Their Way

By Succubus

Act I—Discontent

I.

Silence.  The city, once a bustling center of life, vibrant with the sounds of hawkers, alive with milling crowds and merry voices, now sat in silence.  It was a quiet that sunk deep, down into the fibers of the city.  War had torn the place apart, and the few who still lived on in the town took to the shadows.

It didn’t pay to draw any attention in your direction.  The safest course of action was to lock the doors, to draw the blinds—to hide.  The residents had come to a new life, one lived in darkness.  Where once the sound of gay music floated through the air from café’s, now you had only this silence.  The town was locked up tight by fear, kept there by terror.

Most of the buildings still stood—granted, some were the worse for the wear.  A caved in wall here, a demolished home there, but all in all it had withstood the ravages of war.  Ancient, this town—for as long as most could remember, families had built their homes here, generations had been born and died and christened in the same ancient church.

The cobbled streets, the stonework and architecture; all this would at any other time have made this place beautiful.  But now:  the stones, the cold, the darkness, they all huddled in tight, almost smothering the people who lived here.  Very few stores remained—most of the owners had fled, been killed, or been sent out to camps.  Besides, there were hardly customers in these times, certainly not enough with money to buy the goods that had once been offered.  The only bit of color that graced this landscape of despair were the propaganda posters pasted across ancient walls. 

In the silence of the morning came a tapping sound, soft at first, and then growing stronger.  The tapping sound grew louder and louder—sure, confident, unafraid of the streets, of the shadows.  The sound came on fearless, and in hearing it, the townspeople took to their corners, to their hidden spots, to their basements.  The wisp of a curtain falling across the window was the only hint that anyone lived here, the only sign that there was an audience left to hear, eyes left to see.

Click-clack, the sound drew closer and closer.  Around a corner came the cause.  Tight leather boots, two pairs, fitted to perfection, stepped upon the cobbled streets.  One could hardly help but notice in a land of dirt and desolation, the beauty of the boots, the contrast they struck, as step by step, the came up the street. 

Two women walked upon those cobbles, in those cold desolate streets—two women of beauty, of confidence, of strength.  Where the town hid in fear, they brazenly strode down the middle of the road, their heads held high.   

Helga was a stunning creature.  Her long blonde hair was knotted back severely at her neck.  As she marched, the fabric of her uniform stretched against her thighs, slithered across her ample bosom, and cinched in tight at her corseted waist.  At 43, she was incredible, her body that of a younger woman, though her appetite was easily that of one who lived a thousand years in boredom.  One look at her ice-cold eyes or humorless smile and it was obvious there was no such thing as mercy or gentleness inside of her.

At her side walked the equally lovely Eva—young enough to be her daughter, and in the world of sadism, most definitely her protégé.  Eva’s uniform fit just as exquisitely, the skirt even shorter than that of her cohort.  Silken stockings encased her thighs; her waist was un-corseted, but tiny none the less.  While her breasts were nowhere near the plentiful double-handful that her partners were, they were perfect regardless, the nipples stretching out to poke through the fine material of her uniform top.  Her platinum hair was cut short and severe, but drew nothing from her beauty, instead adding a sense of severity, a touch of steel. 

Very few braved to slide back their curtains and watch as the pair passed by, their boots sounding a tattoo as they went. 

They walked with purpose, intent upon their destination.

II.

Gerald was a good man, an honest man, and a family man.  Born here, he’d left when he was young, set out to find his fortune, to see the world, to have an adventure.  Being the type of man he was, what he found was a sweet American wife who would love him steadfastly through his days.  They lived in happiness for a time, settling in a German section of New York City, until war had broke out back home.  He watched the papers nervously, thinking of his parents, still there, faced with these horrors.

When his father had died, he knew it was time to go back.  Dutiful son that he was, he packed up his wife and their lovely daughter, and brought them back home, to help his mother out in the family store.  They’d lived here now for almost a year, catering to the needs of the very few who still had money to spend.

Their store was like no other, and in its day it had provided the best in corsetry, in stockings and fine leather—silk from Japan, lingerie from France, leather from Italy—only the finest did they sell, and likewise, only the finest were their clientele.  But that was before the war.  Now, very few managed their way in here.  There simply was no money left, and when it could be scratched together, it was spent on things like food, for a city that was half starved.

Gerald’s mother Margaret was a kindly old woman.  Always gentle, she was the type to take in lost souls, to feed lost puppies.  She’d lived her entire life in this town, and to her, there really was no world beyond it.  Her first realization of the world beyond her shop and home was when her son left her side.  She had mourned for years, missing him as only a mother can.  Although the war had taken almost everything from her, she consoled herself with the fact that at least it had given her back her son.  She thought his wife to be a lovely sweet young lady also.

Lorraine had been born into a family of boys.  She was the only daughter and had five brothers.  This had the effect of making her turn out very quiet, very subdued.  She hardly said a word, Lorraine, and when she did, it was in a voice half-whisper, a voice of no conviction.  Life had taught her early that it is best to simply bow one’s head to fate, and never ever to make a fuss.  She was after all, only one girl, in a world of men, and she never felt she could compete.  Instead she hid herself in baggy dresses, and looked out upon her life through the curtain of her own mousy brown hair. 

She did her part in life, dutifully, being a good wife, being a good mother.  It was a joyous day for her when she discovered herself pregnant once more.  She had begun to feel unnecessary, and to Lorraine, her entire meaning was wrapped up in being necessary, in being needed.  Gerald could only think of the costs, and worry over his gentle and frail wife’s health, but the glow Lorraine had in her eyes made him keeps these worries to himself. 

Their daughter, 16 and growing fast was not a bit like her mother, in fact, nothing could annoy her quicker than to watch her subservient mother always shrinking into the shadows, always seeming to disappear in a room.  She swore she would never be that way.  Her life was hers; she would take her fate with both hands and carve herself a life worth living.  To be nothing but the wife of a storekeeper, always waiting on others, always seeking to please, this was plainly not for her.  She had even inherited her father’s looks:  his bright hair, and his broad features.   

Young Elizabeth never hid, she liked to be seen, she liked to be admired.  When the store would close she would sometimes sneak back in at night, and try on the many luxurious items they stocked.  Nothing to her felt the same as the silk of a stocking sliding up her young thighs.  She would cinch in her waists with the delicate hand made corsets, stand for hours feeling the leather of the boots squeezing against her ankles.  Some day, she swore, she would be gone from here and rich of her own accord.  Some day she would wear these things, and have some other girl scurry to fit them on her beautiful curves. 

But today:  today she once more swept the floors, the dust rising up into her face, sticking there from the sweat of her labor. 

III.

Gerald heard the sound of their steps echoing through the streets long before Eva and Helga arrived.  His family didn’t notice, but he did.  The click-clack sound sunk deep into him, it matched his heartbeat, it drove in him an urgency.  The closer they came, the more his pulse raced, the more he shifted, nervous, the more he wrung his hands.  He never knew, when they arrived, which feeling was stronger in him—dread or desire.  The combination kept him strung tight, unbalanced, worried, yet excited. 

He looked around the store, worried that everything should be in order, concerned that not the least bit of dirt should show.  These women were powerful, and lately, it seemed, they were all that stood between their life and ruin.  One word from the duo and their shop would be gone, their home, gone, their entire life, taken away as easily as one might pull an apple from a tree. 

“Do you hear?” he asked his family.  His daughter stood for a moment, her broom still.  His wife turned from the shelves, her arms still heavy with bolts of cloth.  His mother paused, the wrinkles of her face drawing to worry.  They heard, in just a moment of silence, they heard, and they understood.  They were coming back.

Margaret said a prayer softly under her breath, her answer for every worry in the world.  Lorraine seemed to shrink even more, if it were possible, her eyes large inside her face.  Elizabeth narrowed her own eyes, the hatred filling her once again, knowing the ugliness that came, step by clicking step, to their door.

“Lizzie, put away the broom and straighten yourself girl,” Gerald said to his daughter, “you look a fright, go fix your hair, pretty yourself.”  Lorraine, hearing him, examined her own fading appearance in the mirror, straightening out her dress, smoothing her hair.  She glanced at her husband, trying to convey to him her fear, but he was not looking.  Instead, he sat at the window, the blind pulled back, waiting for the two women to round the corner and come into sight.

Gerald loved the way these two looked; he loved it when they came into the store.  It was hard for him, in his love for his family, to watch the way they treated the women he loved, but it was never too difficult, as more often than not he felt a stirring in his trousers, a rising of his blood.  They had a deal, him and the two women.  They got anything they desired in the store on their end, and on Gerald’s end, he got to sometimes touch them, be teased by them, a couple times to even penetrate them—but most of all:  he got to keep his family alive and together, and the shop running.  These days it didn’t even make enough to feed the three of them, but it was all they had. 

In the back of the store his mother continued her prayers, sure that if she only prayed right, everything would always turn out ok in the end.  It was a futile hope, and a fruitless exercise, but it was her way.  God’s will be done, as she always said.  Gerald didn’t know if these women really had much traffic with God, but he did know their wills were at least as strong. 

Gerald held his breath without even realizing he did so as Helga and Eva entered the store. 

Every time he saw the pair, the effect of them hit him like a ton of bricks.  Today was no different.  Gerald looked down upon the ground as they stepped in, and so it was that his first sight of the women was of their boots.  Boots he had sold them, boots him and his family had fitted, wrapping the smooth leather tight about their feet, snugging it to their ankles.  He let his eyes drift up and up, slowly, lingering upon the silk encased legs, admiring the flare of hips behind their tailored uniforms.  It was a few moments before he had raised his eyes to see their faces.  Helga stood smiling at him, a wicked grin upon her face.  She never missed a beat and had stood a moment longer to let the lowly shopkeeper admire her beauty.

Eva stood behind her for a moment, then passed, entering the store in style, turning about her a couple times, looking for anything new she might have missed the dozen visits before.  Eva was one of those women who seemed totally unconcerned over her own loveliness.  She seemed not to care one whit about the men she left behind her, their tongues hanging from their mouths.  Most likely, this is because she didn’t care, not really.  Eva preferred to humiliate; Eva liked to hurt.  To her, the only value of a man was not as a lover, but as a victim.  And Eva hated most women. 

Life may have been a tad too good to Eva—given too much power and beauty at too young an age.  Now she stood a full-fledged despot, her tastes warped, her appetite deranged.  She looked upon other women as pitiful.  The sweeter the girl before her, the more savagely Eva detested her.  It was Helga’s job to guide the fledgling, to nurture her along the paths of deviance.  She was a stellar pupil.

Helga spoke first, breaking the cold silence of the room, “What have you for us today?  Anything new?  Has the lace come in from Bordeaux?  Are the new shoes here yet from Milan?  Damn Mussolini, if he could make up his mind, perhaps we might get some decent shoes.  These things are hardly worth wearing any more.” 

Gerald gazed again at the leather, fit so tight and perfect about that lovely foot.  The boots were in perfect condition, not a scuff or scratch or mark upon them.  They were as perfect as the foot they encased, as perfect as every inch of this powerful woman was.

Lorraine was bent down, kneeling on the floor as she rummaged through the shelves looking for the newest orders to arrive.  Eva walked passed her once, glanced behind her at the woman, then reached out with one petite foot and pushed her over.  Lorraine shrank even more, her eyes riveted upon the floor in front of her face, and mumbled an apology.  Eva laughed at her, amused that such a mousy little woman existed.  Lorraine rolled over slightly, adjusting her pregnant body to try and rise.  A look of disgust crossed Eva’s face as she eyed the woman’s distended belly.

Elizabeth rushed over to help her mother, giving her a hand to hold onto, helping her to stand again.  Although she’d have liked nothing more than to turn and scream at these women, to slap them, to hurt them in someway, she knew the cost was too high.   They simply must endure.  She reached onto the shelves where her mother-in-law had been stocking items and pulled forth a small package, tied up with a length of blue ribbon.  Untying it, she turned to the two women

“As promised, my ladies, we have acquired only the finest for you.  These are small lengths of silk come recently from Europe.  I think they would make lovely chemises, and as you can see, they are all your favorite colors.” Elizabeth opened the package to reveal the fabric, and held up a length of it.  It was as sheer as could be, the silk of such a quality that when you touched it, it felt like nothing at all.  The colors were soft greens, deep blues, and a gentle eggshell.

Helga’s eyes lit up at the fabric.  “Fantastic!” she said, and clapped her hands, “We’ll begin there.”  She turned to Gerald, a sparkle in her eyes, and began to undo one of the tiny buttons on the front of her uniform.  Taking their cue, the ladies of the family rushed up to the two women, anxious to help them out of their uniforms so the fittings could begin.  They knew that to let Helga do more than one button herself was to be begging for a beating at her sadistic hands. 

Eva stepped aside, watching the flurry of activity, admiring the way they all trembled and shook and jumped at each order.  She approached Gerald, her eyes boring into his own.  Although he wanted nothing more than to look away from the intensity in her gaze, he did not.  “And you can assist me,” she stated, the sparkle in her eyes turning to fire.

Gerald tried to control the shaking in his hands as he reached for this living Goddess.  When his fingertip brushed against the fabric of her uniform he felt as though he had been burnt.  Eva stared at him relentlessly, knowing full well the delicious torment this man was experiencing.  She licked slowly at her lips and stuck her chest out slightly, pushing her breasts even closer to Gerald.  He hoped to god she couldn’t feel his trembling as he fumbled with the buttons like a boy with his first date. 

Helga was cursing at the women, but not beyond the normal amount of verbal abuse she generally doled out.  They were used to it.  “Idiots, you’re all a bunch of idiots,” she said.  “There was a time when I never would have stood for such ineptitude.  Why look at you, three of you working and the uniform is just now coming off!  Careful, damn you wretches!  Take care with that, one wrinkle and you shall pay!”  On and on she went, feeling a tingle in her cunt with each insult.  Her life was too good, she thought, this was paradise.

Eva continued staring, silent, at Gerald as he worked the buttons loose, from top to bottom.  A small sheen of sweat had formed on his forehead, on his upper lip.  Each button revealed another inch of delight.  As the uniform slipped away, the delicate layers of chemise and slip became exposed.  Her white shoulders glowed in the dim room, the delicate straps of her black chemise an incredible contrast. 

He was becoming rapt, intent upon this slow revealing. 

Elizabeth hurried as she helped Helga, trying to save her mother more pain and humiliation.  It seemed the women couldn’t avoid it however.  The edge of one nail scraped against Helga’s arm and her temper flew.  Quick as a flash, her hand struck out at Lorraine, hitting the woman hard upon her cheek, so hard that Lorraine spun, and fell once more, an ignominious heap upon the floor.  The pregnant woman looked stunned, amazed, her hand pressed to her check, feeling the heat rise from the perfect handprint laid there. 

“Bitch!” Helga screamed at her.  Angered now, she pulled away from Elizabeth and Margaret, storming up to Lorraine, and kicking out at the woman’s stomach brutally.  Lorraine tried to cry out, even managed to get one hand up by way of protection, but all that came out of the woman was a loud whooshing sound as the air left her lungs.  Intense pain spread up from her abdomen in waves.  For a moment, Lorraine could see nothing but blackness and thought to herself, “this is what pain looks like.” 

“You’ll pay for that yet,” Helga warned, and went back to letting herself be undressed.

Gerald had the uniform almost off of Eva by now, despite his fumbling fingers.  The smell of the woman, her perfume, her skin, washed over Gerald as he worked.  It went straight to his brain, that scent.  Slowly he slid the uniform down Eva’s thighs, his eyes trailing across her silk clad legs.  He rose once more, confused for a moment as to what he was supposed to be doing, his brain able to process nothing beyond this incredible woman standing before him in stockings, chemise, and thin lace panties.  Unlike her cohort in black, Eva wore the softest of white, enjoying the contrast of such an innocent look on such an evil girl. 

“Eva!” Helga called out to her partner in crime, “Come assist me, if you would.  With a lingering glance back over her shoulder at Gerald, she turned and walked slowly across the small room to Helga.  She was very aware of Gerald’s eyes upon her body, of the way her pert little ass pushed at the lace of her panties, of the way her legs looked, encased in silk to the thigh, the garter straps framing that perfect little ass. 

“Hmmm?” She muttered, by way of question. 

Helga lifter her arms as Eva drew near, pulling the fabric of her chemise up tight against her large breasts.  “Just look!” She cried to Eva, gesturing an almost imperceptible scratch on the inside of her arm.  Anger flashed across Eva’s features and she looked down at Gerald pitiful wife where she still sat upon the floor, small tears starting to roll down her cheeks, her arms wrapped tight around her stomach. 

“The only question,” Eva said, “Is how do we punish her.” 

“The answer is obvious, my dear,” Helga said to her friend.  We punish her daughter instead.”  Eva laughed out loud at this wit, appreciating how her friends mind worked.

Elizabeth gasped as she heard this, and started stammering, apologizing over and over.  “No, please, it was an accident, she didn’t mean to, I promise, it won’t happen again.”  From the Lorraine on the floor, came nothing but silence.  Lorraine half hated her mother, she knew her mom would sooner see her beat than risk standing up for once in her life.

“Nothing for it my dear, up, up!”  Helga gestured at a small chaise lounge sitting on one side of the room.  Elizabeth lowered her eyes quickly, aware that if the two women saw her look of utter hatred they would make her pay for that too.  Still she stalled for a moment, her eyes pleading with her father’s to intervene for her. 

“Elizabeth, you must comply.” He stated simply.  Privately he gave her his own pleading look:  Behave, it said, cooperate, it will be over soon and can only get worse if you do not.  Against every fiber in her being, against her brain screaming at her not to, Elizabeth walked slowly toward the chaise.     

“Come now, don’t dawdle, up girl!” Helga called out again.  Elizabeth put one knee upon the lounge, and then another, then buried her face into her hands. 

From where Helga and Eva stood, they saw only the back of the girl, and even in her worn out modest dress, it was obvious the girls body held many charms.  Helga cast her eyes about before letting them come to rest on a long strip of leather.  Grabbing it up, she twisted the leather up, and then knotted the end of it.  She swung the leather, testing it against her palm first.  Feeling that there was not much sting at all to the whip, Helga tied more knots in it, four to be exact, one after another.  A second test left her hand stinging, and she knew this would work just fine.

Eva leaned over the girl, looking down upon her.  “She’s going to whip you good, you know,” she said, loving the way the young girls body shook in fear.  Slowly she lifted the girl’s dress, higher and higher, until at last her ass was exposed, and then her back.  Eva grabbed at the girls plain white panties and yanked them down roughly.  She leaned in once more, her mouth almost touching the terrified teen’s ears and whispered, “Take your beating or I will take you.  I will take you away from here; I will use you, hand you out to my friends, cut you into pieces, and feed you to my dogs.  And I will enjoy it” she hissed.

Elizabeth held back a sob, trying with all her will to force herself to silence, it was bad now, but my god, how much worse it could be.  One whipping she could take.  She glanced over at her grandmother, and then saw her father almost behind her, and her face flushed with shame.  They should not be seeing her like this, her virginal ass raised and exposed, her lithe thighs widened to balance her weight.  Her humiliation burned inside of her.

Helga pulled back her arm, paused for a moment, and then swung the home made whip through the air, making it whistle.  The first blow, when it landed, was louder than loud.  It seemed to echo through the shop, echo even into the streets.  Elizabeth felt the leather slap against her, felt it cut, felt the heat well up, and then the sting arrive.

Gerald watched from across the room, transfixed at the sight before him.  There stood two incredibly beautiful women—one in black lingerie, the other in white, and between them a delicious young ass, being whipped pink.  It was excruciating, the conflict inside of him.  On one hand, the small cries coming from the girl, the jiggle of her ass with each strike, the entire tableaux of beauty, of feminine charms had a heady effect upon him.  On the other hand, it was his daughter.  His job in life was to protect her.  It pained him to know she suffered, to know she hurt, to see her humiliation.  But despite this, he felt an electric charge straight down to his cock with every single lash.

The girl’s sobs grew louder as the beating continued; she thought they meant to strip her skin away to the bone.  She could hear Helga laugh as she struck her, she could hear Eva moan slightly when a particularly rough swipe stung into her tender flesh.  Just when she thought they would continue forever, it finally, mercifully ended. 

Helga and Eva walked away from the girl as though her presence in the room had already been forgotten.

The rest of the fitting went by without much more distress.  A couple kicks at Margaret when she was slow, one more slap at Lorraine simply for the fun of it, and they were just about done.  Elizabeth they made stay as she was, bent over on the chaise, her pink-welted ass on display for their pleasure.  When passing her, neither of the sadists could resist pinching out at that delightful bottom, relishing the way it shook as the girl trembled, loving the little cries that came from the young girl’s full lips. 

Just about done…although there was still the payment to be considered.  Helga had in her hands two packages, both good sized.  One held a corset, fit with perfection to her body, the other contained yet another pair of shoes, these small, higher of heel, less sturdy, but still enough of a boot to work with the uniform.  Eva carried only one small bag, but in it was a fortune in stockings, the most incredible silk stockings—the silk brought from China, the stockings made in France.  It was a fortune they carried plain and simple, and today, like every other day, they were not going to spend a dime for such luxuries. 

Helga walked slowly, sensuously toward Gerald, a smile on her face of pure mischief.  As she approached him, she ran her hands down her body, drawing his eyes first to her breasts, spilling now copiously from the top of her corset, then to her waist, wrapped tight in silk and whalebone, shaped to perfection and cinched tight beyond belief.  Lower slid his hands and his eyes followed as though she controlled them herself. 

He watched her hands slide across that tight waists, and down, down.  She bent slightly, undoing the ties to her stockings.  Impatiently, she glanced around the room and her eyes came to light upon Lorraine, who now was anxiously trying to disappear into another corner. 

“Come here, wifey” She called, the word turned in her mouth to something ugly.  Cautiously Lorraine approached the powerful women.  “Take it off, now,” Helga commanded, and of course, Lorraine complied.

Lorraine’s hands shook as they touched the woman.  She knew she would make a mistake, do something wrong, displease Helga in some way.  Her heart beat inside her chest.  Her eyes strayed across the room to her daughter, so improperly exposed, and shame filled her at the remembrance that it was her fault her daughter had had to suffer such humiliation and pain. 

Lorraine gasped as Helga grabbed her hair in her fist and yanked her head back roughly.  Tears instantly popped into her eyes and panic filled her.  “Oh my god, what did I do wrong??” her mind screamed.  But she had done nothing.  She didn’t need to do anything, she just was there, a victim, without choice, and that alone made her irresistible to Helga.

Helga laughed and released the woman’s hair.  She reached out her hand and grabbed at Gerald’s cock, reveling in her power at this moment.  She had this man before her, who could do nothing, who could not resist not only her orders, but her body as well.  His cock was hers to rule, just as his family was.  Helga knew she had been blessed in this world. 

Lorraine rushed to pull down Helga’s stockings, but was careful too—the last thing she needed to do right now was anger her.  Once they were both smoothed off of Helga’s muscular legs, Helga motioned for Lorraine to continue disrobing her.  Lorraine stood, reaching for the laces to Helga’s corsets, but was knocked back down to the ground by Helga’s fist clashing against the side of her head.  “Not that, stupid, these,” she said, motioning to her panties.

Lorraine felt sickened but fear was stronger in her.  Slowly she reached for Helga’s panties, grasping the delicate lace along the top, and started sliding them down, her eyes transfixed by the bushy blonde curls as they escaped the confines of the woman’s panties.  

Gerald was stuck in a conflict he could find no way out of.  He loved his wife; god knows he did.  She was the sweetest, most gentle woman he had known.  He wanted to spare her every bit of hurt the world could offer.  But he could not resist the incredible excitement that coursed through his body watching as Helga controlled and humiliated his wife.  His cock twitched in his trousers and Helga looked up at him with a grin, her hand still firmly grasping Gerald’s manhood. 

Lorraine lowered the panties over Helga’s ample ass.  Her face was so close to the woman she could smell her arousal.  Helga reached for the back of Lorraine’s head and pushed her face straight into her pussy.  Lorraine struggled at first, and then remembered the lessons she had learned before.  She let her fact be pushed into the woman’s cunt, let the smell invade her nostrils, let the pubic hair tickle into her nose, let the moisture press at her lips.  But that is all she did.  She couldn’t even conceive of what Helga was wanting of her.

“You are the stupidest little bitch in Germany!” Helga declared, and leaned forward, spitting directly into Lorraine’s face.  Lorraine was so shocked, so surprised, she just stared at the other woman for a moment.  A voice behind her startled her back to reality:  “You’re supposed to lick, ninny.”  It was Eva, standing directly behind her.  Lorraine felt trapped between the two towering women.       

Gerald was not oblivious to the scene before him either.  Watching his wife, on her knees, before these women, it was damn near too much.  As his wife’s uncomprehending eyes suddenly dawned with understanding, and the look of utter anguish flashed across her face, he felt a secret thrill, a thrill he could never admit to.  He liked it; he liked watching these women torment his sweet little wife.

Eva laughed uproariously at it all, enjoying herself immensely.  She grabbed Lorraine’s hair roughly, yanking the woman back until she fell back once more, and lie still at her feet.  Eva saw again the woman’s pregnant body and grimaced at her.  She ran her hands over her own tight little form, staring at Lorraine, hoping she realized how beautiful Eva was and how ugly she was. 

Helga stepped from her panties and told Gerald to lie down beside his wife, so they were face to face.  Then she reached down, undoing his trousers, and grabbed his cock fiercely in her hand.  Her fist wrapped tight about him, squeezing at him, almost too rough, almost too hard…almost.

She watched Lorraine as she lowered herself onto Gerald.  Lorraine’s eyes welled up with tears at this new horror.  She watched her husband sink himself inside of Helga, watched the woman’s juices coat what should by rights be hers alone.  Helga smiled at her evilly, wanting to hurt her as much as she could.  Lorraine didn’t blame her husband—he was but a man, and everyone knew a man’s desires weren’t the same as a woman’s.  Even with proof of his excitement, she saw it all as “he couldn’t help it, they made him.”

Savagely Helga rode Gerald, trashing her body about on him, rocking her hips, building a rhythm higher and higher and higher.  Gerald tried to avoid the eyes of his wife—so sweet in their tears—beside him.  He turned his head the other way, only to be presented with the sight of his daughter’s freshly whipped ass so charmingly displayed.  He was stuck, no matter what.  He felt the urgency growing inside of him, felt as his balls began to tingle then tighten.  He groaned aloud as his seed went washing up inside of Helga’s womb.  Little moans escaped his lips as the echoes of his pleasure went on for a moment.

When he was still, Helga carefully rose, and quickly sat straight down upon Lorraine’s face.  Helga could feel as Gerald’s seed began to slip from inside of her, felt it slide past hr lips, and knew it had no place to go but all over Lorraine’s face. 

“Open wide,” she ordered.  Lorraine tried, but the pressure of the woman’s weight upon her face made it almost impossible.  She was retching and gagging, forcing herself not to struggle.  Hands clamped tight around her neck and suddenly there was no air left in the world.  Lorraine struggled now, but it was pointless.  She was awkward, pregnant, and weak.  This woman had her pinned in place quite easily, and the longer she held her throat, the weaker Lorraine became.  Lorraine used every ounce of strength she had left in her to open her mouth, gasping, against Helga’s cunt.  She tasted her husband's seed as it touched her tongue; she tasted the heady richness of Helga’s cunt.  Still she could not breath.  Helga waited until the woman had almost gone still before she let go.  Briefly she wondered if it would damage the unborn child.  Not that she cared.  Lorraine greedily sucked now on Helga, even if she really was only trying to gasp for air.  All that mattered is Helga got what she wanted. 

When she was certain that every inch of her pussy had been cleaned nice and proper, she stood, and a small drip of fluid slid down her thigh.  Lorraine stared at it in shock, not quite certain what had just happened. 

Slowly Helga dressed once more, forcing Margaret to assist her.  The two women gathered their packages once more, and walked out, leaving the family to pick up the pieces of their life and put them back together once again.  Gerald avoided his wife’s eyes for some time, and Margaret walked around muttering prayers, thinking God might just yet save her and her family from these two demons.

Act II—Dissolution

I.

The next day dawned ugly and cold.  Clouds hung low, clinging to the buildings of the town.  A chill bone-deep was in the air, casting a mood of darkness and loss upon the already despairing residents.  Hope was such a fleeting, small thing, something that had been conditioned out of the people.  For them the only thing left to look forward to was the sun, and on days like this when the sun denied them even its warmth upon their faces, upon their streets, they felt truly bereft, forsaken by the God they still adamantly prayed to.

Margaret was up before the others in her usual manner.  She knelt in the back of the shop, her head bent, her mouth shaping itself around the Lord’s Prayer.  She concentrated on what she said; she threw her heart and soul into her pleas, convinced that there was an omnipotent being listening, caring, loving.  A true idealist, naïve to the point of pathetic, still she prayed, her heart behind the words that she believed would save them all, would free her family from the wretchedness of their daily life.

She was still kneeling upon her little frayed rug in the cold store, a small shawl wrapped about her shoulders, when Gerald entered. 

“Mama, you will catch your death in here, it’s freezing.  You need to look after your health.”

“God will look after me son,” she replied, continuing her prayers where she had left off.

Gerald never understood his pious mother and her insistence upon God saving them all.  God never intervened on his father’s behalf—God was nowhere to be found yesterday either.  Instantly the images from yesterday’s trials with the two witches popped into Gerald’s mind.

He saw them, all of them, as they were; saw the tears running down the cheeks of his wife, his daughter, and his mother.  Saw again the beauty of Helga’s ass and the deliciousness of her thick blonde bush as it pressed against his belly.  He recalled the wetness of the woman as she had impaled herself upon his manhood.  Despite himself he felt again a stirring in his loins at his recollections.  Witches they were for certain--must be—for he had been bewitched.

He stared vacantly out the window, eying the cold streets, lost in his thoughts.  That’s where he remained until Lorraine walked in, a blanket wrapped about her, her hands holding her big belly.  He hurried to help his wife, wrapping an arm about her waist, his touches gentle and full of love.  Despite the fact that he had thrilled yesterday at the sight of his wife groveling before the two tigresses, today he felt nothing but tenderness and concern for his sweet and gentle lady.

A small fire was lit in the stove to try and drive the bone deep chill from the store.  It was important to have the place warm before business began.  Elizabeth stumbled down, half-asleep still and curled herself up before the stove.  Silently she stared at the small fire, trying to suck what warmth she could from it, trying to use the warmth to dispel the hatred she still felt, the humiliation that still ran through her. 

Even as she sat, she could feel the welts left upon her backside, the shame left upon her honor.  There was a part of her that hated them all—not just the two tormentors who had their necks so effectively under their high-quality boots—but her family as well.  They should not stand for this; they should have protected her.  She felt alone, older than she should have, left to defend herself in a world where her only role was that of servant and victim.  Bitterness already had turned down the corners of the girl’s mouth, so that her normal look was that of sadness and anger. 

II.

Helga and Eva too had risen early, and sat now beside a roaring fire—no rations here—a pot of tea and a fine breakfast laid out before them.  The two women lounged, relaxed, taking their time with the start of their day.  Both felt an immense pleasure, a sense of fulfillment with their lot in life.  Eva thought about the shopkeeper and his family and had to laugh again.  The sound echoed in the silence of their large hall, startling Helga from her reverie. 

Helga looked at the younger woman with warmth and fondness.  This is the closest she had ever come to having a sister of the heart, and if she were able to feel the emotion, she might actually consider it was love she felt for her beautiful companion.  But Helga’s heart was not made for love—for her the true estimation of caring lie inside the appetites of the flesh.  The flash of desire, the feel of pleasure:  these were love to Helga.

Eva’s hair, still wet from her bath, hung across her forehead.  She sat at the table, her body barely concealed by a sheer robe, yet another acquisition from the pitiful Gerald and family.  One breast peeked from the edge of the soft green cloth.  The woman looked softer this way, gentler.  Helga had to grin at how deceiving appearances could be.  At the rate she was growing, Eva’s despotism would one day overshadow Helga’s own.  She had to admit, she was proud of her pupil.

They took their time, relaxing, nibbling on the delicacies spread before them, sipping at their tea, enjoying one another’s company.  Helga had her hair loose, not yet tied into her customary severe knot.  Even she looked softer in the morning light, blonde wisps of hair curling about her face, caressing the skin of her neck, cascading down her back like a river of gold.  She wore a silk robe of intense scarlet, barely concealing her ample curves.

She too had been thinking of the man, of his wife, of his daughter’s delicious little ass, of his pious mother.  She recalled the feel of the pregnant woman beneath her, thrashing about, desperate for air.  A little thrill ran straight through to Helga’s cunt and unconsciously she squeezed her thighs together. 

Pulling her head out of her reverie, Helga turned to Eva.  “It is time we were getting ourselves together, dear.” She said.  Both ladies headed out of the hall and into their shared dressing room. 

Anyone with an eye for the finer things in life could have happily passed many days in the ladies dressing room.  Clothes of every type hung about, silks, damasks, leather, lace.  They had a fetish these two, and nothing pleased them more than to drape their svelte frames with the most luxurious fabrics—well, almost nothing.  That’s not all the room contained, either. 

Aside from the fortune in lingerie, in corsets, in boots and panties and brassieres, they had yet another collection, this one with a darker purpose.  In the back of the room, in an armoire that had once belong to the mayor of this town, were items that would fill the heart of even the most steadfast with fear. 

Whips of leather hung from hooks inside the door; strips of birch wood stood in a corner.  There was something to please any sadist, really—riding crops, bullwhips, and lashes.  Some fit not even to tear the hide off a dog, others expensive creations of lust and evil inspiration. 

In a drawer sat phalluses of every size and shape and color.  Some were conventional—made of leather or glass, their size within the bounds of normalcy.  Others were monstrosities of art—huge things, some covered with tiny bumps, some spiked with sharpened points.  Dildos of glass, of metal, of every material that the artists could think to render were arranged, side-by-side, inside this drawer. 

Helga ran her hand lovingly over her toys.  She was very proud of her collection, she had spent years traveling and buying and hiring only the finest craftsmen to create her sadistic toy chest. 

One shelf was dedicated only to that which could bind—rough rope that would chafe and bleed a victim before he was ever touched, ties of silk, ties of leather.  Gags of every shape and size—from the simplicity of a ball with a strip of leather through it, to the most ornate and detailed headgear with a phallus for a gag.  Helga liked to think she overlooked nothing.  Details were very important to her.

Eva had slipped off her robe and stood nude across the room, the diffused light playing with the shadows upon her white skin.  No man could look at her and deny desire filled him at the sight.  From her short hair, to her pert nose, which matched so perfectly the pert little lift of her small breasts, to the fine scattering of hair across her mound, the woman was utter perfection.  She turned to face the racks and racks of clothing, giving Helga a breathtaking view of her heart shaped ass, the little dimples in it making the girl look damn near virginal.  It was a natural progression for the eyes to flow from that ass down to legs that any colt would be proud to wear.  Long, tall, and lithe:  even Helga felt desire while looking at her friend. 

Sighing to herself, Helga joined Eva, throwing off her scarlet robe to reveal magnificent breasts, the nipples fat, the areolas darkly colored.  For every part of Eva that was petite, Helga’s body provided ample curves by contrast.  Even her own bush grew thick and full in its golden curls, where Eva’s was delicate and ordered.  As she bent down towards a shelf, her broad and full ass stuck out towards Eva.  Eva could even see more of that fabulous bush poking out from between the older woman’s thighs.

They both took some time, running their hands across the multitudes of fabric before them.  They laid out their uniforms upon the bench, knowing this was the one part of their attire that would require no thought.  Each agonized on their decisions, wishing they could wear it all.  Finally they each had picked their outfits for the day.

Spread out before Eva was a corset of pale pink silk, the eyelets embroidered with a hint of lace, the edges prettied and softened with the same.  To match were a tiny pair of soft pink panties, so thin and sheer as to show even Eva’s slight bush clearly through them.  She reached for the package she had picked up from Gerald’s store yesterday and rummaged through it until she found the silk stockings with the exact same shade of pink.  Satisfied with her pick, she snapped for a servant to assist her.

Helga meanwhile, always one to prefer bold colors, searched and searched, tossing one thing after another aside, creating a pile behind her bountiful ass on the floor.  Her mood was special today, and it warranted something to wear that was equally as special.  Finally she thought of it.  Towards the back was just what she sought:  A corset, shipped all the way from Russia, made of black leather, and fitted to her frame exactly.  It was long, and had built into it a garter belt and small leather ties for stockings.  Like her partner before her, she too rummaged through the parcel of stockings, looking for a pair of fine black silk to match.  A devilish grin lit her face and she decided she would do without the panties today.

Their servants hustled around them, each pulling tightly on the laces of the women’s corsets, cinching their already small waists into an even tighter circle.  When both women were laced and standing, stunning in their corsets, they sat upon the cushioned bench to allow their help to slide the stockings up their legs. 

Slowly, Eva slid one foot inside the fragile fabric, a small sigh escaping her lips at the pleasure of feeling the silk upon her skin.  Higher and higher the stocking was slid, caressing her calf as it encased it, teasing her thigh as it reached its end.  Eva looked down, admiring her shapely legs, reveling in the luxury of even this simple act.  But what she saw was not what she expected.  There, upon her knee, was the smallest of flaws.  The fabric, once thought so perfect was actually torn, an edge of thread sticking out from it, a small run starting already to grow outward from it.

Rage instantly filled the young woman; rage so deep her first reaction was to kick viciously out at the young girl dressing her, knocking the girl over and instantly filling the wretch’s eyes with tears. 

“Look, Helga, look at this!”  She cried out, completely insulted, utterly amazed.  How dare they?  How fucking dare they?

Helga saw the flaw immediately and anger burned in her as well.  The servants didn’t quite know what to do.  Their brains told them to run, hide, that when these two bitches were in a rage it was best to find a place where they could not find you.  But there was no way—to leave the room would mean a beating, if not worse.

“Dress me faster,” Helga barked at the girl trying so desperately to do her duty and escape unscathed.  “Those people will pay for this, I assure you my dear,” Helga said to Eva, “we will make them suffer for thinking they could pass off inferior good to the likes of us!”

Eva dressed quickly, almost ripping her uniform in her haste.  She tossed the stockings aside, her anger apparent in every action.  Grabbing up a large leather bag, she headed to the armoire.  “Yes, they shall pay,” she said under her breath, her eyes roving over the many options held within the armoire.  Her mood controlled her hands, and greedily she began filling the bag with the items she knew would cause the most pain, humiliate the worst, truly make the poor family suffer. Only when the bag was full, its clasp barely able to be closed, was the young woman satisfied.  Helga watched her as each item entered the bag, and knew today would be quite special after all.  She felt she had made the right choice with her corset.

Armed with everything a sadist could desire, and, dressed as always to kill, the women left to pay a visit upon Gerald and his family.  

III.

Again, it was the sound of the women’s boots that carried through the streets to Gerald’s ears first.  Anxiously he rushed to the small window and looked through, awaiting the first appearance of Eva and Helga.  As they drew closer the rest of the family heard the click-clack sound of boots upon cobblestones. 

Margaret’s prayers grew louder and more pleading as she became aware of the sound.  Lorraine’s eyes grew large, already threatening to tear, and Elizabeth knew deep inside of her a fear she could not control.

The women entered the store in a rush, and it was obvious from their faces that this was no ordinary visit. 

Immediately Eva threw upon the floor the offending stocking.  She stomped across the floor to Lorraine who already was shrinking herself against the wall.  Eva’s face was twisted up with her rage, and she leaned in close to Lorraine, spitting her words out into the woman’s face.

“You cunt!  How dare you??”  Lorraine looked at the taller woman in confusion, not understanding what she done wrong.  Eva picked the stocking up off the floor and shoved it into Lorraine’s face.  “This, you stupid bitch!  This!”  She said, smashing Lorraine’s face with the stocking.  Lorraine sought to move backwards slightly, and this only served to anger Eva more.  She grabbed the pregnant woman by her hair and shoved her face hard against the stocking in her other hand.

Roughly she used Lorraine’s hair to push her backwards, knock her to the floor.  Still she pushed her stocking covered hand into the woman’s face, covering it, smothering her with the fine silk. 

The whole while she screamed in her rage, her desire to punish only gaining strength from the weak woman’s pleading.

“Please, Madam, I am sorry, I did not know, I will give you other, more, I will make it good!”  Cried Lorraine in desperation.  Tears now poured from the woman’s eyes and terror was filling her being.  She knew deep down that only revenge would suit this cruel woman, that there was no escaping her wrath.

Helga had stood and watched Eva for a moment, then looked down at where the younger woman had left the black bag of goodies.  She scooped up the bag, and turned to Elizabeth first.  “You, come here,” she ordered.

Against every fiber in her being, Elizabeth acquiesced, slowly walking toward the older woman.  Helga grabbed the girls dress and yanked, tossing her to the ground at Helga’s feet.  A small smile played on Helga’s lips as she looked down at this young victim below her.  “Remove your dress!” She commanded. 

Elizabeth looked to her father, to her mother, still being tormented by Eva, then finally to her ancient grandmother, still mouthing prayers in vain, and knew there were no options. 

“Please, Lizzie,” her father said, his voice pleading, “just do what they ask and it will be alright.  Mind them, girl.”  Elizabeth looked at her father with nothing but hatred as her trembling fingers began undoing the clasps to her dress.  The more the dress opened, the more her body was exposed, the brighter the blush was that ran across it, flushing over her young breasts, flaring bright upon her cheeks.  She looked down, at a speck of color in the worn rug at her feet, her body filled with shame at being bared before all in this way.

“Panties, too, you little slut,” Helga said.  Elizabeth blushed further, shamed deeper, for she was no slut—why, she was still a virgin.  Slowly she stepped out of her underwear, her eyes still fixed firmly upon the floor. 

Helga took a moment to appreciate the charms of this lovely girl before she reached into the bag and drew out a length of cord.  “Raise your arms, trash,” she told Elizabeth.  As the girl did as she was told, Helga approached her and wrapped the length of cord about her neck snugly.  She then took both ends and stretched the rope tighter, until Elizabeth was barely able to gasp each breath through.  Pulling the girl’s wrists behind her neck, she tied them off there.  Now any movement of the girl’s arms would only serve to tighten the cord already digging into her delicate throat. 

Helga yanked on the girl’s arms, causing her to gasp again, a strangled, muted sound.  One quick push and Elizabeth was once more lying on the floor, face first, and with no hands to break her fall.  Helga actually stepped onto the girl’s back as she walked over her, her eyes intent upon Margaret. 

“Come to me, ugly old woman,” she said.  Margaret’s prayers came faster, louder.  “And shut that drivel up,” she added, throwing her fist into Margaret’s face.  The old woman crumpled immediately, blood pouring from her nose. 

“I said come to me!” Helga screamed at her, spit flying from the woman’s mouth in her anger.  Slowly Margaret crawled to the Helga, her head down.  The softest of pleas mixed with cries of pain came from the old woman at Helga’s feet.  Helga pushed her boot hard against the woman’s lips, rubbed it up her broken nose, coating it in Margaret’s blood. 

“Now, lick, and beg real nice, and maybe I will not punish you for your laziness, for your cheating.  You do realize that it is a crime, what your family has done?  It is theft, to sell us something that was not the quality you professed it to be.  Punishable by law, you stupid cow.  And we are the law.” Helga derided Margaret with no end in sight.  Never mind the fact that the two women never actually paid for a single purchase—Helga was right.  In this land, at this time, they were the law, and the family had effectively delivered themselves into the sadists hands. 

Margaret stuck out her tongue and brushed it against the fine leather boot.  The taste of her own blood, coppery and tangy, filled her mouth.  As she licked, more blood dripped down her face, into her mouth, across the boot.  The more she licked, the more there was to lick up.  Between licks the woman begged, begged for all she was worth.

“Please, madam, please, we are so sorry, please do not hurt my family anymore.  I am old…” this comment angered Helga, to hide from such a just punishment behind age, so she cut the old lady off with a swift and savage kick to her face.

Margaret flew backwards away from Helga, her hands over her face, the most unusual mewing sounds coming from behind those hands.   Frustrated with what she considered to be an idiotic old ninny, She grabbed Margaret by her hair and began dragging her over to where Elizabeth still lie nude upon the floor.  Unceremoniously, she dropped the old lady’s head, and added a swift kick to her granddaughter’s side for good measure.

Meanwhile Eva was still deeply engrossed in her abuse of Lorraine.  Something about the gentleness in this woman made Eva thirst to hurt her more.  Be the hammer or be the anvil, she recalled reading once.  Eva was born a hammer, her life’s meaning only fulfilled when she found victims to make suffer.

Lorraine kneeled before the powerful woman, begging her not to hurt her more.  Each time a plea was uttered, Eva answered with a slap, a kick, a blow of some sort or another.  Tiring finally of the game, she kicked Lorraine straight up between the woman’s knees, feeling her toes through the boot make contact with Lorraine’s cunt. 

The pain was almost intolerable.  Lorraine cried out loudly from the kick, both of her hands grabbing at her crotch.  She could feel the waves of pain rising inside her, all coming from that tender feminine spot between her soft thighs.  She never knew her body could feel this type of pain, never even considered it.  She rolled upon the floor, sobbing, her eyes shut tight, half expecting another kick at any moment.

Eva opened the bag of tricks and rummaged through, for a moment overcome with simply too many options.  What to use first? It was a quandary, but one which she solved quickly.  From the bag, Eva withdrew first the coarsest rope she could find, long lengths of it, and then, a bullwhip.

Until this point, Gerald had simply played the role of audience in the scene unfolding before his eyes.  But these two women were not content to leave him to that role. 

“Help me,” Eva ordered, and Gerald rushed to obey.  With a heart heavy with guilt, he helped his wife to stand.  Her face was a study in anguish, in fear.  Even through the pain she trembled still—Gerald could feel her body shake in his arms.  His wife’s eyes implored with him to help her, to save her from more and worse punishment at the hands of these two evil creatures.  Gerald could do nothing but comply with Eva’s wishes, torn by his devotion to his wife, and the incredible charge that he felt looking into her tearstained face. 

Eva looped a piece rope first through a beam high in the ceiling, and then knotted it so that only one strand hung down.  She grabbed the rope and tested it, lifting herself off the ground.  “Well, you’re fat and disgustingly pregnant, but I think it should hold.”  She said to Lorraine, her disgust with the woman obvious in her twisted expression. 

She gestured for Gerald to hold his wife’s arms high above her head, then looped the rope about Lorraine’s wrists several times, making sure the woman was tied high enough up on the rope to stand only upon tiptoes.  Spotting a pair of scissors on a nearby table, Eva grabbed them up, a grin on her face.

Lorraine began to whimper and struggle as soon as she saw the scissors.  What could this with mean to do?  She stared to beg again, thinking now only of her unborn child, resting inside her womb. 

“Stupid cow,” Eva said, then quickly cut Lorraine’s dress away from her body, exposing her huge belly to them all.  She yanked hard on her panties, and in a flash, Lorraine stood nude before them, her body framed by the remnants of her dress.  Lorraine’s mousy brown hair continued below as it had above, covering her cunt with a soft down of fur.  Eva grabbed at this hair, pulling, pulling, until a chunk of it ripped away from the woman.  Lorraine’s shriek was notable, but nothing compared to those that would come.

Grabbing again at the pregnant woman’s bush, Eva got a bigger handful, and used it to swing the woman.  Lorraine twisted about, in agony, as her body was swayed, her entire pregnant weight upon her small boned wrists.  Eva chuckled softly, then took another length of rope up and wrapped it tightly around Lorraine’s ankles.  Once both were secured together, she pulled the rope up behind Lorraine, pulling her feet off of the ground, forcing all of her weight to rest upon her wrists.  She tied this rope off at Lorraine’s throat, knowing that with every jerk of her body the rough hemp would chafe and cut at her throat, tightening with each shift. 

With a devilish light in her eyes, Eva unwound the bullwhip slowly.  She watched Lorraine’s face as she did so, enjoying the tension in the woman, loving the way her eyes were almost wild in her fear and panic.  Drawing her arm back, she swung, the whip whistling through the air before landing with an unnaturally loud smack directly across Lorraine’s distended belly.

Lorraine screamed in her agony, screamed so loud that even Margaret, lost as she was in her own pain, was startled out of tears.  The sound carried through the store, seeming trapped, circling, circling, looking for a way out, before it carried itself out onto the streets.  The residents of this town, however, had heard too many screams to pay any mind to Lorraine’s.  There would be no rescue, no savior; endure is what they all must do. 

Hardly had the first blow finished tearing pain through Lorraine’s body when the second landed.  Eva was starting to get into the swing of things now, warming up her arm, getting into the groove of the blows.

Strike after strike tore across the woman, jerking her body this way and that.  Angry red welts raised across her belly, across her thighs.  Each shake and shiver of her body only served to tighten the noose at her neck.  In no time she was gasping, not getting enough air, her eyes wide with panic and blind from pain. 

The more she was moved, the more she was strangled.  Her face grew darker and darker, first angry red, and then a purplish tint.  Her body began to struggle on its own now, despite the fact that this only made matters worse.  Her limbs jerked in their bondage.  As her struggles grew weaker and weaker, her eyes began to take on a far away look, a vacant expression.  Recognizing the moment, and not wishing to end this woman’s suffering so quickly, Eva grabbed the scissors once more and cut the rope that held Lorraine suspended.  With her arms and legs tied back, there was no place for the woman to land but on her stomach.  Eva cut the rope between her ankles and throat and watched Lorraine swim back to the surface of reality—back to degradation and horror.  The look of terror on her face as she really saw Eva again, standing above her, was simply too delicious to Eva.  She reached down and rubbed at her cunt through her uniform and panties. 

Eva had been so engrossed in her own pleasure she had almost forgotten about the other people in the room.  Now she cast her eyes about, considering all the options available to her. 

Helga had wasted no time while Eva had been so busy.  She had found more toys to play with from the evil black bag.  In her hand she now held a large phallus, made of clear glass, coated with wetness and a small sheen of blood.  Savagely she was thrusting it up into Elizabeth’s virginal pussy.  The young girl screamed out her agony with each brutal thrust.  It was too big, too much, each time it invaded her she felt as though she were being ripped apart.  She was sure that if she looked at herself she would find only bloody tatters where once had been the center of her womanly charms.  Not only was there the pain, but the utter defeat.  She had been a virgin, saving herself for a husband she had yet to meet. 

“Take it you little slut, and love it,” Helga was saying to her, “Why look how your hips rock!  You are a born whore, my dear, aren’t you?”  Elizabeth only sobbed in response.  Helga shoved the glass phallus deep into the girl, rocking it hard inside of her.  “I asked you a question, whore!” 

Elizabeth screamed again, louder, as the phallus dug deep into her womb, ripping a hole wider into the middle of her body.  “Yes, madam, yes!” she screamed out, anxious to stop the abuse. 

“Yes, what, slut?” Helga demanded, twisting and rocking the phallus more.

“Yes, I’m a born whore!” Elizabeth cried, feeling a certain defeat as the words left her mouth.

“I know you are, my dear, and I also know what a whore needs, you see.”  Helga replied, pulling the dildo out of Elizabeth so quickly that the girl felt as though her insides had come out with it.  She shook in tears upon the floor; her face pressed into the rug, thinking her ordeal was finally over.  A quick pressure then a sharp pain against her tender little cunt told the girl otherwise. 

“This is what a whore needs,” Helga said, thrusting this second and much more cruel weapon into the girls tight snatch.  Elizabeth’s eyes bugged wide open as she felt this new tormentor enter her body.  It sliced its way in, for its edges were covered with thin sharp metal spikes, lined all along the dildo’s length. 

The screams that poured from the girl now were truly ear shattering.  The streets echoed with her cries.  Faster and harder Helga pummeled the cruel instrument into the pitiful girl.  She twisted it around, cutting at Elizabeth in a thousand ways, even if all of them were superficial, feeling the blood flow onto her hand.  She paused for a moment, grabbed at the girl’s grandmother lying at her side, and shoved her blood soaked fingers into Margaret’s mouth. 

“Lick them cunt, lick them clean,” She ordered the elderly woman, “suck your granddaughters cherry off my fingers.”  As Margaret sucked for all she was worth, Helga laughed out loud, clearly pleased with her powers of invention.  As the old lady sucked, Helga stared at the young girls ass, with it’s smearing of blood, the vicious toy buried deep in the girl, only the end poking out beneath her sweet ass. 

Eva had now left the pregnant woman lying in a heap upon the floor and approached Gerald.  She ran her hands across his chest, smiled at him as though she were a sweet young lady—hardly a smile befitting such a savage sadist.  She took Gerald’s hands and guided them to her breasts, pressing his hands to them.  She smiled once more and stated simply: “Undress me”. 

Gerald flinched each time his daughter screamed, but his hands knew what he wanted even if his mind was torn by conflict.  Without hesitation he loosened Eva’s dress, then finally slid it down her body slowly, his eyes devouring every inch of flesh as it was exposed to him.

Eva looked the perfect angel in her corset and panties of soft pink.  Her small breasts were up-thrust from the corset to the point that the very top of her rosy nipples peeked out at Gerald.  Without thinking, he leaned his mouth forward and licked at that pinkness.

Eva laughed in pleasure at Gerald’s touch, and then stepped away from him, glancing once more over her shoulder with that smile.  Halfway across the room, she giggled, stepping out of her panties.  She threw them back at Gerald behind her.  He caught them in his hand and pressed them to his nose, inhaling the powerful scent of Eva’s arousal as it had slightly wet her panties.  He felt his cock twitch in response.

Looking down upon the pitiful pregnant woman lying at her feet, Eva felt a thrill run through her.  Nothing got her juices flowing more than a victim at her feet.  She placed one foot on one side of Lorraine’s head, and one on the other, spreading her legs over the wife’s face.  She bent low, and looked at Gerald from between her knees, smiling, beckoning, her tight little slit shining lewdly at Gerald, its edges fringed with her soft blonde curls. 

Slowly he approached, half in a daze, his body still catching up to all the stimulation his mind was receiving.  Eva slid her hands between her thighs, ran them over the strong muscles, and up, up, to her sweet pussy.  Gerald stood behind her, mesmerized.  She reached between her legs, grasping Gerald’s cock in her tight little fist.  Gerald freed his rock hard member from their prison, and lined it up against Eva’s hot cunt.  He looked beneath him, saw his wife’s tear-stricken face, and slid himself inside the witch, groaning from the intense heat and wetness of Eva’s cunt. 

He fucked into Eva with long slow strokes—almost upon entry he felt himself ready to explode.  He couldn’t shake the image of his wife below him, watching as what by rights was hers alone fucked deeply into her tormentor.

Lorraine felt sick, sick to her very soul, and she fully believed her heart was breaking.  She understood Gerald had no choice, she understood that what these two women wanted he would have to provide, but it couldn’t take away the pain she felt watching her husbands cock slide in and out of Eva’s wet hole.  She could hear the squishing sounds with each thrust, could see her husbands cock slick with juice, a few drops landing on her face where it lie below them, staring up with no choice but to watch the disgusting display.

Gerald could not manage much of this—it was too sweet, too good, Eva’s dimples ass beneath his hands, his wife so degraded beneath them.  Crying out loud from an orgasm that felt half like pain, Gerald came, sending stream after stream of sperm flying deep into Eva’s willing snatch.  It took him a moment to come back to reality.  His cock was starting to soften as he slid from her with a wet sound. 

Eva laughed, her nipples hard as little pebbles, her body hot with its desire.  The tall woman stood over Lorraine where she sobbed on the floor.  At first she seemed to simply be thinking, but in a moment the truth became obvious.  First came a tiny trickle, and then a full hot stream, as Eva pissed on Lorraine.  Gerald’s seed flowed down her thighs, mingled with her piss, and came to land upon Lorraine.  She lowered herself, wanting to make sure none was wasted, over the woman’s face.  Pinching Lorraine’s nose shut tightly, she relieved herself into the pregnant woman’s mouth, listening to her gargle and sputter and gasp for air as the fluid coursed across her lips, down her chin, but mostly straight into her mouth. 

Lorraine gagged from the strong fluid, barely able to think.  Fighting was no use she soon realized, it only made breathing more difficult, so soon Lorraine was swallowing ounce after ounce of Eva’s urine, mixed in with her husband’s seed.  Eva began to giggle as she pissed, a sound that sent chills of fear deep into Lorraine.  This woman was a devil, she was sure of it. Once Eva had no more inside of her with which to torment the woman, she clapped a hand over Lorraine’s mouth, while still holding her nose pinched shut.  Again Lorraine thrashed about, the urine still in her mouth making her choke as she once more found herself fighting for air.

Helga had tired of raping Elizabeth with the spiked phallus once the girl had passed out.  Let her rest for a moment, Helga thought, there were plenty of amusements to pass the time until she awoke once more. 

She stood looking down and daughter and granddaughter, then looked over at Gerald, and crooked her finger to him in a gesture meaning “come”.  Gerald came, as Helga knew he would.  He stopped before her not sure what she wanted.  With him as her admiring audience, Helga began to disrobe, slowly, tantalizingly revealing inch after inch of her body.  When the dress slipped down fully to pile up around Helga’s beautiful boots, Gerald had to catch his breath as once more he was greeted with the sight of Helga’s gorgeous bush—she was wearing no panties today he realized

Her thick pile of curls beckoned at him, and he could not resist their call.  Instantly he dropped to his knees before Helga, wanting to worship her cunt as no other had.  He buried his nose in her thick curls, inhaling her scent, reveling in it, wanting it to take him over entirely.  But Helga had other ideas.

She walked over to Lorraine, where the woman lay crying, her face coated with urine.  Smiling like a cat who’s found cream, she lowered herself onto the woman’s face, pressing her ass against Lorraine’s wet mouth.  “Now, cunt, lick my ass, and do a good job of it or you will pay a thousand times more than you already have.”

Helga felt Lorraine’s tongue hesitantly slide up against her ass, “Like you mean it, bitch!” Helga said, punching hard into Lorraine’s stomach.  A whoosh of air came out of the woman and a cry of pain and both felt like heaven against Helga’s pussy.  She shifted her weight back so that her asshole was pressed directly against Lorraine’s ass.  Holding herself up slightly with her arms, she gestured at Gerald to come to her once more.  As he approached, she spread her legs wider and it didn’t take Gerald but a second to realize what she wanted.  Eagerly he dropped down, his body straddling his wife’s, his weight pressing against her stomach, and lowered his face once more to the heaven of Helga’s hairy snatch.

Gerald couldn’t help but think of his poor wife trapped beneath them as she was.  Helga was moaning and muttering things like: “Yes, trash, lick my ass.  Your husband is very good at licking pussy.  I know he couldn’t have licked yours with the fervor he now licks mine.  Don’t you see you stupid bitch, I’m the woman he has always dreamed of, and you’re simply the woman he settled for.  He’s licking my pussy so good, that’s it, stick that dirty little cow tongue in my ass, cunt.  The pickings in America must be slim indeed, if you are the best he could find.  Don’t they have real women there?”  On and on she talked, her words growing in ugliness apace with her pleasure. 

Lorraine sobbed beneath the couple, feeling herself degraded, feeling as though these words were true—they were the voicing of all her fears.  She sobbed and licked and cried, and when told to, tried to shove her tongue as far as she could up Helga’s ass. 

Helga’s pussy grew wetter and wetter against Gerald’s mouth.  Every word she said made his cock harder, made his desire stronger.  Something in him wished for this moment, wished to see his wife this way, groveling, licking the ass of a real woman.  Helga began to shake against his mouth, her words only curses aimed at his wife as she obediently licked Helga’s ass.  With a small squeal of delight, Helga came, soaking Gerald’s face with her juices.  Eagerly he lapped it up, thinking of how it must be flooding over his wife’s face.  He felt a throb straight into his groin at the thought of his good little wife with a face full of Helga’s cum. 

Once the final spasms of pleasure had worked through Helga’s body, she rose, taking Gerald’s hand in her own and pulling him with her to the ominous black bag.  Grinning with delight, she reached inside the bag, and her hand came back out grasped tightly around a huge phallus, shiny and black, made of leather. 

No man on earth was the size of this monstrosity.  Inhuman was the word that came to Gerald’s mind.  Another hand disappeared into the bag, and Helga was holding a harness of some sort, Gerald wasn’t quite sure what it was.  All tenderness and patience, Helga showed Gerald how the straps fit over her flaring hips, across her full fleshy ass, and in between her legs, parting that glorious blonde bush.  She showed him how the phallus fit inside, through a hole, to jut out from her pubic mound. Amazement first filled the man, then wonder, as he gazed at the device.

Gerald, ever anxious to please this incredible woman, assisted her, tightening the bands of leather, fitting them across her skin, feeling a forbidden pleasure that he was even allowed to touch this Goddess.  The enormous dildo stuck out bizarrely from Helga, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t hide in shame at the size of this woman’s cock. 

“And now,” She said, kissing Gerald’s lips once softly, “I fuck your wife.”

“Be a good boy, Gerald,” Helga purred, “and help me out.  I want her on her knees, and I want her to face her daughter, so she can appreciate the blood smeared upon her ass and thighs, so she can anticipate what awaits her.”

Gerald approached his wife, who now lie almost silent on the floor, shock having stopped her moans and sobs.  “Come my dear, please, we must do as they say,” he said to his sweet and gentle wife.  “Come up on your knees, I promise, it can’t go on much longer now, they must tire of us soon.”  Gently, soothingly, he coaxed his wife, helping her shift her awkward weight until she was on her knees, head pressed forward to the floor, broad ass high up into the air.  Lorraine seemed confused, lost, so it really didn’t take much.  She seemed to have given up, and was in a place where nothing really reached her.

“Now Gerald, hold her for me, hold your wife open wide, grasp those fleshy ass cheeks in your hands and spread her wide so I can fuck her with my cock.”  Helga ordered, the whole time she was stroking at this monster dildo, petting it with fondness.  It was, after all, one of her favorite possessions. 

Gerald leaned over his wife’s head, pressing his weight into her back, and grabbed her ass cheeks with both hands, spreading his wife wide open to Helga’s assault.  At first it looked impossible—no way would something of that size fit in so small a hole.  But Helga was nothing if not persistent, and after much pushing and grunting, she finally managed to slip just the very head of the phallus inside of Lorraine. 

This seemed to bring the woman back to her reality quick enough, for immediately she began to cry and plead from the pain.  “Why I’ve barely penetrated you, whore, and you’re already crying?”  Helga taunted the woman.  She grabbed at Lorraine’s hair savagely, yanking on it, ripping small chunks from the poor woman’s head. 

Helga shifted her weight for a better angle, grabbed another handful of hair, and with a yell, thrust with all her considerable strength.  A long savage cry flew from Lorraine’s lips.  Her eyes opened wide, unseeing, lost inside a brand new agony.   The phallus sunk deep inside of her, impossibly thick, horribly long:  no woman was made to take it.

“Why Gerald, I may have just hit the little baby with that one,” Helga laughed as she said this, delighted with herself.  Gerald closed his eyes for a moment, and swallowed hard.  A grunt from Helga brought them open again, and he watched as this woman fucked his wife deeply, roughly, with nothing short of a weapon. 

Lorraine’s eyes were rolling back in her head with each thrust, animalistic sounds of no meaning were coming from her one after another.  “Yes, Gerald, I can feel it,” Helga said, then thrust deep again, “Yes, I can feel my cock slamming into your unborn child.  Do you feel it Lorraine?”  Helga paused for a moment, and then punched the woman viciously in the side.  “I asked you a fucking question, cunt!” Helga screamed, “Can you feel my cock smashing your child’s head? Can you feel it hitting blow after blow?”

Lorraine sobbed beyond control, her meaning lost, her pain too acute.  Some small part of her screamed, “not my child, my baby, my baby!”  Some part of her cried for that baby, held it in her arms safely, away from this.  But all that came from Lorraine’s lips was a grunt that sounded like a yes. 

Helga pummeled the pregnant woman savagely, enjoying every inch of pain she inflicted, loving how the cow’s husband himself held her wide open for Helga’s pleasure.  She tried to twist the phallus about inside the woman, tried to thrust from the right, from the left, anything to increase the horror that Lorraine was enduring.  She pulled and ripped at her hair roughly, mating like a wild animal with the pregnant woman.  

Lorraine was fading fast, though; she was trying to escape beyond Helga’s reach.  Realizing that the woman’s cries were diminishing, Helga withdrew, the black surface shiny with wetness, with blood.  More blood seeped from between Lorraine’s legs, then more, and suddenly a flood of it.

“Well, so much for that, looks like she wont have to worry about that baby waking her up in the middle of the night with it’s shitty britches.”  Gerald watched like an outside observer as his wife miscarried on the floor of the store. 

“Leave the bitch,” Helga said, walking away from Lorraine.  Gerald stayed for a minute longer, watching as his wife faded, watching as her eyes lost their last tears, and her body its final breath.  He muttered a quick prayer over her body, something his mother had taught him. 

Eva it seemed had been occupying herself just fine with grandmamma and the little one.  Their positions had changed, as Margaret now lay upon her back, with her granddaughter’s bloody cunt positioned directly over her face.  She found it increasingly hard to breath this way, as Eva punished the young girl mercilessly, holding her by the hair and punching over and over her once lovely face.  Her hands were encased in fine leather gloves, fitted to perfection—gloves that Elizabeth herself had helped fit and tailor to the woman only weeks before.  Each blow ground the young girls mutilated pussy into the old woman’s face, making her yell as her nose was smashed anew, over and over.  Her nose was wasted, no air could get through it at all, and the pain was excruciating. 

Elizabeth screamed and begged with her tormentor—there are few things as horrifying to pretty young girls as having their faces disfigured and scarred beyond recognition—except perhaps the losing of ones virginity in such a bloody way as to ruin her womanhood forever. 

The leather-covered fist smashed into the girl’s lips, and she ground her pussy against her grandmother’s face, screaming in her horror.  Another blow and another, and Grandma was gasping for breath, her asthmatic lungs at the end of their abilities.  Again and again she drew back her small fist, feeling the crunch of the girl’s nose, relishing the feel of her face softening more and more with each strike.   Eva could no longer see the girl’s face clearly; so profuse was the blood that dripped down, down, across the girl’s lovely breasts.  Her face was swelling, distorting, becoming a huge and gnarled mess. 

Amazing, Eva thought absently, her nipples are hard. 

Eva pushed her back, off Margaret’s face, onto her back on the floor.  Completely defeated, Elizabeth just lay there, awaiting her fate like a lamb to slaughter.  Not wanting to deny the girl her due, Eva straightened her hand and slowly, agonizingly, slid it up inside of Elizabeth’s tight little virginal ass.  She forced it deep inside the girl, first four fingers, then the thumb, and then finally her black leather hand was sinking into the girl’s ass.  Savagely Eva thrust once more, deep, forcing her hand inside the girl as deep as she could, forcing her to take her fist deep into her bowels.  Elizabeth screamed anew; never could she have conceived of a pain like the one she now felt, never would she even considered that a fist could fit inside her—she was certain it was ripping her apart. 

Now that she had sunk her hand wrist deep inside Elizabeth’s ass, it was a natural progression for her to begin punching, punching, driving her fist deep into the girl with each blow.  Elizabeth’s whole body shook; she trashed about below Eva, her damaged face twisted beyond recognition from pain as well as her prior beating.  Still Eva punched, pummeling the girl’s ass viciously, trying to fit her arm up inside the girl.  Each thrust sunk deeper than the one before, and it was with no little effort that Eva finally managed to penetrate the girl up to her long forearm.  As she pulled out with each thrust, the blood shone wetly on the black leather.  Elizabeth thought for certain that Eva’s hands were grabbing at her organs from the inside and trying to pull them clean out of her. 

Eva yanked her fist free of the beaten girl’s ass, making her moan and cry even further.  A moment’s sense of relief flooded the girl.  Her relief was, however, short lived, as she once more felt pressure against her burning anus.  Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide open as she felt this new intrusion forcing itself inside of her. 

Eva had placed the toe of one booted foot squarely against the girl’s ass and now sought to sink the entire thing into her.  Elizabeth squirmed, trying to crawl away.  This enraged Eva, so she struck out at the girl, pummeling her belly with blow after blow of her fists.  Elizabeth squirmed her way across the floor, driven this way and that by the beating.  Finally she could squirm no more has her head and shoulders pressed firmly against the door of the shop. 

Her captive secured at last, Eva once more pressed her boot against Elizabeth’s ass, kicking at her slightly, sinking just the toes in a little bit with each kick.  Finally she tired of this two and began pushing in earnest, forcing inch by inch of her rough leather boot into her rectum.  Elizabeth’s screams were more a garbled sound of desperation that true screams—her pain and degradation had been carried too far—even her voice was damaged.

Further and further Eva pushed, forcing her foot deep inside of the girl.  Blood coated her foot, and Eva could see her tight sphincter muscles tearing, ripping, causing the girl agony beyond description.  Once Eva had as much of her foot sunk into the girl’s ass as she could manage, she held it pressed tight inside of her and bent forward.  She stuck her fingers, still encased in the glove, still covered with the blood and mess from the girl’s raped ass, into the girl’s mouth, one by one.  Once she had managed to work all of her fingers into the girls mouth, over her tongue, she kept pushing, forcing her fingers into the girl’s throat.

Elizabeth gagged and spluttered beneath her, her ass stretched impossibly open around the boot, her jaw feeling as though it would snap at any moment, so wide had Eva forced it open.  Eva lodged her fingers into the girl’s throat until she was certain it was sealed tight with her long leather smoothed fingers.  She felt the girls Ass spasm around her foot just as her throat was spasm around her fingers.  Still the girl thrashed, fighting with every ounce of her being for her too short life 

Slowly Elizabeth’s struggles grew weaker and weaker, until finally, she lay still, her barely opened eyes staring blankly up at Eva.  Eva pulled her spit covered hand from the girl’s mouth, and sliding her foot free of her ass, wiped the toe of her boot on the dead girls thigh.

Eva turned from the girl’s corpse wondering “what now?” 

Helga looked at her friend with a smile, thinking to herself that the only thing that made Eva lovelier than she already was was for her to be dripping with the blood of a victim, the light of desire bright in her eyes. 

Helga looked at the grandmother, still heavily in shock, although somehow, as though her mouth ran on a separate engine, she still mumbled the words to her prayers.  Seems old habits die hard. 

Eva found her delicate pink panties where they lie upon the floor, looked at them wistfully, sighing, and approached the old lady where she was but a crumpled bloody mess upon the floor.  Leaning low, she smiled at the woman, and stepped upon her hand, crushing the old woman’s frail bones beneath the heel of her boot.  Garbled cries came from Margaret.  Gerald looked on and felt a pity for his mother, at the same time thinking how magnificent Eva looked, towering over the pathetic creature.  A golden Goddess, it seemed only right that they should all be victim to her whims.  Her pleasure was certainly more important that the trivial lives of his family.

Eva took her panties and pushed them into Margaret’s mouth, pushed them in further and further, and kept pushing until she was certain they were lodged in the grandmother’s throat.  Instantly the woman began to thrash about.  Muffled noises came from deep inside of her.  Her eyes opened wide and in them Eva could see utter panic.  Eva stepped on her other hand, slowly, and crushed the tiny bones inside of that one too, slowly grinding her heel down.  Margaret flopped about like a fish out of water.  Her useless hands were no help with the well-lodged panties. 

Still she thrashed, seeming to wiggle about for quite a long time.  Even Eva was impressed at the strength of life within the old woman.

Gerald’s eyes were transfixed.  He felt frozen completely in place, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of his dying mother.  Behind him he felt Helga as she wrapped her arms about his chest.  Slowly she lowered her hands, running her nails down across his chest, down his belly, before grasping his rock hard cock tightly in her fists.  She whispered in his ear, “This cock is mine-- I know this, you know this.  You belong to me and now you shall have your reward.”

Helga laid back on the chaise lounge where only yesterday Elizabeth had been whipped.  She spread those strong wide thighs apart, showing Gerald the most incredible beauty he had ever seen.  She ran her hands across her thighs, brushing her thumbs over her thick blonde curls.  Gerald came closer.  Bending down, he could see the drops of moisture that clung to the little hairs; he could smell once again the intense and heady odor of Helga’s arousal.  He licked out his tongue and tasted what to him was ambrosia. 

Gently, he slid himself into her, reveling in her wetness, his hands reaching for her breasts where they spilled forth from the tight leather corset.  He moaned and sighed in happiness as he buried himself in her, lost himself in her.  He had never known a heaven on earth, he had never believed in a nirvana, but right then, he knew he had found it none the less. 

Helga ran her hands through Gerald’s fine blonde hair, she pet at his chest, pinched playfully at his nipples, and did the closest thing a woman like her could do to making love.  And Gerald worshipped her.  He felt her heat, wrapped tight about him, felt her hairs scrape at his belly, felt as her cunt squeezed and milked at his cock.  It wasn’t long before he had lost control.  Moaning out loud, he shoved himself into her harder, harder, his urgency growing. 

Helga urged him on, moaning with him, calling him “darling” and “lover”.  Gerald’s mind was filled with the images of the last twenty-four hours.  He couldn’t stop his mind from showing him his wife, her tongue deep inside Helga’s ass, his daughter, screaming as she was raped, the blood dripping from her, pouring from her.  He remembered the bullwhip as it landed across his pregnant wife’s belly and the look of horror in her eyes as she died at last, and Gerald came, spewing his seed forth in a powerful stream, flooding Helga’s cunt with his proof of devotion.

Eva had gathered their toys together; she’d wiped the blood from her as best she could with bolts of priceless silk.  She rummaged through the shelves, grabbing up a pair of panties here, a chemise of lightest lace there.  She left her soiled undergarments where they were lodged inside of Margaret’s throat, and drew on her uniform with only a corset beneath.

The two women left, and it wasn’t for quite a while that Gerald moved.  His entire life had changed, and he knew not what to do next.  Finally realizing what it was he must do, he cleaned himself up, grabbed up a few bolts of cloth and a few changes of clothing, and walked out of the store. 

It was only a few short blocks to Helga and Eva’s, something told him they would not turn away another servant—especially not one as devoted as he.  He whistled as he walked, an incongruous sound along these city streets.  Those that heard it were confused—it had been years since anyone had bothered to whistle. 

Gerald readjusted his hat with a grin, and set off to find his new life. 

--Finis