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                               (nc, m/f, f/f, bd)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                   PART NINE

      "And so to teach that cretin Wendell a lesson, I'm hereby evicting your
poor old in-laws as of five o'clock today." Kathryn's cover girl smile was a
twisted, feral thing, a smile that tasted blood.

      Amy shook her head. "You can't! Please! they're old! They don't have any
money! They --"

      Kathryn waved a manicured hand impatiently. "They're gone already. Off to
section eight housing in the city. Welfare will cover some of their needs, but
as for the rest, who cares? Not I. Wendell must learn who his superiors are,
and never, ever to treat them with disrespect again, don't you think?
Especially his new boss."

      "WHAT!?!" Amy's mind was rolling on a rough sea of unreality now, reeling
with each new revelation.

      The manicured nail ran itself through curtly trimmed blond bangs. "Daddy
owned the little factory Wendell works at. And so I own it now. I'm Wendell's
boss."

      Amy looked at the wedding band, HER wedding band, on the desk. Her eyes
were brimming with tears. She had sacrificed almost everything -- her dignity,
her pride, her self-respect. She would do this for Wendell. With sad
concentration, she played her last card.

      "If you let my in-laws keep their home and let Wendell keep his job, I'll
divorce him. He's yours. I'll disappear. It's what you've always wanted. And
you'll have it -- all."

      Kathryn clapped theatrically. "Bravo! The heroine bravely gives her all!
True love triumphs! Just one question," she added mockingly. "What makes you
think I want him? He's fat, drunk and stupid. If I wanted a husband, I'd have
kept the one I had, my dear. He was much prettier than Wendell ever was. Too
independent, but certainly prettier. Alas, I had to give him up. But just for
your peace of mind, he'll be allowed to keep his job, though only with a
demotion -- to janitor."

      Amy's pulse raced. There was more, there was more coming. She had to be
brave.

      "As for your in-laws -- too late. They'll disappear into nothingness with
time. I've already forgotten about the whole thing. But your other suggestion
was intriguing. Divorce? I'm amused. Yes, you'll divorce Wendell. Men don't
marry whores like you -- they fuck them."

      Amy stood up. "I'm not listening anymore. I'm not divorcing Wendell. I'm
going to get my in-laws right now. "

      Kathryn shook her head with mock regret. "No, bitch, you WILL listen. You
WILL forget about your in-laws. And you WILL divorce Wendell -- the reason will
be how he is unable to satisfy you sexually. You will be graphic about just how
MUCH sex you require to be satisfied. Wendell won't fight hard -- I doubt he
has money for a lawyer! And he'll have to bring up those nasty used condoms he
found, won't he? It should be an interesting trial, don't you think? Who do you
think will win -- him because his wife is such a whore, or you because your
husband is such an effeminate wimp?" She cackled in delight at the scene.

      "You can't make me do ANYTHING!" Amy screeched. "Not anymore! Never
again! I'm free -- free -- FREE!" Amy babbled. She was hysterical now, unable
to control herself.

      "Fraid not, Amy. Take a look." Kathyrn coolly pushed a stack of video
tapes, a photo album and a stack of legal papers toward her.

      Amy looked at the photo album. The cover read "Amy's Scrapbook." She knew
what was inside, but forced herself to confirm her worst fears. There were
scores of candid shots, all of Amy -- on her back, playing with one of her
'toys,' stripping for the photographer. There were letters she had written --
all to an anonymous "Big Cock" from "Your Loving Fuckhole, Amy Walenski." There
were details of things the writer fantasized about doing, awful things, all
sealed with big wet kissmarks and scented with Amy's perfume.

      She calmed herself. It didn't mean anything, she told herself numbly.
There could be explanations. Or she could move, that was it, she would move
away from Bentson...

      Kathryn pushed the rest of the pile toward her. Amy unwillingly picked up
a video. It had a cleanly printed label on it: "The Adventures of Amy
Walenski."

      "Daddy had the whole lot produced commercially. You star in your own
series, Amy." Kathryn mouthed the names as Amy read them off: "Call Girl Cums
On Command, Dildo Darling Does It Deep, Amateur Amy: Striptease Slut, Cheap
Motel Quickie Girl, Horny Housewife Hump Fun, Date Rape Dream Girl, "Blow Job
Bimbo, Sassy Schoolgirl Gets Spanked." There were four or five more.

      Amy put the tape down. A tentative smile blossomed. "You can't use these.
They'd show your father doing all these things to me. You wouldn't DARE ruin
him --"

      The heiress smirked. "Try again, cupcake. Daddy's nowhere in these tapes.
It's all Amy going solo. No faces, no names used. Just you and your favorite
part of the male anatomy -- up close and personal."

      But Amy's angry smile refused to die. It hung on stubbornly. "You use
these and I'll sue you. Big time.'

      Again, Kathryn shook her head. "No, no you won't. Because I have a
perfect right to produce and distribute these commercially." She pointed at the
stack of legal papers. "Too bad stupid little secretary Amy didn't read
everything she signed for the Boss. You gave his dummy off-shore corporation
complete power and authority over your 'performances' in exchange for fifty
dollars a piece -- your 'allowance' I believe it was. As Daddy's sole heir, I
now hold those rights."

      Amy's brown eyes narrowed, her thin, too-long nose was quivering with
frustration, her small mouth clamped shut. At last she spoke. "Fine -- you want
me to divorce Wendell or you'll prove what a slut I am -- what your father
turned me into? You pushed me too far Kathryn. There's no reason for me to do
anything you say. Either way I turn, you'll show me up as a whore -- whether
you use the tapes OR make me divorce Wendell the way you said. I can't win.
Which means in a way I can't lose either. I'll leaving. Do what you want. I'm
leaving town. I don't know why you want to hurt me, but I'm going someplace
you'll never find me."

      The blonde didn't say a word, merely smiled coldly. "Good luck to you,
Amy. Where will you go? No matter, I'll track you down. And wherever it is,
I'll make sure these," she pointed at the stack of videos," are given FREE OF
CHARGE to EVERY FUCKING VIDEO RENTAL STORE in a fifty mile radius. Your new
neighbors, new co-workers, new boyfriend, and yes, your new BOSS will know just
what you are, Amy Walenski. A porn star. A slut into the kinkiest kinds of sex.
You should be a popular gal, Amy. You're right about the situation," Kathryn
acknowledged, "In Bentson you'll always have the reputation a being a cheap
little slut. But that's still better than being known as an outright prostitute
and porn star, isn't it my dear?"

      Amy's last desperate smile disintegrated. She looked down. Defeated.

      "What do you want?" she whispered pitifully.

      Kathryn reached out, stroking Amy's golden cheek. "Just what is
rightfully mine, what I have inherited from my father. I want you, Amy. You're
working for me from now on."

      The young wife gasped and shook violently, shrinking from the caress and
shaking her head. Her mouth formed a horrified "O" as comprehension settled on
her. "You're offering me the choice between being a slut or being known as a
slut? No way. I'm not working for you. There's no way. Let people talk -- it's
still better than, than, than," Amy couldn't verbalize what things she imagined
Kathryn would want from her, would have her do --

      "Better than prison? Or maybe execution?" Amy stood up, sat down. It was
a bluff of some kind. What kind of stupidity was this bitch babbling about now?
But Kathryn's slate eyes were narrowed in deadly earnest. She passed a stack of
papers toward Amy. It took her a minute to fix on them, what they were. As she
reviewed them, Kathryn filled in the last bitter details.

      "Daddy's business dealings outside the community were extensive. I
believe you met some of his associates some time ago. South American gentlemen
very interested in laundering some particularly dirty drug money through a bank
in El Norte. Daddy was happy to oblige -- for a fee.

      But as you can see, his name isn't on those documents, the ones opening
the large commercial accounts in which their money was washed."

      Amy could see that. It was her name instead. She had willingly signed the
papers -- as a witness she had thought. But hers was the only signature now --
just hers and those of the South American "businessmen." Kathryn continued, in
a stern, public voice, from a law book produced from the bookshelf.

      "Criminal Code Statute 77-A-551 states 'Any individual involved in the
transfer of moneys related to the sale of narcotics shall be prosecuted as
would an individual directly responsible for sales of those illegal substances
to the legal limit of the law.' That means you go down for five million in drug
sales, honey. Big time. And there's a death penalty in this state. The war on
drugs takes no prisoners, Amy. And shows no mercy to drug dealing scum -- like
you." Kathryn gently took all the documents and placed them back in the safe.

      "But I didn't -- I never -- how could I --" Amy half-mumbled,
half-whined.

      "You worked in the bank -- the perfect cover. Signing documents was a
regular part of your duties. You simply took the opportunity to make some money
on the side -- a bribe maybe. Drugs maybe. Who cares why you did it? You're
just a slut -- nobody would be surprised, believe me," Kathryn promised her
with certainty.

      "So, Amy -- what's it to be? Slut or convict? Either way I'm delighted.
Even if you do choose to go the can, how long do you think you could stand
being some diesel dyke's bedmate? How long before you begged me to arrange a
pardon?" Kathryn reached out to caress her former classmate.

      But this time, Amy did not shirk from the caress. She endured it. As she
would learn to endure a whole new kind of living hell. Being a slave to a man
had been unbearable. Amy could only imagine what being the possession of a
woman would be like, especially one like Kathryn. Unremitting sheer agony. But
there was no longer a choice. Like her father before her, Kathryn had laid out
the facts. Prison would be worse, far worse.

      "I have something in mind for you Amy. I'll need a tarty secretary to
attend to my needs as I run Daddy's business concerns. You'll do quite nicely I
think. You'll obey my commands, I'll do the things I've thought about doing to
you since you crossed me. Both in the office and after-hours. I have soooo many
ideas, Amy. You'll be surprised. Creativity runs in my family that way."
Kathryn's blood red lips offered her prize a ripsaw smile.

      "And you'll soon learn that there's just one difference between me and
Daddy. I always thought he was too, too much of a softy." With that promise
made, Kathryn opened the top desk drawer and pulled out a riding crop. She
pushed her chair back and patted her lap.

      "Ready to learn your first lesson, Amy?"

      Amy rose unsteadily. She had been here before, it was deja vu. "Y-yes,
Ms. Baines," she answered, void of resistance. The words came easily now that
her fate was sealed.

      "A smile, if you please, Amy."

      Amy reached into her recent memory, found all the equipment she'd need --
the feelings of worthlessness, the whorish eagerness to obey and please, the
humiliating wetness between her legs spreading... Amy Walenski let it all fall
naturally, comfortably into place: the smile-leer, the misty kept-woman eyes,
the licking lips, the out-thrust chest. The pants were pulled down, the blouse
removed without even an order. With docile resignation, the secretary draped
herself over her new mistress's lap.

      As Kathryn let the crop fall, Amy tensed. Then she began to sob
helplessly, then she began to beg for mercy. Kathryn merely smirked, as she
stroked the hard crop against the small, shapely ass of her new pet.

      "He would have wanted it this way, don't you think, Amy?"


In Part Ten, the conclusion of THE MORTGAGE, Amy performs well for her new
boss, Ms. Baines.

