Chapter 6

“Hey, Lynda, you remember this?” Buck was dragging Lynda by her hair across the filthy floor of the bar. “Sure you do. You’re the bitch who brought the cops out here to make me get rid of it. You know, I lost a fucking lot of business. I’ve got a replacement now, and none of the sluts I had in here were anywhere near as fucking sexy as you.”

“No!” Lynda cried. It was true. They could keep pushing her farther down into the muck forever. “Not in there, Buck! The police-the police told me what that thing did! It’s-it’s horrible! I’ve tried to be good! Oh please, please, I’ve tried to be good.”

“Try a little harder, bitch,” Pete said, pulling a stripper’s costume out from behind the bar. “And maybe you’ll still be fucking alive come morning.”

“Or maybe not,” Grady said with a shrug. “I’m a fucking mechanical genius, you know-And I fixed that cage up real good.”

Grady was telling the truth. After the police—at Lynda’s insistence—had forced Buck to get rid of his stripper, one of the men on the force had told her about the cage Buck made the girl dance in. It was hooked up to a generator that could shoot an almost lethal dose of electricity through the floor and bars. There were metal bars with needle-sharp ends that could be extended into the cage at any angle, controlled by a remote control box that Buck kept behind the bar. Worst of all, there was the mask. When the policeman had told her about the mask, she had refused to believe him.

She believed him now. The mask was a tiny gas mask that covered a girl’s mouth. It was connected to a rubber tube that led out of the cage. The tube was connected to a pneumatic pump. The men could put any liquid they wanted into the tube and use the pump to force-feed the fluid to the girl who was wearing the mask. The girl had only two choices. She could swallow or she could drown.

Lynda struggled weakly against Buck as the man lowered the cage from the ceiling and opened the door. Buck punched her in the nose hard enough to make it bleed, then grabbed her full, round tits in his strong hands and squeezed them until Lynda was trembling in agony. Pete tossed the stripper’s outfit in her face, and Buck kicked her in the soft hollow of her stomach before he stepped away.

“Put that shit on, Lynda,” he said. “Now. We want to see how good a big-assed landlady can shake her tits.”

Lynda could barely move. Just pulling the stripper’s outfit off her face made her arms ache horribly. The men cursed her and spit on her as she tried to sort out the tangle of outlandish clothing.

They tossed lit cigarettes, nuts, and pretzels from the bar at her, screaming at her for being too slow. Lynda was almost used to the sensation of a man’s spit splattering on her face. The cigarettes stung when they hit her, though, making her jerk and cry out in pain. She couldn’t move any faster, though.

Lynda cried again when she saw the outfit Pete had thrown her. There were tassels for her nipples, and when Lynda saw that they were meant to be attached by sharp-toothed alligator clips, she looked up at the men with the expression of a kicked dog.

She put them on, anyway, screaming in agony as the sharp metal jaws bit down on her sensitive nipples. The pain was terrible. It felt as though her nipples were being crushed and pierced at the same time.

There was a G-string, a tiny band of gold that bit into her full hips and ran up the crack of her ass. Its front was a flashy gold pocket that pulled skintight over the plump mound of her pussy. The G-string was for a woman much smaller than Lynda, and it looked especially obscene stretched tight around her full, sexy ass.

There were sandals that tied up all the way to her knees. These too were for a woman smaller than Lynda, and they crushed her feet horribly. The heels on them were at least six inches tall. Lynda didn’t think she’d even be able to stand up on them, much less dance.

The rest of the outfit was just as shameful. There was a long velvet cape colored a tawdry red and black. There was a black leather collar for her throat. There were gold slave bands for her upper arms and a thin gold chain for her waist.

She put the outfit on. “Hey, slut, shake your big ass!” a man shouted.

“Bounce those sexy tits, slut!” another man yelled.

“Nice dance-tramp you got there, Buck,” a third man said.

All the men were shouting and laughing, calling Lynda the most vile things, treating her as if she was the kind of slut who would willingly climb into the torture cage for a few bucks or maybe even just a bottle of hard liquor to take home.

“Get into the cage, slut,” Buck said, after the men had called her names for awhile. “Time to put on a show.”

Lynda turned like the obedient slave she was, wobbling on the spike heels. She stepped into the cage.

Pete and Grady grabbed her arms and pulled her hands to the sides of the cage. They snapped shackles around her wrists, locking her to the bars. Buck slipped the mask over her face. She stayed obediently still while he fitted it over her mouth. She didn’t start crying until they raised the cage into the air. When it dangled about six feet off the floor, the men stopped it.

“Show us what you can do, Lynda,” Buck said, sitting on the bar and holding the cage controls in his hand. “Dance for us, you big-titted cow.”

Lynda tried to dance. She had never liked dancing. It seemed perverted somehow, almost like sex. She wiggled her hips from side to side, shook her shoulders to make her tits bounce under the satin cape.

“Boring!” someone screamed.

“Dead-assed slut!” another man shouted. “Juice her up, Buck! Get that big ass shaking!”

Lynda tried harder. She hunched her hips and swung her arms. She tossed her head on her shoulders, making her silky black hair fan out over her shoulders. She rubbed her legs together and shifted slowly from side to side.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a woman, Lynda,” Buck said, and hit one of the switches.

Lynda couldn’t even scream. Electricity jolted through her voluptuous body, making her jerk and tremble. Every nerve in her body caught fire. She thrashed wildly against the chains that bound her in place. Bomb bursts of agony flared through her brain.

The electricity stopped. Lynda stood still for a moment, her body still quivering from the aftereffects of the jolting shock. The men were throwing things at her, anything they could get their hands on.

Lynda screamed through her mask as something thick and wet hit her between the eyes. Her confused mind seized on one thought. She had to dance. She had to make the men hot.

Lynda squirned, thrusting her hips and shaking her tits. She tucked her chin against her tits and caught the string of the cape between her teeth. When she jerked loose the knot and let the cape slide down her shoulders, the men cheered.

“Look at those sweet big tits!” a man shouted.

“Shake that big ass, whore!” another man yelled.

Lynda jerked her upper body from side to side, making her tits wobble wildly back and forth across her chest. She ran her hands down her tiny waist and over her full, sexy hips. She squatted and stood, squatted and stood, as though she was screwing herself down onto the world’s biggest cock. She did everything she could think of, frantic to keep Buck from shocking her again.

He did it anyway. Lightning crackled through Lynda’s lean, luscious body. The fine muscles in her legs turned to mush, and she fell against the bars of the cage. Buck turned up the voltage, and Lynda went into convulsions. Her svelte, sexy body flopped around on the floor of the cage as though she were some sexy fish out of water. The men loaded half a bottle of tequila into the tube that led to Lynda’s mask. When the alcohol splashed into her mouth, Lynda was too dazed to swallow it, and she started choking. It took every bit of concentration she had to gulp down the burning liquor.

Buck stopped the flow of electricity, and Lynda climbed uncertainly to her feet. She could barely stand, but she knew the men were expecting a show. She thrust her hips forward in a lewd invitation to fuck, arching her back so severely that she looked like a limbo dancer.

The men cheered and poured a beer into the tube. Lynda drank down the beer obediently, rubbing her tits and pussy against the bars of the cage. She ran her shackled hands over her shoulders and down her arms as if she were making love to herself. She straightened her long, lush legs out to her sides and slid into as much of a split as the cage would permit, then flexed the muscles in her thighs and calves until they stood up like cords of silk.

Buck hit a button, and a shaft of metal punched into Lynda’s stomach. It was a blunt shaft, but it hit Lynda with such force that it knocked her down. She landed hard, bruising her hip and ass, but the men just laughed. When she tried to struggle to her feet, Buck hit another button, and a sharpened metal tip stabbed into her silky ass. Lynda jumped forward, and Buck sent another sharp metal spoke into her full right tit.

Both of the spikes drew tiny trickles of blood. Lynda almost passed out at the sight of her own blood, even though she could tell that the wounds were no more than pin pricks.