Preparing for rough shagging

Preparing for rough shaggingHell yeah, this hot blondie will get the rude fucking that she deserves very soon but… First, she needs to get the violators attacking her hard! Hit Girls Ravished to see them pushing their filthy cocks into her mouth!

# – Elizabeth’s Story –

Elizabeth was thirty-two years old, tall and slim. Short, auburn curls
framed an attractive face, her breasts were not large but still nicely
shaped, and long, tapering legs promised an enticing picture when
helped by high-heeled shoes and stockings. She had two children; one
ten and one eight, and so there had been ample time for her body to
recover some of its pre-pregnancy qualities. The family was watched for
two weeks leading up to the abduction: Her husband left for work at
seven-o’clock in the morning. At eight-thirty she took the children to
school, then picked up groceries before returning home. At four-o’clock
she returned to the school to collect the children. Her kidnappers
broke into the house one morning while she was out. When she returned,
they were waiting for her and she stood no chance against the three
men. They toyed with her for an hour before driving her away. They took
her upstairs to her bedroom and made her fetch out all of her lingerie.
Elizabeth was ordered to undress and when she had done so, her
attackers took turns in choosing items of clothing for her to wear. She
was made to parade around the bedroom in skimpy underwear that
concealed nothing, but titillated her audience. Ransacking the bedroom,
the men discovered Elizabeth’s vibrator. Humiliating her utterly, they
forced her to use it on herself, and were not satisfied until she had
brought herself to a climax. Then, selecting a brassiere, pantyhose,
and a dress and shoes from her closet, the kidnappers ordered Elizabeth
to get dressed. Finally, she was drugged and, before she lost
consciousness, hurried to a waiting van. Elizabeth waited in a dark
cell for two days before she was taken to the place where the
torture-films were made. Her dress and brassiere were removed, and she
stood semi-naked, her attractive breasts pouting, in front of several
men and women. Two men took her by the arms and Elizabeth watched a
narrow belt being placed about her waist. “W-what are you going to do?”
asked the terrified woman, as the men fastened a buckle and placed her
wrists in cuffs attached to the sides of the belt. Suddenly, powerful
overhead lights came on, bathing Elizabeth in their illumination. A
woman stepped into the light and stood in front of Elizabeth. “We are
going to make a movie – several movies, in fact – of you being tortured
in a number of different ways. Extremely unpleasant ways for you, but
very enjoyable for those who buy the films. And for some of us who make
them.” The woman, who was older then Elizabeth, smiled grimly. “Oh, my
god!” gasped Elizabeth. “Please! No! I don’t want to be h-hurt …” “Of
course you don’t,” agreed the woman. “That’s one of the entertaining
aspects of what we do here. The market for scenes of consensual torture
is tiny compared with that for those staring unwilling victims.” As she
spoke, cameras on large dollies were being wheeled up and arranged
about the spot where Elizabeth stood. “Wha-what is g-going to happen?”
stammered Elizabeth. “You’ll see,” said the woman. Reaching out, she
took Elizabeth’s left breast in one hand. The nipple stood large and
erect. Elizabeth tried to back off, but the men at her sides held her
secure. The woman produced a cord in her free hand. The cord ended in a
small noose which the woman deftly slipped over the delicate, enticing
tip of the breast. The woman tugged the cord and the noose tightened,
causing Elizabeth to suck in her breath. “Now give me the other one,”
the woman said, and moments later she was leading her unfortunate
victim forward, into the focus of the lights, by both nipples. A
smooth, round, horizontal bar pressed against Elizabeth’s belly. The
bar was too high for her to step over and she was obliged to bend
forward as the woman holding the two cords continued to move back. She
let out a groan, then a plea to be released, as her breasts and nipples
became extended. She was bent almost horizontally when she saw what the
woman intended for her. Then she cried out aloud for the first time.
The woman threaded the cords under metal loops, set into the top of a
wooden stock like inverted ‘U’s. The loops, large enough only for a
finger or thumb to pass through, were about as far apart as Elizabeth’s
breasts, and when the stock was pushed forward until it rested beneath
her inclined torso, her nipples were drawn through. The woman pulled on
the cords, eliciting cries of pain from Elizabeth, until the tan haloes
were squeezed through the small openings. Out of the dimness
surrounding the illuminated area, came a man with a mallet. With two
swift, accurately gauged blows he drove the loops of metal into the
stock, trapping the tips of Elizabeth’s breasts and causing her to
shriek in pain. Elizabeth bucked, and screamed, but her breasts were
held secure and she only managed to hurt them more by moving. Her head
had been drawn back, so that her face looked up, and fastened in that
position by tying off her hair to the band around her waist. The bar
over which she was bent had been raised until her feet came off the
floor, and her ankles secured so that her legs were straight but wide
apart. She bucked again and another agonized sound escaped her throat.
In fact, each time the man standing behind her pressed the tip of the
electrically-heated needle into her clitoris, Elizabeth’s body made a
vain attempt to convulse, and the restrained paroxysm was accompanied
by a resounding scream. And every moment of this torment was being
captured by the cameras that stared without emotion upon the scene. The
man lowered the instrument and rested. The muscles controlling
Elizabeth’s abdomen and genital region were quivering. A dozen times
the needle had been used on her and she had no reason to assume that
more were not forthcoming. The pain in her clitoris was agonizing, and
she sobbed continually, choking out entreaties to the people who stood
watching her. The woman who had bound Elizabeth’s nipples appeared from
among the audience. She was carrying a clip- board. The sounds of the
cameras had stopped. “That was interesting,” the woman remarked in an
amused tone. “I haven’t seen that before …” “Please! Don’t hurt me
any more,” Elizabeth managed to beg in a coherent voice. “Let me go,
for god’s sake.” The woman chuckled softly. “Let you go? Of course
we’re not going to let you go – not yet anyway. That was an excellent
ten-minute short!” The woman studied her clip-board. “We have you
scheduled for another half-dozen scenes,” she added casually, patting
Elizabeth’s cheek and walking around the fastened figure to where the
man with the needle stood. As she did so, a desperate wail emanated
from Elizabeth. The woman stood holding the device the man had used to
induce the intense pain in Elizabeth’s clitoris. A long, fine, silver
needle protruded from the pistol-grip in her hand. She was surprised
when she pressed the trigger and saw nothing happen. The man saw her
surprised look. “You were expecting to it glow.” he said rhetorically.
“Well, yes,” the woman replied. “If it were that hot, it would have
destroyed her nerve-endings. Not much fun. Just a short-lived burn.
Right now, all of her nerve tissue is very much alive,” he said smugly.
The woman moved close to Elizabeth, so that she could inspect what had
been done. The gusset of Elizabeth’s pantyhose had been cut away. The
entrance to her vagina was closed, still guarded by the two pairs of
lips, but the small fold of fleshy tissue normally covering her
clitoris was pushed back and seemed to be held like that by something
resembling a peculiarly bent paper-clip. Exposed was the swollen organ,
the twelve angry marks on its surface showing where the heated metal
point had entered. The woman pressed the tip of a finger against it,
and a scream filled place. “See what I mean,” said the man. “She
wouldn’t have felt a thing if I’d charred it.” ii The woman directed
the crew, having them shift lights and cameras into place for the next
scene. Elizabeth was still in severe pain and she moaned softly all the
time, but, when a lamp was maneuvered into position above her fastened
breasts, she began to whimper. “Not there,” she pleaded to nobody in
particular. “Please, not there. I couldn’t stand that …” Her voice
trailed off and she watched, her terror growing, while a camera was
pushed next to the stock, and a man focused the camera’s lens on her
right breast. The woman had wheeled a cart up to the stock, and then
pulled a low bench next to Elizabeth. She sat on the bench, stroking
the large nipple at the tip of Elizabeth’s right breast with her
fingers. From a tray on the cart, she retrieved a small bowl of clear
liquid and a cotton-ball. She swabbed the nipple with the liquid.
Moments later Elizabeth’s eyes widened and she drew in a long, sibilant
breath before allowing a gurgling noise to leave her throat. The nipple
grew torrid, and the volume of Elizabeth’s screaming increased. After a
few minutes Elizabeth’s nipple was swollen to twice its normal size and
the skin covering it as tight as a drum-skin. Elizabeth’s shrieks had
become maniacal. For a further five minutes she thrashed in a fit of
agony as much as her bonds would permit, screaming at the top of her
voice. Perspiration covered her naked torso, and her bare skin shone in
the camera lights. The pain climaxed and Elizabeth’s voice became mute
for a few seconds before her lips formed a near-perfect circle and she
began to emit a drawn-out ‘Oh’. The sound came to and end finally in a
hoarse rattle. Elizabeth’s agony subsided as rapidly as it had mounted,
and she collapsed suddenly; draped over the metal bar, hanging limply
by her imprisoned breasts. She cried pitifully, her words hardly
audible or intelligible, begging her torturers to release her. It was
the Needle-Man’s turn to express surprise. “What is this stuff?” he
asked, picking up the bowl and carefully, suspiciously, holding it
under his nose. “Carbon tetrachloride,” the woman informed him. “It’s a
de-greasing agent. I removed all of the natural oils from her skin,
leaving the tissue unprotected from the air.” “I didn’t know the air
was that dangerous,” the man replied, quickly putting the bowl back on
the cart. “The oxygen is. It burns.” “Without doubt,” the man
concurred. He looked at Elizabeth, who was breathing heavily but still
limp, still uttering her almost silent entreaties. He looked at her
right nipple. The swelling had not subsided; the skin was still smooth
and shiny and taught. He watched the woman take a scalpel from the
tray, then carefully apply the blade to the very tip of the nipple. The
skin split with an audible pop, and a second later, the air was rent by
the last sound Elizabeth made before fainting. “Cut the cameras!” the
woman ordered. “Take five, and index running again when you see her
regaining consciousness.” She stood and, with a fingernail, touched
Elizabeth’s ruptured nipple, flipping back a piece of loose skin that
still clung to it. Turning to the Needle-Man, she said: “I’ll wait
until then before peeling this off. The effect will hold your interest
for a while, I promise.” The Needle-Man was not disappointed.
Elizabeth’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and the veins in her neck
bulged while her nipple and the surrounding halo were decorticated with
dreadful slowness. As the viable dermis beneath the outer layers of
skin was exposed, the pain became so excruciating that Elizabeth
fainted for a second time. She had to be revived with ammonium salts so
that she would suffer the full agony of the procedure. When the woman
had finished, and Elizabeth’s pleas for mercy were no longer
understandable, the Needle-Man asked: “Do you have any more tricks like
that one?” “Of course,” the woman told him. She gently placed a
fingertip against Elizabeth’s intact, left nipple and went on: “This
one will end up just like its mate, but not in the same fashion.
There’s more than one way to skin a cat, you know” she grinned. “Or a
nipple,” the man suggested. iii The man carefully prepared Elizabeth’s
labia; going through a well-practiced procedure developed to expose the
two pairs of delicate lips protecting his victim’s vagina. Elizabeth’s
pubic hair had been removed, leaving her voluptuous mounds and hollows
(which, the man noticed, had been untouched by the Sun’s tanning rays)
as clean and as smooth as polished alabaster. Onto the delicate,
depilated skin he painted adhesive. Then, working with one pair of lips
at a time, he peeled the pliant tissue open, folded it back and held it
like that for a minute or so; until the adhesive had bonded. When he
had done this to both pairs of lips, the textured, rosy inner surfaces
were revealed like the petals of a flower. The entrance to Elizabeth’s
vaginal canal was presented to him unobstructed. Moving two fingers
into the passage, he pressed the coruscated wall and felt the strong
muscle tighten as Elizabeth reacted to the unwelcome intrusion. For a
few moments he allowed himself the pleasure of exploring the cloister,
receiving enjoyment from the resistance Elizabeth put up in her vain
attempt to prevent him from delving further into her. While his fingers
groped indelicately, he dropped his gaze to the shapely, elegant legs
that were pinned open, allowing him the access he needed. His free hand
moved over the alluring curves of Elizabeth’s calf and thigh, stroking
the shimmering material of her pantyhose and delighting in the sensual
feel of it. Elizabeth moaned; the tone of her voice betraying her
knowledge that the torture was about to be resumed. At last, the man
withdrew his fingers, though only partially satisfied that Elizabeth
was cognizant enough to understand what was happening to her. He had
been astonished by the amount of pain she had sustained from the simple
excoriation of one of her nipples. But he had also been concerned that
his victim may have become numbed to any further, protracted agony. In
order to repudiate his concern, he pressed a fingernail against
Elizabeth’s clitoris. The immediate, convulsive response, accompanied
by a gasped shriek, convinced him that Elizabeth’s senses were fully
operating. He reached down; his right hand grasping a dentist’s drill
on the end of an articulated arm; the other picking up a cloth that had
been soaking in a pan. Bracing his right arm against Elizabeth’s thigh,
he indexed the drill. The tiny, surgically engineered bit turned twelve
thousand times every second, and carried a little brass-wire brush in
its jaw. The raw ends of the bristles kissed the inner surface of
Elizabeth’s major lip for only an instant, but during that small
fraction of a second, they stripped a tiny piece of flesh, the diameter
of a pencil and the thickness of a pencil-lead, from the sensitive
tissue. The man removed his drill, then quickly pressed the saturated
cloth against the flayed area. The astringent aroma of a styptic caught
in his nostrils. However, the impact the strong odor on his senses was
overwhelmed a moment later as Elizabeth dredged from her lungs a
frenzied, frenetic shriek that assaulted his ears. The man kept
Elizabeth screaming for twenty minutes before what he was doing to her
made her lapse into unconsciousness. He had been able to extend his
torture much longer than the woman had managed. And he reckoned that
the cries he had elicited from Elizabeth had been louder and more drawn
out than those she had offered before, in trade for mercy, while her
nipple was being peeled. He examined the results of his efforts. In
twenty minutes, the drill had made its brief encounter with Elizabeth’s
skin twenty times; both of Elizabeth’s large lips bore half-a-dozen
wounds, while the remainder of the scour marks from the wire-brush were
shared between the two smaller, more sanguineous – and more sensitive –
lips. The woman admired what she saw. Each of the score of tiny
injuries, now flecked with pin-points of blood – but not bleeding, had
drawn an animal scream from Elizabeth. The woman glanced upwards and
noted how the lights and camera had been situated. A satisfied smile
crossed her lips; both the cause of Elizabeth’s agony and the effect it
had had upon her had been well captured on celluloid. She bent in order
to inspect the mutilated labia more closely, then drew away suddenly,
wrinkling her nose. “Vinegar?” she said in a indexled tone. The man
smiled. “Sort of,” he replied. “Dilute acetic acid, actually. In
addition to contracting the blood vessels, the styptic solution has a
mild anaesthetic effect. The acid overcomes that and heightens the
pain.” “You don’t say,” the woman chuckled. iv The woman studied the
ubiquitous clipboard. “You’ve written ‘Fiber’ on this,” she said,
addressing the man whose techniques for torturing Elizabeth she had
found fascinating. “But you have a question-mark after it.” She gave
the man a quizzical look. The man had disassembled his drill and was
stowing the pieces in small trunk. “Yes,” he replied in a leisurely
fashion. “I actually have something else in mind, but it would take a
little co-operation.” “What do you mean?” “You have something planned
for her other nipple, correct?” “Yes.” “Then go ahead with your
arrangements, but load a new film-can into this camera.” The man
pointed above his head, to the camera which had been used to film the
agonizing flaying of Elizabeth’s labia. The woman looked worried. “I
can do that. But I need twenty-minutes of action from the next two
scenes. You’re asking me to make them run concurrently.” “Don’t worry,”
the man urged. “We’ll get that long – at least. Just let me know when
you’re ready to begin, and then give me a few moments to finish my
preparations. You’ll find this quite entertaining.” “As long as the
customer does, too,” the woman said, acquiescing to the man’s
suggestion. The man rested his elbows against the smooth cheeks of
Elizabeth’s bottom. In his fingers he held a short length of steel wire
that he had snipped from a coil. The end of the wire, left purposefully
jagged, was located at the entrance to Elizabeth’s urethra. Using his
fingertips, the man began to rotate the wire, urging the sharp
extremity into the highly sensitive vascular duct. He felt Elizabeth’s
body stiffen and heard her sudden intake of breath. He continued
turning the wire while introducing it further into the narrow, flexible
passageway. Elizabeth cried out, begging him to stop. The man knew that
the pain he was currently causing was only acute; as soon as he had
scored the entire length of the integument and removed the wire,
Elizabeth would stop screaming. Until, he told himself, she urinated.
The woman sat in front of the stock that still held Elizabeth’s
breasts. Her hand was poised. Her fingers held a spigot from which a
long hose fell in a loop to the floor. She watched the man hold a bag
aloft, until its contents had drained through a catheter into
Elizabeth’s bladder. She saw him step sideways – clear of Elizabeth’s
body – and remove the catheter. After a few moments, she saw a thin
stream of liquid arise from between Elizabeth’s thighs, and watched it
describe a graceful arc. But, before the first drop of fluid touched
the floor, she heard Elizabeth’s strident squeal. Then she saw the
emanation abruptly cease and, shifting her gaze to Elizabeth’s face,
saw a look full of pain, astonishment, and utter disbelief. Moments
later Elizabeth screeched again; a high-pitched, shrill piping that
accompanied a second attempt to evacuate her more-than replete bladder.
The woman waited, watching Elizabeth’s mounting effort to control
herself. Then, when the woman gauged that all of Elizabeth’s
concentration was focused upon not urinating, she pressed a trigger on
the spigot. She saw a short, thin, nebulous stream emerge from the tip,
heard the attendant hiss, and aimed the spigot at Elizabeth’s left
breast. She quickly drew the jet of steam from the edge of Elizabeth’s
aureole to the tip of her nipple. Almost immediately, the path of the
steam became visible; betrayed by a narrow line of skin that turned
pearl as fluid built up instantly inside the blister. When the pain
reached Elizabeth’s senses, she lost her concentration and cried aloud
because of the new agony. Her bladder began to empty involuntarily,
sending caustic liquid into her urethra. She closed her mind to the
searing pain at the tip of her left breast and, with almighty effort,
clamped the sphincter that controlled the evacuation of her bladder.
She was rewarded with a second white line on her aureole and nipple.
The man had been right. The scene of the combined tortures had lasted
twenty- two minutes. Elizabeth had endured the double agonies for
almost half that time before passing out with flecks of froth staining
the corners of her mouth. Then the liquid remaining in her bladder had
flowed freely. The summit of her left breast was covered with a pattern
of red and white lines, all beginning at the circumference of her
tan-colored halo, and converging to the tip of her attractive nipple.
As before, the woman had waited for Elizabeth to regain consciousness
before proceeding to remove the skin. That had consumed another ten
minutes, while the woman pierced each blister, and squeezed the fluid
from inside before lifting the sliver of skin free. Elizabeth had
screamed continuously, lasting until the woman swabbed the freshly
exposed tissue with saline solution. “I don’t believe she can absorb
much more of this treatment without a respite,” the woman said. “Not if
you want to keep her viable,” the man pointed out. “Besides,” he went
on, “the last scene is mine; I need her taken off of this contraption.”
He pressed a finger against the bar over which Elizabeth had been bent
for nearly three hours. “That’s okay,” the woman told him. “As long as
I can have the film in the editing-room by tonight.” She looked at her
watch, then turned to one of the crew. “Get her out of this and take
her back to the cell. Let her stay there for a couple of hours.” Then
wiping her forehead she added: “We all need a break.” On the way out,
the man said: “I’ll need a Delivery Table. Do you have one?” The woman
looked at him, mildly astonished. “You mean a table from a hospital
delivery-room – the maternity department?” “Yes.” “They’re not in much
demand in this place. We have a GYN table, though. Will that do?” “Does
it have stirrups.” “It did, the last time I saw it.” “Then it’ll do
fine.” The two reached the foot of the stairs and the outside door. “By
the way,” the woman said. “If I hadn’t agreed to running the two scenes
together, what was your other plan? What did ‘Fiber’ mean?”
“Fiber-glass,” the man replied. “Fiber-glass insulation comes in sheets
about as thick as your finger. Rolled tightly and inserted into the
vagina, it is quite diabolical” “Why?” the woman inquired. “The fibers
are only as thick as a human hair, but they are brittle. When they are
brushed against the vaginal wall, the fibers break off and become
embedded under the skin and in the muscle. This creates an irritation
that gradually evolves into a burning sensation. I’ve heard that women
tortured in this way have gone insane after a couple of hours.” “Quite
diabolical,” the woman commented. “Where shall eat?” the man wanted to
know. v The device was simple, but cruelly effective; a length of
flexible tubing surrounded by an inflatable bladder near to one end.
The man partially inflated the bladder and oiled its surface. The black
rubber object resembled a thick pipe. The man placed the end of the
tube in the entrance to Elizabeth’s vagina and pushed gently. The
opening opposed the bladder at first, but gave way under slight
pressure. After that, Elizabeth’s muscles allowed the object to intrude
without further resistance, and the man inserted the bladder –
carefully and slowly – ensuring that the lubricated surface did not
bind and fold, or wrinkle. He encountered no difficulty until the end
of the tubing reached Elizabeth’s cervix. Elizabeth emitted a sharp
groan when she felt the object reach the innermost extent of her
vagina. She lay on the examination table, firmly secured by her upper
and lower arms, unable to raise her body. Her feet had been placed in
the stirrups and fastened there; her legs were hardly more capable of
movement than the rest of her. She could, with utmost effort, raise her
hips enough for a slim hand to slide freely between her bottom and the
surface of the table. The top of her pantyhose was missing; cut off
around her thighs, creating the appearance that she was wearing
ordinary stockings. The man turned the bladder, maneuvering the end of
the tube passed Elizabeth’s cervix. It entered her womb. The man began
to inflate the bladder further, slowly dilating Elizabeth’s vaginal
passage, increasing her pain. When the man was satisfied that he had
created a seal between the rubber and the wall of Elizabeth’s vagina,
he stopped the flow of air into the bladder. Then her indexed pumping
air through the tubing into Elizabeth’s uterus. Elizabeth’s womb
expanded. In just a few minutes the man created an effect that took
Nature nine months to produce; Elizabeth’s belly was hugely swollen.
Her screams reverberated. Only the whites of her eyes showed. Her back
was arched and every muscle in her body strained. The abdominal
expansion was clearly excruciating, her agony augmented by the awful
dilation of her vagina. But not forgotten entirely were the lacerated
and denuded nipples, the scorched clitoris, the wounds in her delicate
labia where the flesh had been macerated in a score of places, or the
biting pain left over from the fluid that had burned her urethra.
Elizabeth was the perfect picture of applied torment. The camera lenses
saw her agony and the microphones heard her screams. All of this was
faithfully recorded. Now, the man would show off his coup-de-grace; the
denouement. When he supposed that Elizabeth was reaching the limit of
what she could stand, he released the air from the bladder; slowly at
first and then more rapidly. Elizabeth’s vaginal muscle contracted,
maintaining its grip on the deflating and unwanted intrusion. But when
the bladder began to shrink more rapidly, the muscle, which had been
stretched for too long, would not relax fast enough. The seal was
suddenly compromised. The air trapped inside Elizabeth’s womb found its
deliverance. Filling the gap between the bladder and the tissue, it
began to escape. At that moment, the man stopped the bladder from
deflating further. The vaginal muscle closed around it, threatening to
shut off the airway once again. But the pressure of the air was too
much. Elizabeth’s stomach collapsed in one enormous muscular effort and
her vaginal passage dilated in an instant. In a fraction of a second,
the extensible tissue comprising Elizabeth’s vagina was stretched to
the very brink of rupture. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the shock of an
agony far worse than anything she had ever known. Her eyes widened, her
mouth opened and her lips formed a gaping ‘O’. She passed out, the
unuttered cry of the demented hanging silent in her throat. The place
was quiet for an eternal moment; quiet for first time in a long time so
it seemed. Only the sound of the whirring cameras broke the silence.
“Cut!” shouted the woman. “Wrap it up!” She paced around in a tight
circle. “Perfect!” she exclaimed. “Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!” She
stared at the man, the disbelief at what she had just witnessed
obvious. “Did you see the look on her face!” she shouted, then stopped,
turned and threw her head back and called to the man in the boom high
above the GYN table. “Did you get that look on her face?” “You bet I
did, lady,” asserted the cameraman. The woman walked across to the man,
who was cleaning the bladder with a cloth. “That was the most
fascinating scene I have ever put onto film. It was damned perfect. I
could watch you do that to her all night.” “I don’t believe she’d last
that long,” the man chuckled. “But the trauma is not as bad as it might
seem. You want to see it again?” He stopped wiping the bladder.
“There’s no point in filming the same thing more than once, but if you
can wait around until all this is cleaned up. . . .” She made a
sweeping movement with her arm encompassing all of the studio equipment
lying about on the floor. “Sure. I can wait. She can handle it again.
Perhaps a couple more times.” “I don’t know if I can,” the woman
smiled. She patted the front of her skirt at the base of her belly. Old
Jake stumbled and tripped. It was still early evening, but almost dark
beneath the viaduct. He groped around in the gloom for his lost bottle.
Then he found the body. That was strange. Old Jake was usually the
first of the local tribe of winos to arrive looking for a dry place to
spend the night. He peered into the face. “W-who are you?” he asked in
a curious rather than demanding tone. Old Jake climbed the embankment
and scanned the parking lot above. With distance vision much better
than his reading eyes, he located the familiar black and white car. He
ambled towards it, but the patrolman saw him coming and got out before
Old Jake approached too closely. “Hold it there,” the patrolman said
when the wino was still ten feet from the car’s bumper. “What’s up?”
“Better come looksee,” Old Jake replied. It was too early for his
speech to be unintelligible. “Some woman. Babbling. Says her name’s
Lizabet or something. Can’t understand her.” “Is she hurt?” the
patrolman wanted to know. “Don’t look it. She ain’t drunk, either. Been
taking other stuff, I reckon.” Old Jake turned and made his way slowly
back to the embankment. The patrolman locked his vehicle and followed
the retreating figure of Old Jake. “Yeh. Female. Five-feet-eight,
five-feet-nine. Hundred-and-thirty pounds. Light brown hair.” The
patrolman was looking down at Old Jake’s discovery, and talking over
the radio to his duty officer. “No, no identification – I can’t see a
purse. No, I haven’t moved her. No obvious signs of injury, but you’d
better get the paras rolling. And ask Jeff to send his big boys. If
she’s been stuffing hallucinogens, she could more than a handful of
trouble. . . What’s that? . . . Yeh, a red dress, black shoes . . . Let
me look . . . Yeh, she’s got a mole on the left side of her mouth. I
guess we’ve found her. How long’s she been missing? . . . Probably just
got bored and went on a spree. . . . We’ll probably find she’s been
popping ecstasy pills for the last three days . . ..”

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