Bad Luck Black Money (22 page)

Chapter 31

Esmerelda was tenderizing her victim. A whip slapping against cold, stiff skin would do considerable damage, but if that skin were warm and the muscles underneath relaxed, the pain would travel deeper into the tissue, resulting in a more intense, longer lasting agony.

Felishae involuntarily gasped when Esmerelda found a nerve in her foot, which had a connection to her vagina. That quick, little breath alerted Esmerelda that she was on the right spot, and she began methodically massaging it. Before long, Rodriguez was squeaking like a little mouse trapped by its tail in a rattrap.

At first, Esmerelda would work on her feet then massage her calves, going a little higher with each change up. After awhile, she was at Felishae's upper thighs, and it was driving the reporter mad with desire. But then Esmerelda would return to the girl's feet and work her sweet spot some more.

Forgotten were the leather restraints, which kept her imprisoned on the table. All that mattered at that moment was for her captor to touch her most private of body parts. Felishae used what little free movement she had to thrust her pelvis up and then downward toward Esmerelda's hands. She was making noises that she wasn't even aware of. It was like an adult, Japanese anime cartoon had come to life before everyone's eyes.

Gardner was back on top of another serving wench, and this time he wasn't alone. Two other men had grabbed women and were plowing their fields. An orgy was spontaneously forming within the stadium. Even Boss had to avert his eyes at times from the scene unfolding before him. It was the only way he could keep himself from having an obvious erection.

Finally, Esmerelda made her way up to Felishae's vagina. The massage leading up to that point was so erotic that the girl had a series of body shaking orgasms once her pussy made contact with Esmerelda’s hand. Her eyes rolled up in her head, her feet came closer to rolling up into little balls than one would have thought humanly possible. Drool escaped down one side of Felishae's mouth and her body convulsed like she was being electrocuted. Orgasm after orgasm washed over her until she was physically and emotionally exhausted.

Sensing that she'd released the maximum amount of the woman's pent up, sexual energy, Esmerelda stepped back from the torture table. She took a moment to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Felishae was spent. She looked as if she'd been ridden hard and put away wet.

"Flip her over," Esmerelda commanded the servants standing nearby, who had awe written all over their faces.

The servants did, as they were told and un-cuffed Felishae's restraints. They had trouble picking the girl up and then turning her face down because she was more limber than an overcooked spaghetti noodle. But quickly enough, Felishae was bound again and spread eagle, this time facing downward.

Once again, Esmerelda started massaging baby oil into the girl's shoulders and making her way out to the fingertips. Again she slowly and methodically worked her way down, this time to the small of Felishae's back. Then she started massaging the girl's feet. Since she knew the exact spot and amount of pressure to apply, the poor girl was moaning again in no time.

The serving girl, who had been Gardner's first victim, was once again his sexual plaything, this time on top. She was being bounced around like a lewd rag doll. Her moans of pleasure or pain weren't alone. The sex fever had spread and half the pod were in mid coitus.

Remembering that night at Slutty Teasers with Duke Winterfield, Boss glanced as subtly as he could in the Duke's direction. To his surprise, the Duke was in total control of himself. He seemed to enjoy watching his pod hump like sex starved chimpanzees, although he wasn't participating.

Somehow, the Duke felt Boss looking at him and turned to look his newest pod member in the face. The Duke raised his glass of iced tea to Boss in a toast of sorts. It was his way of letting Boss know, that he knew what Boss was thinking. And that 'yes', the Duke was in complete control of both the pod and himself.

A sick feeling came over Boss. He wiped sweat from his forehead. Something was wrong. Then it hit him. Someone had cut off the air-conditioning. While the temperature hadn't risen but a couple of degrees, the lack of air circulation was taking its toll.

The smell of sex in the air was thick and overpowering, Boss had to fight the urge to vomit. And the sounds of grunting and groaning and bodies slapping against each other was drowning out Felishae's moaning. Boss wished that he could leave but didn't dare.

Once more, Boss looked in the Duke's direction, and the old man smiled knowingly at him. The Duke had ordered the air shut off. Nothing happened without the Duke's consent.

Turning his attention back to Esmerelda, Boss asked, "Would you like something cool to drink?"

"Thank, you, dear. That would be lovely," said Esmerelda as she kneaded the girl's big, firm buttocks.

Boss walked over to a table, which had a large pitcher of ice water on it and poured him a glass of water, which he downed in four seconds. He refilled the glass and took it to Esmerelda.

Esmerelda was sweating profusely, and the sight of the cold drink, thrilled her. "Honey, my hands are covered in ass. Will you help me, please?"

"Yes, of course, Esmerelda," answered Boss. He put the glass to her lips and gently poured a trickle of ice-cold water into her mouth. After a few swallows, the glass was empty. Boss offered to get her another, but Esmerelda was refreshed and returned her full attention back to her toy.

Felishae was brought to climax so many times that it was having less and less effect. That meant it was time to move on to the next phase. Esmerelda signaled the servants to bring her the whips.

They brought a huge piece of plywood into the pit, which had every type of whip imaginable attached to it. As her head rested on the torture table, Felishae had an unobstructed view of the whips. Even though Felishae could see them and knew what was coming next, she was too physically relaxed and emotionally exhausted to react at the sight of the instruments of torture.

Esmerelda picked up an old fashioned, buggy whip. She whipped it through the air, making it snap like a firecracker, but she rejected it. The buggy whip would draw blood too fast, and she wanted Rodriguez to suffer at her hands.

Letting her hand glide over a coiled whip that must have been over six feet long when fully extended, Esmerelda was tempted to take it over to Felishae and lay it beside her head. But it would serve no purpose other than frightening the woman. That whip would be deadly, and death was not what she had in store for the celebrity reporter.

Then she came upon rods of various thickness and lengths. While not really interested in them, Esmerelda took a rather nasty looking one from the board and swung it through the air. It made a whistling noise with each stroke.

Esmerelda stopped in her tracks when she spotted a thick, wide leather strap attached to a wooden handle. This might be exactly what she was looking for. Plucking it from the board, Esmerelda swung the handle like a sword, and the supple strap would lazily follow the handle's motion and flop from one side to the other. It was perfect.

With the leather strap, Esmerelda would be able to beat the poor girl's body for a long while before drawing blood. The longer the session went, the more pain would be inflicted upon the reporter. A mean little smile crossed Esmerelda's lips.

Before she could start, Boss put noise-canceling headphones on her. In fact, every member of the NWO was wearing a pair. Evidently, they knew from experience just how loud a beating could become. The lowest of the servants and serving wenches weren't offered any. It didn't matter if their hearing was damaged.

Boss wondered if Felishae was already too spent. She might have been too tenderized to feel the beating. But his question was answered when Esmerelda drew back the handle attached to the leather strap and brought it down on the girl’s buttocks with all her might.

Felishae screamed so loud that Boss could actually feel the sound vibrate all around him. The coliseum was designed with sound in mind. Noise made within the pit ricocheted off the stone seating and up the stonewalls and then bounced off the ceiling, scattering in all directions. Sound waves were amplified naturally, just as they had been in Roman times.

As Felishae watched Esmerelda draw back the strap for the first blow, she was too tired to care. She didn't think that anything could bring a reaction from her exhausted body. How wrong she was. When the leather hit her ass, it sent shockwaves of pain throughout her entire body.

Felishae would have sworn that she could feel the impact of the stinging leather strap from the bottom of her feet to the end tips of her hair. She screamed so loud that her throat hurt from the yell. There must have been a reserve of energy hidden somewhere within her body because she pulled against the leather restraints so hard that they stretched a little bit.

After Esmerelda landed a hit, she would then gently massage Felicia's body where it had landed. This seemed to extend the time of suffering after each stroke.

Boss took the opportunity to scan the coliseum for the muscle-bound man, who fit the definition of the psycho Cornett. The big man was literally salivating. Bits of drool ran from the corners of his mouth. Each time leather hit the girl's skin, his ripped muscles would flex. Yeah, this guy had to be the bloodthirsty Cornett, who the Duke warned him about.

"How could that overstuffed bag of muscles be a threat?" thought Boss. Still, it never paid to underestimate your enemies. The Duke of Winterfield had gone through the trouble of naming pod members, who he considered to be Boss's primarily competition.

It was Boss's experience that you couldn't really tell what a man was made of, until he was tested by fire. Many a person, who appeared to have all the right qualities, would crack under pressure. While others, who should have melted like butter, actually had spines made of steel. Boss resolved, not take any of these freaks lightly.

Esmerelda had to put on a pair of latex gloves because, at last, her whip had drawn blood. She had worked the girl over hard, concentrating on her buttocks, the soles of girl's feet, and the area of the back where her bra straps normally rested.

Felishae was screaming at the top of her lungs, but nothing was coming out of her mouth except for a sick, hissing sound. She had fried her vocal cords. Days later, when Felishae's voice returned, it had changed from a high girlish pitch to a low throaty one. Lucky, most of her fans found her new, deep voice to be less grating on their ears than her previous one.

Once the reporter's butt was covered in blood, making further strikes pointless, Esmerelda turned her attention to other parts of Rodriguez's body. She beat the soles of the girl's feet with her strap, and then made Felishae's back, look like a bloody mess. Then Esmerelda stooped over, picked up a saltshaker, and loosened its top.

She poured a small pile of salt into the palm of her gloved hand and began rubbing it into Felicia's open, bleeding wounds. The woman's level of pain went off the scales, releasing enough adrenaline in Felishae's bloodstream that she was able to snap one of the leather cuffs holding her to the table. Two servants rushed over and pulled her arm straight to the side in place of the cuff. It took all of their combined strength to hold her arm in place.

The lack of fresh air, combined with the thick scent of sex and blood made Boss retch. In turn, the sound of him vomiting brought up the urge for others to throw up, as well. Adding the scent of vomit to the already foul smelling stadium, made the whole place feel like one of the lower levels of hell in Dante's Inferno.

Unfortunately for Felishae, she was tougher than she looked. Only after Esmerelda had applied the last coating of salt to her wounds, did the poor girl lose consciousness. Then it was Esmerelda who felt sick.

Taking off her blood-covered gloves, Esmerelda asked, "Can we go to our room, now?"

"I don't know," said Boss. "I'll have to ask the Duke."

"Of course, you can," answered the Duke of Winterfield, who had heard their conversation from his luxury box. "I'll escort you there, myself."

Cha
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The Duke led the way as Esmerelda leaned on Boss for support. The ordeal had taken more out of her than she thought it would. As they advanced through an elaborate maze of corridors and escalators, the Duke praised their efforts.

"Marvelous, spectacular, amazing, there are not enough words in the English language to express how well the both of you preformed today.

I had high hopes for you, but you went and exceeded my high expectations. Bravo."

"Thank, you, Duke Winterfield," said Boss.

"No, my boy," the Duke said. "Thank your wife for making this a day, which will be remembered in NWO infamy.

Did you see the look on their faces when Esmerelda started beating the news whore? It was priceless.

One thing is for sure; the days of my pod cruising the French Riviera without a care in the world are over. And it's about time. I am willing to bet that every one of them is going to get serious about self-improvement.

I cannot wait to see what they search for on the Internet. I would imagine some will start studying foreign languages or business strategies, maybe even metallurgy. And you two sons of bitches are the cause of it.

You didn't just throw down the gauntlet; you took an iron glove and bitch slapped them with it. Damn, that was good!"

Esmerelda mumbled something, but it was in her sleep. She had fallen asleep while standing up, leaning on Boss.

"I don't think I've ever seen her this tired," said Boss as he picked his wife up in his arms. Her head slumped against his chest and one of her shoes fell off. Too bad, Boss wasn't about to try and pick it up while holding her.

"Leave it," ordered the Duke. "I'll have a truck load of handcrafted, Italian shoes delivered to your room.

... I can sympathize with her. The first time you deliver such an ass whipping, is the hardest. It drains you physically and emotionally. But with time, you get more relaxed and begin to really enjoy the whole process."

Boss nodded. He didn't trust his breath to hold out in a long conversation, while carrying his wife. His physical fitness was much improved to where it was only a few months prior, but it had been a long day. With every step, his wife seemed to get heavier.

Try as he may, Boss couldn't keep up with the Duke's giant strides, while he carried his limp wife. His breath became ragged, and he had to stop for a minute. The Duke noticed his walking companion had fallen behind and went back for him.

"Give her to me," ordered the Duke as he took Esmerelda from Boss's arms. The Duke started walking, keeping up his previous pace, and it was all that Boss could do to keep up with him.

The Duke of Winterfield was an old man compared to Boss, yet he had the strength and speed of a much younger, and more muscular man. He didn't even seem to notice the extra hundred and ten pounds that he was carrying.

They entered a glass elevator, which gave them a panoramic view across the deep chasm that bisected the titanic, underground sphere. The elevator dropped twenty stories without the Duke saying anything or pressing any buttons. It knew where they were headed.

When the elevator doors opened, the three of them started down a brilliant, white marble corridor. After walking almost a hundred meters, the walls turned transparent. Swimming behind the see-through walls were some of the most rare fish on Earth.

Boss almost tripped over his own feet when a sealacamp swam up next to him. Further down the hallway were deep-sea creatures feeding off of a volcanic vent. The technology and logistics of it all were staggering. Even with Pluto Moon Technologies in his corner, Boss couldn't have built anything that would come close to what he was seeing.

Noticing the look of awe on Boss's face, the Duke said, "Impressed, are we?"

"Absolutely, your Dukedom. I would say I'm looking at the eighth wonder of the world."

"Actually, I would put it as the sixteenth wonder of the New World Order. But then again, I am basing it on sights you've never seen or heard of.

... Your underwater bedroom is the thing, which carried the day and squeaked you over the threshold, winning you a spot my pod. Before you built that, I wasn't sure about you.

Sure, you were a vicious, business bastard, but so were a thousand others.

You had to wheel and deal and sacrificed to ensure that your progeny were geniuses. That was impressive. But, then again, I've got hundreds of geniuses working night and day in my R&D program. Brains alone wouldn't have gotten you in.

No, it was your bedroom, hollowed out of the oversized fish tank in your tacky mansion that sealed the deal. Your thoughts and actions were beginning to mirror ours in the NWO without you even knowing it."

Boss decided to give credit where credit was due and said, "It was actually Esmerelda, who put in the first oversized aquarium, but I was the one who ran with the idea."

"Whatever the case, you are definitely an asset to my pod," said the Duke. Then he stopped in front of a one-story block of solid, black marble in the midst of his manmade, underground sea. A rectangular section of the marble parted and recessed into its sides, revealing an underwater bedroom. "This will be your room."

The Duke carried Esmerelda to a large bed in the center of the room and placed her on it gently. She didn't wake, and he stood over her, eyeing her body in a detached, doctor sort of way.

"Her appearance is improving," stated the Duke. "Esmerelda's face is starting to become more symmetrical and some of its harsh features are softening. I also see that her toes are starting to align. Have you noticed any differences in her breasts?"

For a brief moment, Boss wondered how the Duke knew about his wife's breasts, but then let it pass and said, "Now that you mention it, her breasts do seem fuller and firmer than they used to be."

"What about her inverted nipple?"

"It's still inverted, but not as much, if that makes any sense?"

"Yes," said the Duke as he pulled a blanket up to Esmerelda's chin and tucked her in. "There is a limit to genetic corrections. But if you stay the course with your diets, one day you will find yourself married to, at the very least, an average looking woman.

She'll never be modeling pretty. But considering where she started from, average looking will be more than satisfactory."

"Thank, you, Duke Winterfield," said Boss as he looked around at the room's layout and found it better than the bedroom in his own mansion. This one had a subtle grace about it, while his bordered on being garish.

This room was basically the space between several, giant fish tanks, but it was impossible to tell where one tank stopped and the next began. Strategically placed columns and granite moldings made it feel more like a regular room that featured aquariums rather than vice versa.

The Duke sat on a tasteful, antique French chair near the door and motioned for Boss to sit as well.

"Not all of our meetings will be as eventful as today's, Milton."

"That's good to know, sir."

"And we don't require as much from our women as the outside world does. Modern society pushes women to look and act like men, while forcing men to act more and more feminine. We like for our women to act like ladies and for our men to exude manliness.

Normally, Esmerelda would be free to join the other women members and wives of members in the tearoom. Where they have little tea parties and... play bridge and do whatever else, females enjoy doing, while we men handle all the unpleasantness.

I used your wife to make a point, and did she ever. She put the fear of Lucifer back into the pod.... I bet some of them literally shit their pants."

Both Boss and the Duke sat there for a half hour, saying nothing. Sometimes a shark or a stingray would swim above Boss, and he would watch. It was relaxing.

Finally, the Duke of Winterfield stood up and said, "Goodnight."

Boss stood up and replied, "Goodnight, your Dukedom."

The door sealed itself behind the exiting Duke, and Boss fell back down into his chair, exhausted. He wanted to find the bathroom and take a shower, but instead he fell asleep, where he sat.

Bustling maids and dressmakers awakened Boss. They were fitting Esmerelda for an evening gown in the Victorian style of the mid eighteen hundreds. She was quite a sight to see, in her petticoat as one of the maids fussed over the ruffling. Women of that era must have been touched in the head, or so it appeared.

One of the dressmakers alerted Esmerelda that her husband was awake. Esmerelda turned to him and said, "Good morning, sleepy-head."

"Good morning," said Boss, unable to take his eyes off the scene before him.

"Guess what I'm going to do today," she asked.

"Are you time traveling back to the eighteen hundreds?"

"Now, don't be silly. I've been invited to a tea party being thrown by the Duchess of Winterfield. Everyone is dressing in Victorian attire.

They're making a custom gown for me. Isn't it lovely?" asked Esmerelda who gestured toward a red dress hanging upon a tailors' mannequin.

"If you say so, dear," answered Boss. "Where exactly is the restroom in here?"

"I will show you, Mr. Boss," chimed in a thin, brunette maid, who was dressed in a floor length, maid's outfit. She quickly walked over to Boss and took him by the arm. "We have fresh clothes for you to wear after I bathe you."

"No, that's not going to happen," said Boss. He looked in Esmerelda's direction, and she laughed.

"It's not sexual, dear," Esmerelda giggled. "They are quite professional. I'm thinking of getting a couple of bathroom maids for back home."

"If you would be more comfortable with a man servant, I can fetch one for you, sir," proposed the bathing maid. "A few of the older gentlemen members prefer stronger hands to scrub their backs."

"When in Rome, dear," Esmerelda said, turning her attention back to the women helping her dress.

"... Whatever," said Boss as the bathing maid led him to the bathroom. Just like his bathroom at home, this one was hidden in plain sight. It was hidden within the remnants of a sunken, pirate ship. Although it looked like part of the aquarium's wall, a part of the wooden hull parted when pressed on, revealing a large, luxurious bathroom.

They walked over to a sunken tub, the size of a small swimming pool. It was already filled with warm water and had bubbles floating across the surface. The bathing girl started to undress Boss.

"What's your name?" asked Boss, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

"Jenny," answered the woman, removing his shirt.

"So, this is really going to happen?"

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Jenny as she got down on her knees to take off Boss's shoes and socks.

"Never mind.... How do you know if the water is the right temperature?"

"After I fill the tub, heaters come on to keep it at a constant 95 degrees Fahrenheit," Jenny answered, as she started taking Boss's pants down.

Once his pants were off, Jenny took them to a nearby chair and threw them on top of the rest of his discarded clothing. She turned back to Boss who, against his best effort to stop it, was beginning to blush.

"My, my," Jenny said as she stared at Boss's boxer shorts, which looked like they were being stretched by a mini tent pole. "Somebody has some morning wood."

"Uh, should you be saying that?" asked Boss.

"Probably not," Jenny responded as she got nose to nose with him. Then she bent down fast to her knees, taking Boss's underwear with her.

"Bouncy, bouncy," she said, pointing at his erect penis.

"What if my wife comes in?" asked Boss.

"The lights will flicker if she is on her way. It's my job to make sure you do not get in any trouble with your wife. I am a professional."

"Yeah, I can believe that," said Boss.

Jenny led him into the tub. She didn't undress herself. Her maid's outfit was soaked through, revealing her tight body.

"I can slide my skirt to the side if you want to fuck," Jenny proposed. "Misses Esmerelda will never know."

"Maybe, but I would."

"Mr. Boss, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You are the boss. I just wanted to put it out there.

If you want to do anything to me, then do it. If you want me to do something to you, then ask. And if you just want a relaxing bath, I can do that, too."

"I'll stick with the bath... for now."

Boss had never been bathed by a professional bather in his life. His mother didn't count, and besides, he was too young to remember that anyway.

After giving Boss the closest shave of his life with a straight blade razor, Jenny took a large, natural sea sponge and began scrubbing Boss's arms and chest. It felt like Jenny had found her life's calling because she was spectacular at her job. As the sponge went back and forth over his skin, he could feel the dead, skin cells falling off his body.

When she started scrubbing his back, all thoughts of the awkwardness of the situation fled Boss's mind. Only during good sex had Boss ever felt so at peace with himself and the whole world. He didn't even realize when Jenny started cleaning his most private of areas, so relaxed was he.