Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (23 page)

      
There
was apparently no need for a spring-loaded feature on the butt plug. It was
wedged so tightly in Lucy’s ass that she doubted anything would ever get it
out. Meanwhile, the dangling hoses were
 
hooked up to the outlets on the machine and in her fog of pain, humiliation
and confusion, Lucy wondered if they intended to irrigate her vagina and ass at
the same time.

      
Unfortunately
for her, that was not all they planned to do. Her gag was adjusted and yet
another hose attached to the front of the mouthpiece. She struggled
unsuccessfully against the restraining straps, thrusting her body against them
and trying to twist out of the chair. However, there was no release and the
three attending women remained expressionless as they fitted a third hose to
her mouthpiece. Two lubricated thin tubes were quickly shoved into her flared
nostrils as Lucy struggled and fought for breath. In an instant, she felt the
flow of cold pressurized air into her nasal passages and this made breathing
easier, but the hoses were also unpleasant.

      
With
all of this intrusive penetration going on and fixed as she was in such as
terribly vulnerable position, Lucy was on the verge of passing out. She took
deeper breaths from the air hoses and hoped that maybe, just maybe, this
nightmare would eventually end.

      
The
padded leather blindfold came next, sealing out the light and the white tiled
room. Lucy was by now almost incapable of any outward reaction. She was being
violated in five of her body apertures and nothing she thought, could possibly
be worse. The feeling of a tube being inserted into her urethra was the last
straw. Unable to move and fight it, Lucy just collapsed and this helped the
woman slide the long, thin tube up inside her until it entered Lucy’s bladder
and responded with a light flow of urine that went into a bag hung from the
side of the cart. The three women murmured something to the effect that they
were nearly done but Lucy was beyond caring. She tugged listlessly at her bound
hands, flapped her feet against the cold tile floor and wiggled her upright ass
in hopes of perhaps expelling the double hosed plugs now nestled deep inside
her. It was quiet in the room. The machine next to the chair was not operating
and the three women seemed to be waiting for something. Lucy breathed through
her hosed nose and waited too.

      
The
cutting lash of the pony whip came with such force and such surprise that Lucy
literally leapt against the chair. Tightly bound as she was, there was little
movement. Yet the pain that shot through her was worse than anything she had
ever experienced, even at summer school. The whip swished through the air and
struck with the sickening sound of high-speed leather meeting cool, innocent
flesh. There was no other sound. It was as if she had been struck by lightning.
Waiting for the thunder to follow was automatic, so when the second searing
blow came, it was anticipated but this made it no easier to endure. Someone,
perhaps one of the attending women, was beating her across the back of her
exposed thighs. The blows came slowly and were without mercy. Each strike
brought a surge of lightning pain followed by the inevitable wash of secondary
pain that spread through her bound and impaled body. By the fifth stroke, Lucy
stopped counting and suddenly realized that there was something slowly entering
her cunt and ass through the hoses. The fluid was warm and not unpleasant and
just when she started to focus on the double douche and enema, the whip struck
yet again, this time across her spread buttocks, impaled as they were by the
butt plug and cunt hoses. Now another hose was opened and this one was sending
water or whatever the substance was up into her bladder. The hose on the huge
mouthpiece also began to push water into her throat. The effects of the
whipping and the sudden flooding of her entire body were awesome. The water
surging into her mouth and throat would have drowned her were it not for the
twin air hoses. With each stroke she involuntarily pushed against the incoming
flood filling her insides, yet the pump’s pressure was stronger than her
constricted organs, so the water won.

      
Lucy
flopped and surged and twisted, trying anything that might make this terrible
four way invasion stop and having to fight for each breath as the oral water
surged down her throat`. Each time she surged, the whip responded with another
punishing cut on thighs, ass or back. The
whipper
even tried reaching her squashed tits, but only succeeded in catching the sides
of each breast with the whip’s painful snapper end. Meanwhile the water
continued to flow into the bent over body, filling the cavities and internal
organs nearly to bursting. Then they shut off, leaving Lucy desperately trying
to breathe as her lungs and other internal organs struggled to cope with the
additional mass of liquid. Her bladder was the most painful and as soon as the
flow in stopped, the flow outward was permitted and she expelled the fluid
continuously. The valves in her ass tube and vaginal plug were also opened and
she unashamedly forced the fluids out as quickly as she could. This took
several minutes and then, once all the liquid was out, the machine pumps began
once again and repeated the four-way violation. Ass, cunt, mouth and bladder
were again the unwilling recipients of the warm solution and this time the
valves were closed and the machine shut down without allowing anything to be
expelled. Lucy struggled, saw a bright yellow flash in her mind and passed out.

      
When
she awoke, Lucy was free of the chair, the hoses, the whip, the gag and the
multiple plugs in her body. Dimly, she wondered how they had been able to get
the huge ass plug out. She sat in a tremendous sunken tub of warm, soapy water
and was being carefully laundered by the three women. They scrubbed her body
and hair multiple times, and then let her soak in a warm bath while they
carried out other hygienic operations and seemed sympathetic to her earlier
plight. When she emerged, Lucy was cleaner than she had been in months. Her
hair was neatly trimmed and dried, her nails cleaned and trimmed, her sex
shaven bare and all other body hair removed. She was fitted with a leather
harness that cinched her waist like a corset and had links in the back where
her wrists were bound with leather cuffs. She was also given a pair of high
heeled boots that came up to just below her knees. Both ankles were cuffed and
hobbled with a short chain as well. A fresh new leather ball gag was wedged
into her mouth, strapped on tightly and a thin leather collar with a leash
placed around her neck. The women led her back to the entrance to their
quarters, handed her leash to Hassan and fled, giggling, back into their inner
sanctum, to later discuss in quiet tones the possible fate of the lovely young
woman they had just prepared. They argued quietly about whether she was bound
for labor in the mines or would become a sex toy for her master, mistress, or
both. They would later learn, via the servant grapevine, which was extremely
efficient and accurate, that they took her to the stables and added her to the
transportation pool. “What an odd thing to do with such a treasure,” the head
female servant later observed.

      
They
also learned, firsthand, about castration when they were forced to join the
rest of the servants and work force to witness the crude and savage surgery
performed by a mine boss on the unfortunate creature who had delivered Lucy to
the owner’s house. His screams were heard for nearly a mile down the mountain.
They went on for a long time.

      
Locked
away in her stall deep in the mine, Lucy wondered who it had been behind the
whip and what possible purpose the forced irrigation could have had. She
suspected Sasha Marbella was the handler of the cutting pony whip, based on her
violent performance with the deliveryman, but she could not imagine why she was
put through the humiliating four-way purging. The questions would remain
unanswered.

      
Meanwhile,
Madam Marbella was having her dinner. Beside her, on the stiffly starched white
tablecloth, was a shallow china plate with a heavy silver band around its rim.
In the center of the plate were the hairless genitals of the unfortunate
deliveryman, lightly poached in white wine, basil and tarragon and aggressively
scented with duck fat to hopefully dispel the clinging odor. Madam Marbella
ignored the dish and finished her meal.

      
“Give
these to the dogs,” she told the bowing servant.

Groff

      
Exactly
four days from the time Ernst called his friend Gregory
Casalo
,
Intelligence Specialist First Class, Jean M. Groff sat in Ernst’s
spartan
branch office in Heidelberg.

      
Von
Holt was shocked when Groff entered his office. After a single follow-up
conversation with
Casalo
, he expected a seasoned and
perhaps a bit rough-looking, heavily experienced agent from the depths of
Casalo’s
apparently bottomless pool of experienced
professionals, well schooled in handling international crime. So, Papa Ernst,
as accustomed as he was to masking his thoughts and emotions, was nevertheless
somewhat surprised when Lisle, his office administrator, showed a stunningly
attractive, well dressed young woman into his office. Lisle handed Ernst
Groff’s calling card, bowed slightly and left the office.

      
She
was taller than most women, statuesque in the Roman sense, and displayed, from
what was visible, a well proportioned figure. She moved with a determined grace
that von Holt regarded as both dignified and calculated to keep her balance in
spite of the ridiculously high heels. Something about her said that under the
fashionable façade, there was a potentially dangerous and physically strong
young woman. In short, Ernst thought, she appeared capable of throwing him to
the floor and breaking his arm, (or his neck), without working up a sweat, if
that was what was required.

      
“Doctor
von Holt,” the woman said, removing a tight, black, kidskin glove from her
right hand and reaching across the desk. Ernst grasped her warm, well-manicured
hand, noting that her handshake was firm and, as was the custom; short, with
one up and down action and a quick release.

      
Ernst
realized at once that he was going to have to revise his original plans about
the investigation. He was open-minded, but of the old school and it had not
occurred to him that a woman could be assigned to the case and might have
several advantages in pursuing Lucy’s disappearance. Now, here before him was
Casalo’s
recommended special investigations agent, dressed
in a very short, black skirt, black tights, black, high-heeled knee boots, a
softly knit black turtleneck sweater that Ernst was certain was cashmere, and a
beautifully fitted, long black leather overcoat that reached almost to her
ankles. She had shoulder length, black hair that was the same shade as the rest
of her ensemble, parted slightly to the right and spread over her shoulders,
framing an oval face. She wore very little makeup, except for dark shadow
around the eyes, which seemed to be sunken into their sockets and were as black
as the shiny leather of her coat. The long eyelashes nevertheless accented the
darkly made up outlines around her eyes. Her lipstick was dark, maroon perhaps,
but not gothic black. Ernst thought she could have easily passed as one of the
sexy, darkly made up street women he occasionally saw in the cities of Europe.

      
Investigator
Jean Groff, however, looked and acted more like a professional business
executive than a pierced and tattooed Goth character. Ernst was impressed. He
waited for her to sit and then offered coffee, which she refused. He refilled
his own cup from a silver thermos on the sideboard while he appraised his new
investigator.

      
“I’m
sure that you are very busy, Sir,” Groff said quickly. “So let’s get to the
point.”

      
“Of
course,” said von Holt. “You come very highly recommended and I assume that
Greg…ah, Mr.
Casalo
, filled you in on the mission I
have in mind.”

      
“I
have read all of the files and had a full backgrounder. I did this before I
agreed to see you.”

      
“Fine,
now…”

      
“A
moment, Sir. Please,” the woman interrupted,
recrossing
her slim legs, allowing her long leather coat to slide away and displaying a
great deal of leg, nicely tapered thighs and a set of breasts that would not be
ignored by anyone, male or female. She slowly removed the remaining glove and
tucked both gloves into her massive black leather shoulder bag, which, von Holt
thought to himself, could perhaps hold a folding rifle, several handguns or
perhaps a small motor cycle, if she packed it right.

      
“Yes…?”
Ernst hesitated, unaccustomed to being interrupted.

      
“I
agreed to see you, but I have not agreed to the assignment. What I need now is
some additional motivation, if you would, to take the job. I think such
disappearances as that of your daughter, Lucy, are so common these days that
you might easily have simply hired a private detective to pursue the loose ends
that the police may have left. Why do you need me?”

      
“Of
course,” Ernst responded. “I am prepared to pay whatever you require and offer
a substantial bonus when you have either established beyond a doubt that Lucy
is dead or provided me with information as to where she is and who she is with.
I will pay you and take it from there,” Ernst said rather curtly. He was not
used to being placed in a position where he had to explain or defend his
desires. “The reason
Casalo
suggested you was
because, after discussing this case at length, we were in agreement that
international criminals may be involved, possibly Russian, Italian or other
mafia types with deeply imbedded resources and connections in several
governments.”
     

      
“That
is certainly possible. And fiscal motivation is, of course, what pays the
bills,” Groff said with a bit of a smile. “With money, you can do almost
anything. But at this point in my professional life, I can afford to choose
what assignments I take on and which ones I decline. At the moment, I am
inclined, despite your offers, to pass on this job.”

      
“I
see,” Ernst said slowly, frowning.

      
“Any
other reason I should reconsider?” Groff asked.

      
Ernst
shifted in his chair, took a swallow of his coffee, then rose, and walked
towards the wide windows of his office, which looked out on the snow-covered
city.

      
“I
asked
Casalo
for his best recommendation because I am
reasonably sure that one or more parties questioned in the case are not telling
the truth and I need someone to break through that veneer and get some answers.
If there is a cover up, I need to know it.”

      
“Any
good detective should be able to do that,” Groff said, “especially since your
daughter is an outstandingly attractive young woman. She’s been on TV and on
enough fashion magazine covers to be recognizable. It is very hard to believe
that no one saw her before she disappeared. But why do you need me?”

      
“Until
you walked in here, Frau Groff, it had not occurred to me that a woman would be
assigned. I confess that the option had not presented itself to me, but surely
you might be able to uncover more than a man in this case,” Ernst said quickly.
“Your training with
Casalo’s
people is also an asset
which may, given the nature of my suspicions, be useful here.”

      
“Do
you have any reason to think that Lucy is still alive?”

      
“I
have no reason to think otherwise. There was no ransom request, no threats, no
suicide note, no body recovered. Until we have something of that nature, my
wife and I must continue to believe that she lives, perhaps under duress, but
lives.”

      
“If
you had to guess, what do you think happened to Lucy?”

      
“Such
unsupported speculation is probably not useful, but I suspect that she met
someone, perhaps while she was at
Gstaad
last year,
and that this led to further assignations with unsavory people. Unfortunately,
there is also, as you know, a flourishing slavery business and that cannot be
discounted either.”

      
“Why
the
Gstaad
trip?”

      
“Because
she made considerable effort to try to make sure that her mother and I knew
nothing about it. Had it not been for an old friend who saw her on the ski lift
one afternoon, I would never have found out. Curt, that’s the old friend,
called me to wish me a Happy Saint Sylvester and mentioned casually that he’d
seen Lucy and spoken briefly with her as they boarded a lift.”

      
“Was
she with someone?” Groff asked, writing in her notebook.

      
“Curt
said it looked like she was alone, but he didn’t see her again.”

      
“What
hotel?”

      
“The
Grand, of course,” said von Holt, as though there was no other place to stay in
the popular resort town.

      
“Was
this followed up by the police? I saw no reference to it in any reports.”

      
“Perhaps
not,” said von Holt slowly, still gazing out the window. “That is my fault. I
didn’t want to get Curt involved. He has had several unpleasant brushes with
the police in his lifetime and I didn’t want to precipitate another. In
hindsight, I should have mentioned it.”

      
“What
kind of brushes?” Groff asked, looking up from her notebook. “Could he have
been involved in Lucy’s disappearance?”

      
“No.
I don’t see how. Curt has a propensity for jewel theft. He was caught once,
quite by accident, but the charges did not stick and he was released. But every
time there is a jewel robbery, especially in places like
Gstaad
during the holidays, Curt is hauled in by the cops and interrogated.”

      
“I
understand,” Groff said. “Okay. I’ll take the job.”

      
Von
Holt turned from the window and stared intently at her.

      
“Why
the change? What did I say that altered your refusal?”

      
“The
Gstaad
lead is worth checking out and I have some
very good contacts there. If it comes to naught, I’ll reassess my position. But
for now, if you agree, we have a deal.”

      
“Excellent.
What else do we need to discuss?”

      
“To
begin, I will need an open bank account that I can draw upon independently. You
may set any reasonable limit you want, but the daily tab will be thirty-five
hundred Euro with a ten thousand Euro weekly bond from you to cover any
contingencies. I have here, two letters of bank references showing that I too
am well bonded and insured, so you have no need to worry about me taking your
money and running to Brazil.”

      
“That’s
fine. But what sort of ‘contingencies’, if I might ask?” queried von Holt, a
bit suspicious.

      
“This
kind of investigation will require that I hire and use professionals and or
their equipment in several areas. Surveillance for example. I don’t want to
have to ask you for money each time, so this should cover it. Such services are
not cheap. Also, I will need transportation, perhaps internationally, and it
will not come from common rental car agencies, so special vehicles or aircraft
will be chartered or leased as appropriate. In addition, pilots, drivers and
insurance must be obtained. Weapons, if needed, must be available, (beyond
those which I furnish myself), et cetera, et cetera. None of this should be
traceable to you or your family or business. If this is more than you have in
mind, Herr von Holt, simply say so and I’ll go back to Berlin.”

      
“No,
no, of course this makes sense. I will open an account for you this afternoon
and the amount you will have access to will have no limit. If you find yourself
needing more than one hundred thousand Euros at one time, let me or Lisle know.
Otherwise, spend whatever is necessary. I just want to know, whenever you can
do so, what progress you are making and where you are. If something happens to
you, I will bring whatever additional forces are needed to bear. As my agent in
this, I want to protect you as much as possible.”

      
“Thank
you, Sir,” Groff said. “I’ll begin immediately. Please have your admin contact
me when the accounts are set up. Here is a list of phone numbers for me. When
this is expired, I will provide a new one. For better security, only one call
can be made on each number.”

      
“Throw
away
handies
?” von Holt asked, raising his eyebrows.

      
“One
of my precautions. It may seem excessive, but until we figure out what happened
to Lucy, I think it’s wise.”

      
“Of
course.”

      
“And
here,” she added, “is an outline of protocols we can use, at least initially,
for contact and other needs. For your information, I have left a duplicate set
in my office and with
Casalo
as well. Should I
disappear, these are procedures and transponder codes with indicators that
might help you. For example, this one,” Groff pointed to an entry on the paper,
“is the blind transponder in the handle of my shoulder bag.”