she started back down
the hall. She had no real plan,
hoping that she would think of something.
First thing though she needed some
clothing. She had been naked
long enough.
She was in a brothel. There must
be some women’s clothing somewhere.
She turned down a larger hallway and made her way toward a door at
the end. She went warily, cautious
of discovery. She did not want
any more men to see her like this.
Opening the door she found herself in some sort of
lounge. It was empty except for
a couple of revealingly dressed young
women. Both of them looked up
as she entered. “What happened
to you, sweety?” asked the taller of the two, a willowy blonde in her
early thirties.
“Molson,” said Natassia.
She could think of nothing better than to tell the
truth.
“Oh yeah,” said the blonde.
“That bastard. He
plays rough.”
“Where are your clothes?” asked the shorter
woman. She was a brunette in
her mid twenties. “That
prick keep them?” She stood
up staring intently at Natassia.
“Geez, he really worked you
over.”
“Please,” said Natassia, “can you get me something to
wear?”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, sweety,” said the
blonde. “You just come with
Dora.” She placed her arm
about Natassia and led her toward a door on the far side of the
room. “God, I hate men who
beat up women,” she added as she led Natassia into a small
room.
Natassia could see that she was probably in the room where Dora entertained
her clients. The woman sat her
down on the bed. “Just a
sec,” she said, “I’ll see what I can
find.”
The brunette poked her head into the
room. “I’ll get some
food and drink,” she said.
“Get some bandages and such too,” Dora
said. The brunette nodded and
disappeared.
“This should do,” Dora said, taking out a blouse and skirt from
the chest of drawers.
“I’ll find you some undies
too.”
Natassia fought to keep from relaxing too
much. After the unrelenting terror
she had been subjected to for the past three days, this unexpected kindness
from a couple of whores almost overwhelmed
her. Dora set the clothes on
the bed. She had closed the door
to give them some privacy, but opened
it when Annie, as the brunette was called, tapped on the
outside.
“This is all I could find,” she
said. She was carrying a tray
with a few slices of bread, some cold cuts, and a piece of
cheese.
“What, no gin?” asked Dora.
She looked at Natassia.
“Well, maybe tea would be a better
idea.”
Natassia ate while Dora dressed her
wounds. Annie had also brought
up a roll of bandages and some iodine.
The latter stung as Dora painted the abrasions that covered her body,
but Natassia endured it without comment.
A few minutes later Annie was back with a pot of
tea. Natassia thought that small
meal was the best she had ever had.
By the time she had finished, Dora had finished administering to her,
and had helped her get partly dressed.
As Natassia finished the last bite of cheese Dora pushed her down
on the bed. “Now you
rest,” she ordered. “No
one will come in here to bother you.
Annie and I will make sure of
that.”
“Rest?” asked Natassia.
She sat straight up in alarm.
She had almost forgotten what she had to
do. “Thank you,” she
said, “but I’ve got to
go.”
The two women stared at her in amazement.
“With those bruises,” said Dora, you shouldn’t be going
anywhere. But I don’t blame you for
leaving.”
“Not leaving,” Natassia
corrected. “I’ve got
some unfinished business.”
Disbelieving, the two women watched open mouthed as Natassia left the room
and walked back the way she had come.
Into the heart of Molson’s little
empire.
Amazingly no one had stumbled across the bodies of the two men she had
killed. They lay where she had
dropped them. She decided that
she had neither the time nor the inclination to dispose of
them. If what she intended to
do worked out she wouldn’t need to worry about them, but she would have
to work quickly. The corpses
wouldn’t go undiscovered forever.
It would have helped her cause if she knew where Molson was, but since did
not she decide on a daring course of
action. She walked boldly down
the centre of the corridor. It
took only a minute before she ran into one of Molson’s
thugs. Without faltering she
walked right up to him.
“Molson sent for me,” she
said. It was a calculated
gamble. During her stay in
Molson’s headquarters she had seen only a few
men. She was gambling that very
few of his henchmen would recognize her.
The man gave her a quick look over.
Natassia hoped that most of the bruises that covered her body would
be concealed by her clothing.
“Lucky him,” the man
leered. Apparently her gamble
had worked.
“I don’t know where he is,” she
said. “Can you take me to
him?”
The man gave her a curious look, but
nodded. “This way,
babe.”
Natassia fell in behind him, hoping that Molson was not too far
away. The more men who saw her,
the more likely she would encounter someone who knew who she
was. This time, however, luck
was with her. Molson turned out
to be only one floor up and down a short
corridor. There was not even
a guard on the door. The man
knocked once and poked his head in.
“Boss, the broad you sent for
is…”
Natassia’s hammer fist to the back of his head ended his
sentence. Kicking open the door
she charged into the room. Two
startled faces looked up at her as she
entered. Molson and Monk were
the only two men in the room.
Seated behind a desk the men were examining
something. Something that glowed
an eerie green. On the desk between
them was the
Dragon’s Eye.
The scenario could not have been more perfectly
painted. It took Natassia only
two strides to cross the room, and one more stride to launch herself across
the desk.
She caught Monk full in the chest, the power of her legs driving him across
the room, his ribs shattered. She
had taken him out first as his hand had gone to the inside of his jacket
as he reached for his gun. Landing
on her feet, she whirled on Molson.
In one hand the crook held the
Dragon’s
Eye, in the other he held the gun he had shot her with in the
restaurant.
Natassia had only a split second to act.
Already the thug was squeezing the
trigger. And this time she was
not wearing the
Dragon’s Eye.
This time she would not be saved by the mystic power of the shimmering
gem. Diving to her right, she
hit the floor and rolled immediately to her
feet. The crash of Molson’s
gun roared in her ears, but he had
missed. Without stopping she
leaped toward him. He got off
just one more hastily aimed shot but he had pulled the trigger too
soon. The bullet went wide and
then Natassia hurtled into him.
She hit him too hard. She knew
that even as she delivered the blow, but her rage at finally confronting
the man who had done so much to hurt and degrade her caused her to lose
control. The palm of her hand
drove into his nose, smashing it into his
skull. At the same time her other
hand came down on the gun, twisting it from his
grasp. Driven backward by the
impact, Molson hurtled across the room striking his head on a low table as
he fell. As his head hit the
table’s edge there was a sickening sound, like that of a ripe melon
being split.
Molson lay in a widening pool of blood, his hand still clutching the
Dragon’s
Eye. His eyes were wide
open and unblinking, but Natassia saw that he was still alive; just
barely. Stepping into the blood,
she stooped and pried open Molson’s
fingers. Then looking into his
eyes she watched him as he died. As
his fingers relaxed she plucked the stone from his
hand. Immediately, she felt the
incredible surge of energy as the gem’s power coursed through
her. For a few seconds she was
frozen as the green stone’s healing energy repaired the physical damage
that had been inflicted on her body.
Then she was whole again, her splendid body as unmarked as if it had
not endured three days of rape and
torture.
From outside the door she could hear
shouts. The sound of the shots
Molson had fired had alerted others.
She had to work quickly. How
much evidence did Molson have of her
identity? Had he told anyone
other than Monk and Palmer? Had
he written it down anywhere? And
if he had where? She glanced
around the office. There were
too many questions to answer. She
came to a grim decision. She
would have to destroy the building.
Her eyes swept to Monk. The
thug lay where the force of her attack had dropped
him. But there was one
difference. Between his eyes
was a small red hole. One of
Molson’s shots must have hit him.
Well, that was a neat solution to her
problem. In spite of what he
had done to her, she doubted that she could have killed him in cold
blood.
The noise of approaching men was coming
closer. It was time to
act. There was a box of matches
on the desk, near Molson’s box of
cigars. It took only a few seconds
to start a fire in the wastebasket and place it beneath the
desk. Then, closing the door
and locking it, she piled other furniture into a nice flammable
heap. By now the room was filling
with smoke as the fire gained strength.
What it needed to really get it going was a little
air. Striding to the window,
Natassia threw it open.
Immediately, the fire gained
strength. It was time to move
on.
The distance to the ground was only three
stories. For Natassia’s
enhanced muscles it was the same as a three foot
drop. She landed in front of
a window. It took her only a
few seconds to reenter the building through
it. The room she was in was full
of boxes. It took her only a
minute to get another nice blaze going.
Then opening the door to fan the flames, she moved into the corridor
and made her way to another room.
In short order she repeated her fire-starting
routine. Within fifteen minutes,
Natassia had started a dozen fires in the
building. Smoke pouring from
every window alerted the inhabitants, and they streamed into the
street. She made no attempt to
hide. Who would suspect
her? She was just an extremely
pretty young girl watching a building
burn.
As the building was engulfed in flames, Natassia was consumed by an overwhelming
sense of melancholy and loss.
Inside that building she had been defiled and almost
broken. Her virginity and her
arrogant dreams of becoming a superheroine had been brutally torn from
her. She had failed in everything
and had been forced to resort to a crude act of destruction to keep protect
herself from public ridicule and
exposure. Overcome with grief
she sank to her knees and wept. She
was still there when a police car pulled up next to her a few minutes
later.
“How is she?” said police detective Joe Green of the Metro City
Police. He had been first on
the scene of the fire and had come upon the weeping girl as she sat on the
curb, her head in her hands.
“She seems fine,” answered Dr. Lisa
Bertrand. “Not a mark on
her. Doesn’t look like Molson
or any of his boys laid a hand on
her.”
“What about…” Green
left the sentence unfinished.
Bertrand caught his meaning. She
had been working with the police department for eleven
years. She shook her
head. “As I said, not a
mark on her. Funny thing was
she blunted out something about being raped, but as far as I can tell she’s
still a virgin. Looks like hysteria
to me.”
“Not surprising, considering who kidnapped
her. Molson was a real piece
of work. Any clues as to the
fire?”
“If she knows, she’s not
telling. Claims she doesn’t
remember anything. She’s
seems quite distraught. If you
don’t need her for anything else I suggest you let her go
home. Her aunt is here to pick
her up.”
Green nodded.
“Sure. I might want
to talk to her later, but I can’t see any reason to hold her
here. Poor kid, she must have
been through hell.”
Natassia hardly responded as Aunt Priscilla gave her a big
hug. Caught up in the emotional
reaction to her ordeal, her thoughts tumbled uncontrollably through her
mind. As she sat in the back
of the large car on the way to her home, she tried to sort out what had happened
to her. She was still a
virgin. But how could that
be? She had been raped again
and again. She had felt the pain
as her hymen tore and seen the blood trickling from her ravaged
vagina. Nightmarish as the events
of her capture had been, she was sure that she had not dreamed
them. There was only one explanation
that made sense. The
Dragon’s Eye.
The healing power of
the mystical gem must have restored her virginity when it healed the rest
of her body. It was an aspect
of the gem she had never imagined.
It meant that if she chose to pursue her career as a crimefighter
she would remain a virgin forever.
Even if she married and had children, the gem would restore her hymen
as it would any other wound her body
received. It was something that
had never occurred to her. Life
as a perpetual virgin. Somehow
it was almost depressing. Settling
back in her seat she let the motion of the car and the softness of the cushioned
leather lull her to sleep. The
last thing she remembered before she dozed off was the gentle touch of Aunt
Pricilla’s hand as it tenderly stroked her hair.
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