The woman sat in the chair, bare above the waist. Her torn dress was bunched around her waist. The remains of her rather expensive lace bra lay on the floor in front of her. The Mexican woman had stopped playing with her breasts but was now stuffing a large piece of foul-tasting rag into her mouth. She tugged hard on the strip of cloth which she pulled between the woman’s teeth before knotting it behind her head.
"Get her up," the Mexican demanded. "I want the rest of her things off. When she’s naked, we can really have some fun."
With her hands tightly tied behind her back, the half-naked woman was powerless to prevent them pulling her to her feet. As they did so, the dress fell to her ankles.
"I’m gonna enjoy this," the Mexican woman said, as she slid pantyhose over slender hips. She didn’t bother to remove the tiny panties below. She just ripped them off.
Valerie Bullard shuddered from the memory. Her eyes dampened behind the dark glasses. Then her body shook in anger. Later that night, when the Mexican woman finally decided to get some sleep, they had her re-tied, this time hog-tied, re-inforced her gag, and dumped her, still naked in the trunk of a car for the night. "Just remember, Senõra Bullard," the Mexican had said. "What you have experienced tonight is nothing. Just a little diversion. If your husband does not come through. tomorrow, I will give you to Ramon."
* * * * *
Diamond Dayle loved her public. That is as long, of course, as it kept its distance and knew its place. So, she was in her element, posing in front of her Bentley automobile with the crowd at a safe distance. And impressive she looked too. Her trademark cowboy boots and clothes were expensive designer items, masquerading as casual wear. Her leather belt had a hand-crafted silver buckle. It gripped tightly her already slender waist. Below, her long, slender legs were encased in blue jeans. Above, her shapely breasts swelled pleasingly beneath her red and white checked shirt.
"Miss Dayle, is it true that Hank Williams’ son was conceived on the rear seat of your Bentley?" someone asked from the crowd.
"Is that why you bought it?," someone else added.
Diamond Dayle tried to hide her contempt for these questions. How dare they always ask about Hank Williams, when she herself was there.
"That old story-- it was his old Caddy where that supposedly happened. Frankly, I think one of his accountants bought this baby for him-- I doubt he ever even saw it." She smiled a rather sickly smile. "Now, I really must go," she said, finally deciding that she had had enough.
She turned and moved towards the crowd. Suddenly a tall, statuesque, blonde woman in her early thirties was by her side.
"You have such long hair, Fraulein Dayle," the Baroness said, raising a hand and letting Diamond Dayle's mahogany tresses run through her fingers, "you must have such trouble looking after it."
Diamond Dayle was nearly apoplectic. "How dare you touch me," she stammered angrily. "I’ll have you thrown out: thrown out at once." She leaned forward and gave the Baroness a quick shove out of the way. The she made off towards the rear of the display room.
All this time Stan Bullard had hardly taken his eyes off the beautiful singer. He clearly liked what he saw. He stood next door to his wife with his eyes fixed on the singer, his lower lip drooping in what was almost a drool. Beside him, her red eyes hidden by dark glasses, Valerie Bullard barely noticed the scene. Her mind was elsewhere, still fixed on the events of the previous week. She had only spent twenty-four hours as the naked prisoner of the Baroness and Lupe Martinez, but every one of those twenty-four hours seemed like days.
Suddenly the evil woman was in front of her, memory made flesh. She blinked furiously as if trying to wipe the apparition from her mind’s eye. But the vision did not go. When Valerie refocused her eyes, she found the woman still there: evil made flesh. With her was the tall, hard Baroness.
"Ah, we meet again, senora , the Mexican said gloating. I do hope you are feeling well today."
"What do you want?" Valerie Bullard spat. "Haven’t you already got what you want."
"Oh," the Baroness said playfully. "You always play so hard to get. And it is just a little thing we want."
"Drop dead," Valerie Bullard said, with as much venom in her weak voice as she dared. "Or do you want me to call the police?"
The Baroness smiled. "Police, I don’t think so," she said. "After all, I still have that nice little video we made of you."
"But, you p-p-promised," Valerie Bullard stuttered. "You said that if we did as you said, that would be the end of it."
"Did I really?" the Baroness mused absent mindedly. "Well, in that case, I must have lied."
Valerie Bullard stood there silently as the Baroness’ demands were outlined. Her ears took in the orders. But her mind was elsewhere. How hopeless her husband was. He had done nothing to save her from the attentions of the evil Hispanic woman and he was doing nothing to help her now. Instead, he seemed more interested in that stupid singer’s body. Well, she was going to get even with these too: with or without her husband’s help.
* * * * *
Belinda couldn’t believe it. At last! At last, after all that effort the rope around her wrists had finally begun to give way. He hands weren’t free yet. But she could now pull them slightly apart.
"Unnn, gggg, nnnggg," she groaned in the direction of Jana, hoping that she could convey that there was now some hope.
"Ummpphhh," Jana responded through her ball-filled mouth, her groan barely audible.
Belinda tried to smile. But her own mouth stuffing, added to the way the cleave dug deeply into the sides of her mouth, merely contorted the attempt into a strange grimace. Hurriedly, she began to rub at the rope around her wrists again.
Diamond Dayle strode imperiously in front of Stan Bullard. Wherever she went, it was always the same. Some greasy little man with money and no breeding would be running the event. Every charity appearance had one. Someone who felt that giving his free time meant that he could eye her up and down with impunity. Well, this time she would not have it. First, that reporter. Then, that dreadful woman had had the temerity to touch her hair. Now this. As soon as she was out of there she would make sure that if this town wanted to see her again heads would roll.
"Through here," Stan Bullard said, holding the door open at the back of the showroom.
Diamond Dayle shot through the doorway, studiously refusing to acknowledge the man’s action with a thank you. By the time she had realised what was happening, the door had been locked behind her and a large man had grabbed her from behind, locking a large hand over her mouth and gripping her torso tightly with an arm. In front of her stood two women. One was that dreadful German who had touched her hair. The other was a shorter, dark-haired woman with Hispanic looks.
"So you don’t like to be touched fraulein?" the blonde woman said. She stepped forward and gripped Diamond Dayle jaw tightly. "Or is it just your hair?" She reached up and entwined the fingers of her other hand in the silky tresses. Then, she tugged.
Diamond Dayle’s scalp screamed and she yelped into Ramon’s hand.
"Noisy, noisy," the Baroness chided. "That won’t do, at all. Fortunately, there are many uses for a head of hair such as yours." She reached out and took a larger handful of the soft hair, and then, motioning to Ramon to move his hand from the singer’s mouth, increased the pressure on her jaw so that her lips and teeth parted. Then, she thrust the hair into Diamond Dayle’s mouth. "Lupe, the tape, if you will."
Diamond Dayle stood there gagging on her mouth full of hair, the flavor of shampoo and conditioner already toying with her taste buds, while the Hispanic woman tore off strip after strip of white medical tape from a roll. Each was about three feet long. And one by one they were wound around the singer’s face, hair and head, until the hair was sealed in her mouth.
"So you don’t like to be touched?" the blonde woman said, repeating herself. This time her hand reached out and took hold of Diamond Dayle’s left breast through her shirt and squeezed. "Therefore, fraulein, the woman continued. "If you don’t want to be touched, you had better do as you’re told."
Diamond Dayle felt the man behind her let go of her body. For an instance she wondered if she could make a break and try to escape. Her eyes scanned the room. Only now did she notice that there was a third woman in the room, a beautiful dark-haired, well-dressed woman, who despite her good looks was trying to hide in the shadows. An ally perhaps. No, this woman might be scarred. But she had been with the greasy man who had brought her here. There was no escape. She would have to endure whatever, they wanted from her.
She had not, however, expected what came next.
"Now, take your clothes off!" the Baroness demanded.
Had Diamond Dayle been able to speak, the words filling the air would have been unrepeatable. But, a combination of hair, medical tape and her gag reflex prevented any of that. Anyhow, words were not necessary. Her eyes were wild above the wide swathe of white adhesive covering her mouth. Her chest heaved beneath her checked shirt. And she drove her fingers into the palms of her hands.
"She said strip, bitch," Lupe interjected aggressively. "Or I’ll have Ramon here rip your clothes off."
The Baroness threw Lupe an icy look. How the hell would the deception work if the clothes were torn. The stupid Mexican seemed to have lost the plot. Whenever a chance to humiliate an attractive women presented itself, she let her passions rule her head. "Just take them off," the Baroness ordered coldly.
Diamond Dayle shuddered visibly. Then nervous fingers began to undo shirt buttons. She fumbled with cuff fastenings before pulling the shirt off her shoulders and arms. Beneath she wore a silky peach colored shift, the string shoulder straps of which nestled against the more substantial straps of her white bra. Across the room, the greasy man stared eagerly at the unfolding scene.
"Keep going," the Baroness reminded as soon as Diamond had passed over the shirt.
This time the icy glare was focused on the country and western singer. Diamond humpphed into her gag and then stooped to pull off her boots. She tossed them on to the floor in front of the Baroness and then turned to her levis. The silver belt buckle took only a few seconds to unfasten. Then, she wound her jeans down her long legs and over her feet. A small triangle of white cotton peeped out below the hem of her shift, where it stopped at the base of her hips.
"There that didn’t hurt, did it?" the Baroness said, smiling. "If Lupe here had had her way, you would be naked by now. But be warned, fraulein. Fail to do exactly as I tell you, and that will be exactly your fate.