|by The Technician|
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|© Copyright 2013 - The Technician - Used by permission|
|Storycodes: F/m; F+/ff; FM+/f; college; pledges; naked; electro; hum; bdsm; enema; bond; paddle; spank; susp; outdoors; shave; drug; display; hotel; torment; revenge; punish; video; sex; anal; climax; cons/nc; XX||
WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life. If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2009 by The Technician Technician666@Gmail.Com. Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
|SaM's Place 4: Pledges and Revenge The Technician F/m; F+/ff; FM+/f; college; pledges; naked; electro; hum; bdsm; enema; bond; paddle; spank; susp; outdoors; shave; drug; display; hotel; torment; revenge; punish; video; sex; anal; climax; cons/nc; XX|
|story continued from part three
Chapter 10: Shocking
Another juryman stood. "For your sixth story, Evelyn, tell us of a time when you used electrical torture to cut a man down to size.
Evelyn smiled and closed her eyes for a moment. She looked as if she were savoring a cherished memory. "Ah, yes. Frank Thompson," she began.
I think daddy really wanted me to get a masters in business, but I knew that would be a lot more work than a masters in psychology. Not that psychology is easy, but I knew that I could bullshit my way through most of it and intimidate the professors for the rest. That wouldn't be as easy over in the business school.
Daddy finally gave in and arranged for me to be a graduate assistant in the psychology department. Basically all I had to do was take attendance for a couple of courses and feed Professor Burl's pet pig when he was out of town. I also got to sit in on a lot of really interesting experiments with volunteers from the college. It is amazing what poor students will do for a few bucks. They will answer the most embarrassing questions about their lives and let you hook them up to all sorts of meters and even shock them for not getting an answer right, or sometimes even for no reason at all.
It was watching one of these experiments that gave me the idea for my thesis project. I was going to show various students sexually explicit photographs and see what aroused them and compare that to what they said aroused them. Then I was going to select several of these students and see if I could use "positive and negative reinforcement" to change their true sexual preferences.
This was a really neat project because it allowed me to amass a huge collection of what anyone else would call pornography. I even got a special permit to use "under aged specimens" in my research. In other words, I even had a bunch of kiddie-porn. I almost wore out my little electric friend as I spent hour after hour editing these photos.
The way the experiment worked was relatively simple. The volunteers would allow us to wire them up so that we could measure blood flow in the penis and breasts for a male and vaginal blood flow and secretions for a woman. You would think we would measure nipple response for women, but there are just too many different things, including the wire rubbing against the nipple, that can cause a false response.
Then we would show them hundreds of very erotic photos and see what tripped their trigger, so to speak.
The main thing I learned is that everybody lies. Men who said they were totally straight responded to gay porn. Women who said they were totally vanilla responded to the most violent BDSM scenes. By the end of the study I was starting to think that everybody was bi-sexual with hidden fetishes. Then Frank joined the study.
Frank was different. For one thing he was totally honest about everything. What he said he liked was what his peter-meter said he liked. And when I asked him why he joined the study, he looked across the table at me and said, "I was hoping it would give me a chance to get into your pants. Maybe you could include that as part of your study. You know, find out what turns me on about you while we are making love."
Frank was kind of cute, but I couldn't help but think how his honesty made him so vulnerable to some scheming person like myself who only wanted to prove their superiority. I let Frank hit on me for another week or so and then made a show of turning off the microphone and video recorders. I leaned over to him and asked, "Are you serious about that extra credit project? Would you like to make love to me while you are totally wired up?"
He just smiled at me and replied, "Name the time and place, and me and my little friend will be ready."
I used a little persuasion to rearrange some schedules so that the sleep labs were totally empty for a weekend. Then I modified one of the sleep chambers for my plans. Basically it was a bedroom anyway, so it just meant bringing in a different bed and my equipment. All of the audio and video recording devices were already in place.
Frank arrived exactly on schedule at 5:00 Friday evening. He even brought me a single rose. I think he might have actually thought I cared for him. What a loser.
I told him, "Frank, this is the way it is going to work. We are going to attach the sensors to your nipples, but we will have to wrap them in place because of the strenuous activity which might occur." I gave him a little smile.
"And since your 'little friend' as you call it, will be in use, we will use a sensor at the base of the penis on the pubic bone combined with an anal sensor."
He frowned at me and said, "You mean you are going to shove something up my ass?"
"It isn't very big, and if you prefer, I will let you do it before I attach the wires." As I said this I let my lab coat slide open. Beneath it I was wearing a bright red, frilly, micro-bra and thong underwear. He took a deep breath and said, "OK."
I gestured to the bed and said, "Now lie down on the bed on your back. I'm driving tonight."
He laughed and lay down.
"I am going to restrain your arms and legs so that you don't move the wrong way in a fit of passion. I promise I will make it up to you."
"You'd better," he replied as he lifted his arms toward the headboard.
"Not yet," I answered, "we have to get the wires in place first. Sit up."
He did and I wrapped a chest binder that would normally be used for severely broken ribs tightly around him. Then I lubed up two sensor patches and slid them under the binder directly over his nipples. Most people are surprised to find out that anal lube is a very good conductor of electricity and is often used to guarantee good contact for body sensors.
"We have to mow the lawn a little to put this one on," I said as I switched on a surgical razor. I cleared a small spot on his pubic bone and applied some sensor glue. "There is no real way to bind a sensor in place here so a glue is used that can be dissolved with a special remover."
Frank didn't look too happy about that. He was even less happy when I announced, "And now the light over the back door." I lubed up an anal plug. It had two strips of metal molded into each side of it and wires leading out the base. I held it up and asked, "You or me?"
Frank answered, "I trust you. Just be gentle. This is my first time." Then he smiled. He winced a little as the plug went in but once it was past his sphincter and seated, he was cheerful once again.
"Now what," he asked.
"Lay back and enjoy yourself," I replied as I fastened the leather restraining cuffs on his wrists and ankles.
Actually, I was going to enjoy this way more than he was. The sensor pads were not connected to my regular measuring equipment. They were connected to tens units. And the anal plug was not a sensor at all, but an anal tens plug. If you applied the voltage between the two metal strips, it would cause the anal sphincter to tighten very tightly. The ad said it was as close to being fucked in the ass as you could experience by yourself. If the voltage was applied between the plug and the electrode on the pubic bone, everything in between would clench up as tight as possible. And as far as the electrodes on the nipples, I am told that a very low setting feels like being stung by a nest of hornets. Higher settings bring pain that just cannot be described.
I lay my robe across a chair and very sexily danced and swayed as I removed the micro-bra and thong. It had the desired effect. Frank's little man was standing up straight and tall. I climbed onto the bed and straddled him. As I slowly lowered myself onto his erect penis, I pressed the remote in my hand and the tens units sprang to life.
They were computer controlled and would start off at a fairly low setting. But the laser sensor on the computer would sense my movements and each time I rose and fell, the shocks would also rise and fall moving ever higher as I moved higher and higher toward a climax.
It only took a moment or so for Frank to realize that something was wrong. "What the hell," he exclaimed.
"My heaven, your hell," I replied. "You should have asked me what I liked. I like to mix sex and pain. In this case I really want to know if a man in agony can actually finish the job or will his little man go home and hide."
I did have one problem. As I orgasmed, I fell forward onto Frank. That front electrode didn't have a cover over it and my clit pressed against it. Evidently there was enough of a current path through his prick inside me that I got a rather nasty shock. I screamed and jumped off of Frank and off of the bed.
"For that," I purred, "you will stay here until morning. Someone will come and let you go when it gets light."
Frank just looked at me and between grunts of pain managed to say, "Fucking bitch."
I just laughed and pressed the remote control to increase the voltage. "Well we just fucked, so I guess you are right about that, and as for the rest, well, I'm not the one with an electric dildo shoved up my ass. That makes you my bitch."
One of my flunkies released him early the next morning. I understand he ended up in the hospital for a couple of days, but there was no permanent damage. The hospital record indicates that it was "sex play gone bad." He transferred schools shortly after that.
Chapter 11: Pledge Week, Public Nudity
Now it was a jurywoman who stood. "For your seventh story, Evelyn, tell us of an experience where you put someone in their place who shouldn't have been made equal to you to begin with.
Evelyn smiled, "That would be back in college. Oh, I do miss those days in the sorority."
Someone had passed some sort of law that said that the university had to admit a particular number of this or that type of person. That didn't bother me, but then the university said that all the sororities and fraternities had to include the same percentages in our pledge classes. I think the intent was that we would have to let those kind of people into the house, but the way the ruling was written, it only said we had to invite them into the pledge class. As all of you know, I assume, not everyone who pledges for an important sorority or fraternity is accepted into the house.
We delta girls had nothing against the color of a person's skin or what country they were from, but we didn't want trash of any color in the house. We had somewhat of an advantage over other houses when it came to rejecting the percentage people. Our pledge queen - the sister in charge of the pledges - was black. She was also very athletic and muscular, sort of like that black slave I saw in the club earlier tonight.
Delia was from Jamaica and would get really angry if you called her an African-American. "I'm not some slave freed by a honky war," she would say. "We won our own freedom and founded our own nation. I am Jamaican."
Her grandfather made a fortune in something or another down in the islands and she was just the type of woman we wanted as a sister - actually, she was very much like me. She was really upset that we had to take what she called Street N****s into the pledge class. There was no way that Stella or Gwen was going to become a delta girl.
There were 14 girls in the pledge class, but only 8 spots open as full sisters, so 6 of the pledges were going to be rejected. Three quit fairly soon once they realized what was really expected of them in order to be a delta girl, but Stella and Gwen hung in to the last. The selection had already been made when Delia came up with an idea to show Stella and Gwen what they really were.
Normally when the pledge class is finished, each of the girls is taken by a delta girl out into the woods near the campus. There they would be told that they had been accepted or given the bad news of rejection - well, they weren't exactly told. They had to allow themselves to be blindfolded, tied to a tree and stripped naked. Then they were shaved. Part of the pledging hazing was that they had to let all of their body hair grow during their pledge time. If accepted, their pubic hair would be shaved into an open triangle - a triangle is the shape of the Greek letter delta in case you didn't know. If rejected, their pubic hair would be completely shaved off. It would only be after they had been released and removed their blindfolds that they would know if they were a delta girl or nothing.
Anyway, Delia and I took Stella and Gwen into the woods, only we traveled a little farther than normal. We went all the way out to an old scout camp that had gone bankrupt. That is when we gave them the bad news. "Girls," Delia began, "I have some good news and some bad news for you. There is only one slot left. That means that one of you will become a delta girl. One of you will be rejected. We are going to perform a couple of tests and the winner of those tests is the first black trash delta girl ever."
Both Stella and Gwen looked at Delia with confused expressions on their faces. "Just kidding girl," Delia said in her best imitation of ghetto slang. Then she yelled out, "Hey ladies," and most of the rest of the house appeared out of the trees and bushes.
"What we are going to do is a simple test of speed and endurance. But it is going to be speed under special circumstances and endurance as a delta pledge. Are both of you girls willing?"
Stella and Gwen both nodded a yes.
"Then the first thing you have to do," continued Delia, "is to get naked."
Stella's eyes widened, but Gwen just started taking off her clothing. Gwen already knew that the final test would involve them being naked in the woods, so she didn't think anything was wrong. Stella had a little more street smarts, however, and smelled a rat.
"You could be making our choice very easy, Stella," said Delia and Stella began taking off her clothing.
Delia handed the clothing to one of the delta girls and said, "Take care of this." Then Delia led Stella and Gwen over to the abandoned parking lot in front of the ruins of what was once a main building. "We are going to have a little relay race," she said. But since there is only one person on each team we had to come up with a special sort of relay. Each of you is going to carry water from here to over there and fill up that five gallon bucket. When it is full, you are going to carry the bucket back here to the starting line.
"What are we going to carry the water in," asked Stella.
"Ah, that is the special part," answered Delia. "YOU are going to carry the water." With that Delia held up an enema bag and hose.
"No way," snapped Gwen.
Delia held up a battery powered beard trimmer and switched it on. "Then just stand still for a moment while I register your status for the rest of the girls."
Gwen hung her head and walked over to where Delia had indicated. "On your hands and knees," barked Delia and Stella and Gwen slowly sank to the ground. "Some of the girls wanted to put soap in the water, but I had pity on you girls. This is just warm water... not too cold and not too hot, so it won't cause extensive cramping just from the temperature. Lets see how fast you can carry water over to those buckets."
Two of the delta girls held the enema bags while another girl inserted the nozzles. Then the warm water was released. Delia gave the girls some advice. "Don't try to hold more than you can, girls. If you start to cramp, just start to run. The nozzle will pop out and we will have a full bag waiting for you when you get back."
Gwen was biting her lip. Stella was crying, but both remained in position on their hands and knees. Gwen's bag was only about half empty when suddenly she bolted upright and started running. She almost made it to the bucket before water and shit began to spew from her. She squatted over the bucket and finished emptying herself. Stella did not begin running until the girl holding her bag yelled, "Empty." Stella made it all the way to the bucket before releasing her smelly load. Amazingly, after Gwen's first disastrous lap, she was able to hold the full bag and kept yelling "faster, faster," to the girls who were filling her insides. I guess she really wanted to be a delta girl.
It took twelve or thirteen trips to fill the buckets, but finally the judges standing next to both of the buckets yelled "One more lap." Gwen and Stella ran as hard as they could. It was comical to see them run with their bloated bellies swaying before them and their ass cheeks clenched tightly together to prevent premature loss of the water. Both girls had stopped squatting over the buckets after the second or third lap and now just plopped down on the narrow rims of the buckets to relieve themselves. There was a loud splash of water and both picked up their buckets and ran for the finish line. They arrived at the same time.
"We seem to have a tie," yelled Delia. "I guess the final decision will be based on endurance."
Both girls were taken over to the edge of the clearing where two cut off telephone poles stuck up out of the ground. On the way over the Stella had to stop twice and squat to relieve herself on the ground. Gwen stopped only once before reaching the poles. At the base of each pole a long chain was attached to an eyebolt. On the end of the chain was a set of manacles. When Stella and Gwen reached the poles one end of the chain manacle was clamped onto their wrist. Then the short chain that held the manacle cuffs was looped around the pole and over a long nail-like step on the opposite side of the pole. The other wrist was then clamped in the manacle. The result was that both girls were held tight against the poles with their hands high above their heads around the poles.
"Listen up," yelped Delia. "This is the way it is going to work. Each of you will receive ten swats from me with this pledge paddle. If you can keep from screaming, you are a delta girl. If you yell, you are out. Blindfold them!"
Stella and Gwen had felt the pledge paddle before and although it hurt like hell, both knew that they could survive ten swats without making more than a grunt. But what they didn't know is that the paddle in Delia's hand wasn't an ordinary pledge paddle. From the front it looked like any other pledge paddle, but I had taken it to a custom furniture shop and had the back side grooved so that it was a series of rounded, parallel ridges. That uneven surface doubled or tripled the pressure and the pain. Stella and Gwen didn't have a chance.
Delia stood behind Gwen and swung as hard as she could. Gwen yelped, but did not scream. "That's one," Delia announced and then moved over to where Stella was chained. It took seven swats to break Stella and nine to break Gwen. In the end they both screamed and yelled, "No more, no more, please no more."
I stood next to Delia with the electric razor as she announced, "They are nothing." Then I switched it on and shaved them bald, and not only between the legs, but also their heads. They were blubbering and sobbing so much from the pain and the thought of failure that I don't think they even noticed.
Then it was time for me to deliver the final blow. "Stella and Gwen you are nothing. You will find the key to each other's manacles near the top of the pole to which you are chained. If one of you can climb far enough up your pole to retrieve the key and pull your manacle chain over the top, you can take the key to the other person. Your long chain should give you enough slack to reach the other pole. But remember, the only way to get free is to free each other."
"When you get back to the sorority house, you will find all of your clothing and personal possessions in the tool shed out back. You can use the hose there to clean yourselves up. Since we are taking all the clothes you were wearing with us, you might want to wait until it is dark to sneak back onto campus. But to be sure that you black-trash pieces of trash don't sneak up on anybody important without warning, we are going to help people know that you are approaching."
With that I gave a hand signal and four newly accepted pledges approached each pole carrying the five gallon pails. Two went to each pole with the bucket they carried and dumped the fetid water over the crying girls heads. We stood there watching them cry and sob for a few minutes and then walked back to campus to join the pledge acceptance party which was probably in full swing at the sorority house.
I guess Stella and Gwen managed to get free and get back to campus, because they weren't there when we went out to check the next morning, but they left school and I never saw them again. I read somewhere a few years later that they had started a business together selling cosmetics especially tailored for African-Americans, but I don't know how that worked out or what ever became of them after that.
Chapter 12: Captive Fuck
Another jurywoman stood. "For your eighth story, Evelyn, tell us of an experience where you may have gone overboard in response to another woman's attempts to steal your boyfriend."
Evelyn sighed. I think there might be two or three times when that occurred. I guess I am a bit jealous when it comes to relationships, but probably where I really went overboard was with Diane Wilson.
Diane was a model. My boyfriend was a video producer who did some of our commercials. I know it is not a good idea to mix romance and business, but the sex was plentiful and great and I thought he really did love me... maybe he did. He was supposed to be auditioning models for a new campaign of ours, but he kept having to "reshoot" sequences with Diane. I knew what was going on, but it wasn't his fault. She was throwing herself at him just to take him away from me. I decided that if she wanted a lot of good sex, I was going to give it to her. Well, maybe it wouldn't be good, but there would be a lot of it.
I told my boyfriend that we had decided to go another direction with the commercials and asked him to turn over all of the raw video and film. He was really upset by this and we finally broke up over what I was going to do with his work. But it was in the contract, so he had no choice. The contract made it clear that I couldn't take it somewhere else to have a commercial made out of it, but that wasn't what I needed it for.
There was a small special effects place that had done some work for us. The owner was a real geek and money wouldn't buy anything with him, but a weekend at a fancy spa with me got me anything I wanted. To my surprise, he wasn't all that bad at making love. For some reason he had a real oral fetish. And he wanted to give, not receive. He even went underwater in the hot tub to lick me and bring me off.
Why is it always the quiet ones who surprise you the most?
Anyway, we had a weekend of non-stop sex and he produced the two videos I wanted. With a little geek tech work, the videos of Diane were reworked so that I had something that looked like she was standing in her bedroom in front of a webcam. She was crying at first - that was originally part of the commercial pitch - and then she looks directly into the "webcam" and says, "I've done a terrible thing. I cheated on my boyfriend. I begged him to forgive me and swore that I wouldn't do it again, but he said that I couldn't control my hormones and that I would cheat on him again. I begged him and begged him and he finally said that if I could get cheating out of my system he would take me back. He said that what I really needed to was screw my head off to overwhelm my hormones and that if I screwed 100 men in one night and had video to prove it he would take me back. I think he thought I would never do it, but I want him back. So log onto the website you see at the bottom of the screen and find out how to become one of those 100 men."
A website address appeared at the bottom of the video. The video then appeared as an ad popup on twenty or so local websites that catered to the erotic and swinger trade. Within hours there were over 700 responses to the ad. We narrowed that down to 90 area men and 10 women who said they were masters of the strap-on. They were given a date and time to arrive at a particular hotel room. Each was informed that they would be on video and was promised $100 if they were willing to sign a release. All but one of them were and we replaced him with another strap- on specialist.
I created a dummy company and rented three entire floors of a downtown hotel for a "photo shoot." I needed the floor above and below empty so that nobody would accidently hear something and call the police.
The hotel thought we were filming a commercial. We signed all of the appropriate papers saying nothing would be damaged and that our lighting didn't require special electrical permits and all of that. I also informed them that there would be a variety of "extras" coming and going during the day. All my bases were covered. There would be no interference from the hotel or from guests or from the police.
Then I arranged with Diane's agent for her to "audition."
She arrived bright and early for a 6:00 am makeup check, only the makeup person didn't apply makeup. He was a medical student who stuck her in the shoulder with a hypodermic filled with a special tranquilizer. This made her appear to be very drunk and she was barely able to stand or talk.
She recognized me as I came into the room. "What are you doing here?" she slurred.
"I am teaching young bimbo bitches not to mess with someone else's boyfriend.
Then we took her next door where "the booth" was set up. Basically the booth was an enclosed stage with two sets of "stocks" sitting on a padded platform. One stock was a regular form of stocks, which held her head and hands. The other fit more or less over the waist. Both were only about 3 feet off the platform so that she had to kneel on the padded floor of the video area to be placed in them. We stripped her naked and put her in the stocks. The result was that she was bent over and immobile in a more or less perfect fucking position for either hole.
Next to the booth was a DVD playing on a large screen TV. In the DVD, thanks to my geek friend, was a video in which she was standing next to the stocks pleading with anyone who came through the door. "Please don't let me back out of this. As soon as I finish a few more drinks, my friend Evelyn is going to lock me in the mating stocks. I will have a small gag in my mouth, but that isn't to keep me quiet. I totally, absolutely do not want any blow jobs and that is the only way I can be sure that none of you get carried away. There are condoms and tubes of anal lube on the table. Each of you was given a number when you signed in with my friends in the other room. Hold that number up to the camera before you begin. You will get your payment when you leave. Again, please don't let me back out of this. No matter what you think I say or do, keep going until I have been fucked 100 times in one day."
There were also six small monitors arranged in front of Diane where she could see them. Five were the live feeds from the cameras mounted in the room. The sixth was the continuously playing DVD. There was a set of earbuds fixed in her ears so that she could hear the DVD and also hear me talking to her. Despite the drugs, she struggled against her bondage when she saw the first man came into the room. I said to her, "Now Diane. You wanted sex from someone else's man. You are getting it. What do you have to complain about?"
After six or seven men she stopped struggling and just hung in the stocks. That's when I thought she needed something to liven her up and sent in one of the women. She was a real dyke with tattoos and piercings all over her body. She slapped Diane on the ass and said, "If you make this fun for me, I will make this fun for you." Then she eased the strap-on into Diane's ass. Diane came alive as the dildo entered her sphincter. She thrashed against the stocks and yelled and moaned into her gag. After ten or fifteen minutes, the dyke orgasmed and lay down against Diane on top of the stocks. She reached under Diane and began massaging and pinching her nipples and then finally said, "Not bad for a beginner. Come see me some time and I can show you how to really have fun." With that she pulled backwards and the dildo slipped out of Diane's ass with a loud pop.
After every ten "extras," the medical student went in and checked on Diane's condition and gave her an additional dose of the tranquilizer if needed. In case she couldn't see the numbers on her monitor I continued to give Diane a running count of how many men and women she had fucked and how many were left.
We were almost finished when one of the people handling the signup room came over to me and said, "We're one short. Will you settle for 99?"
"No, I have a better idea," I replied, and picked up my cell phone and made a couple a calls. A few minutes later a leather clad young man entered the room carrying several boxes. "We brought a couple of sizes just to be sure," he said as he deposited the boxes on the table. Inside the boxes were several different size harnesses and two different versions of "The Punisher" dildo. I stripped down and started strapping on the harness. I would be number 100.
After all of the paid performers were gone, I walked into the booth room wearing a long robe. "Did you have fun, Diane," I asked. "I promised you 100 fucks in one day. In case you have lost count there have been only 99. Care to guess who number 100 will be?"
With that, I turned on the vibrator inside the dildo and activated the electrical stimulation and turned it to maximum. Then I plunged into her ass. After all of the others, there was no need for lube. Diane came out of her stupor as she slowly realized that it was me, or perhaps as the vibration and shocks began to register on her. I pumped into her for over twenty minutes. This was the first time I had ever used a strap-on with anyone. It wasn't good sex, but it was good and it was sex.
Finally I told Diane, "100 more strokes and we are done. I started counting the strokes as I drove in and out of her battered ass. As I said '100,' a tremendous orgasm tore through me. I almost lost my balance, but reached over the stocks and grabbed Diane's hanging udders and squeezed as hard as I could. Hearing her squeal in pain drove me higher that my first climax.
Finally it was over. I unstrapped the harness, leaving the dildo sticking out of her ass. Then I patted her on the butt and said, "My friends here are going to release you and take you to a private psychiatric hospital. They will make sure that you are ok and then release you. By the time that you get out, the story will have already been given to the press is that you were clubbing and overdosed on some really nasty hallucinogenic drugs. The police report will say that you were found wandering the streets naked and incoherent. There will even be long-lens pictures from the paparazzi of an officer wrapping you with his coat and putting you in his car.
Diane, be thankful you are alive and learn your lesson from this. Maybe you will hear my warning to stay away from other women's men. If you don't hear that warning, this is one warning you had better hear and believe. If you tell anyone what really happened today, you will disappear forever."
I turned and walked toward the door still naked and called back over my shoulder, "That's a wrap."
It turns out she ended up at the funny farm for a lot longer than I planned. I think it might have even been a couple of years before she got out. I don't think she ever did model again. That's a pity, but I guess she was just too weak to handle a little punishment.
story concludes in part five
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14.01.14 | updated - 28.04.17
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