Lynda locked her plush thighs around Grady's ankle.
"Spread those legs!" Grady shouted, wiggling his foot around inside Lynda's wounded cunt. "Spread them, whore, or I'll shove my foot up your stinking asshole!"
Lynda stared up at Grady. Her silky black hair was spread out around her in a wild tangle, her sultry body glistening with sweat. She was trembling uncontrollably, like a lost child. Grady had never seen anything that looked as sexy as the defiled landlady. It made him want to kick her even harder.
"Spread them, Miss Cartier," he said again. "You aren't the landlady anymore. You're just a sleazy gang-bang barmaid, and we're going to do anything to your big sexy body that we want to. And believe me, whore, we've been going easy on you so far."
Lynda cried hopelessly. She didn't have any choice but to do as Grady commanded. She spread her legs as wide as she could and waited for him to kick her again. When he did, she came.
The orgasm was so powerful, so unexpected, that Lynda couldn't stop herself from screaming out with passion. She was climaxing while she was sprawled on a dirty barroom floor, getting foot-fucked by one man in front of an audience of fifty more.
Lynda bucked her ass up off the ground to meet the pussy-jarring jolt of Grady's foot. Her ravaged pussy clamped around Grady's ankle, spilling cuntream all over his foot. Grady kicked her again, pushing her two feet across the floor, and Lynda climaxed again.
She was still cuinming when he pulled his soaked bloody foot from her cunt. And when he made her lick his foot clean, Lynda climaxed again, even as she cried at the depth of her degradation.
CHAPTER SIX
"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 and 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 untll 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 electriciy stopped. Lynda stood still for a moment, her body still quivering from the after effects of the jolting shock. The men were throwing things at her, anything they could get their hands on.