At Work Ch. 12

On his next visit, Thomas suggested a pacifier might be a good way to ease Anne's nerves. And cure her of those ladylike attitudes she displayed now and then.

Kneeling beside them in the kitchen, Anne was surprised to hear him talk like that; he knew more about her than she guessed.

Francesca liked the idea; the next day after work she leashed Anne and walked her down to Casey's. The woman greeted them and bent Anne over a table. She checked Anne for depth with a wooden rod and called out a number to Florence; then she inserted a device to gauge her width. Anne began to moan.

Casey seemed in no hurry to remove it; she even laughed and shook it a little, which brought more moans and attracted a small knot of customers.

She thought a moment, then turned to Florence and said simply "Put her on Max." The girl went over to a display window and removed a small table. Beneath it anchored to the floor was the largest impaler Anne had ever seen, an iron cylinder of heroic size. She blanched at the sight and looked imploringly at Francesca.

Her owner nodded to Casey; Florence led her up to the window and the two of them lowered Anne onto it. No man ever distended her like this, she could not endure it and wept.

But within minutes she felt herself embracing it, growing to accommodate him. Lost in an ecstasy almost religious she became his disciple, a vessel for his use. An audience gathered on the sidewalk outside the store as she swayed from side to side, her eyes closed, lost in communion with her new master.

The next day instead of taking Anne to work, Francesca brought her to Casey's. She was swiftly impaled in the display area and left there.

At once she gave herself over to him, seeing and hearing nothing until she was pulled off at midday to eat and squat behind the shop.

While she was away the sun shining through the window heated the iron. It burned in her when she was impaled again, an unexpected sign of life welcoming his lover's return.

The afternoon was like the morning; Francesca retrieved her at the end of the day and took her home. By the end of the third, her owner noticed improvement and after a week decided to end the treatment.

On her last day at Casey's Anne sat lost in reverie, her body and mind filled with Max, when she heard people talking overhead. Teri was making an offer to Francesca.

Not to buy Anne this time, but to borrow her for a week or two. The company director ran a brothel where she could house Anne and cure the trauma of her kidnap attempt.

She enumerated the benefits of the arrangement in a businesslike manner as if she were giving a budget proposal.

It would keep Anne out of harm's way.

It allowed Francesca and Thomas to be alone, and who knew what might come of that. She flashed a brief smile, and Francesca actually seemed to blush.

The memory of Anne's close escape could be driven from her mind; Teri's staff of trainers would see to it.

It would refresh Anne's dedication to humility and service; even the most obedient girls needed this, and Anne was not - everyone knew it - the most obedient at times.

While she was being reconditioned, Anne could work in the brothel. Prostituting her to strangers benefited everyone: her customers, her owner, her madam, herself.

The revenue (minus the house commission, of course) would help pay off Francesca's college debts.

And it was plainly Anne's nature to be a whore; it's the life she was made for.

Francesca did not speak for a long moment. Then she said simply "Yes; I see now. Thomas agrees. You're right."

Teri said matter-of-factly that Anne would have to be whipped. Definitely, said Francesca, she needed it.

"And scourged?" Anne held her breath for her owner's reply.

"No, I think not. Unless a customer... how much do you get for it?"

Teri and Francesca went to a far corner to discuss terms and returned a minute later. Casey lifted Anne off Max; he seemed to linger in her for a moment and she said farewell to him wistfully. They might never meet again.

Casey stood her up and handed the end of her leash to Francesca while Teri made a phone call.

Francesca walked her home to the cottage where Barbara awaited them, wearing an orange prisoner's jumpsuit. Anne was surprised but she got no explanation and she knew better than to ask.

In any event, Francesca gestured and Barbara shed it at once. She had nothing on beneath except her collar and bracelets. The two of them suspended Anne in an X from the frame and Barbara washed her with a soapy sponge as she hung.

She was thorough, especially around Anne's breasts and belly. By the time she reached the inside of Anne's thighs, Anne was wet and excited. She wondered if Francesca would let them couple, but after the scrubbing Barbara merely rinsed her with the garden hose. Anne tried to be content with that.

Soon afterwards, a black van arrived; two burly female guards lowered Anne from the frame, bound her hands and trussed her up with a long rope. Francesca and Barbara came out and kissed her on the cheek. The guards slid her headfirst into the back for the trip to Teri's.

At her destination she was pulled roughly out and stood up. One of the guards pinched her nipples before leading her away to a room where she was examined.

The doctor took her temperature and pried her open. The metal instruments were cold and made her shiver a little, but she enjoyed the attention. A gloved hand explored her and that was even better.

When the doctor was satisfied, she called the matron in to lead Anne to a cell in the basement.

Two other girls were already there, lying naked on the cement floor; they rose and stood at the approach of visitors.

One could scarcely be called a girl except by convention. She was between thirty and thirty-five, tall and well-shaped with straight blond hair. The other was barely twenty at most; also blond (in fact, Anne thought she discerned a resemblance between them) with firm breasts and tight buttocks above a solid pair of thighs. Like Anne, their hands were bound in back.

Matron introduced Anne to them. Teri had bought the pair months ago, and resold them through her agent to a Mexican hill tribe. He would deliver them shortly.

They were held down here out of the sun to keep their skin pale; light-skinned blondes were a favorite of the tribal gods. The tribe paid in gold, and Teri made a handsome profit for this rare combination.

Matron left, padlocking the cell door, and Anne introduced herself. The other two were happy to see a new face and soon they were sharing their stories.

Jeanne was Gigi's mother; Anne was right about the resemblance. Jeanne did not know the father's name; it was a party, she was young, there were several men... At eighteen Gigi chose the same life as her mother, giving herself into the possession of Jeanne's owner who sold them to Teri.

In a day or two Teri's agent Lobo would put them in cages on a cargo plane to Mexico City. He told them in detail what to expect when they arrived.

At the airport they would be met by the elders and chief priest of the tribe who would load them onto a wooden cart drawn by two snow-white oxen with gilded horns, and taken to a village high in the mountains.

Once there, they would be placed in wicker frameworks and carried into the temple facing the emblem of the sun god.

There they would remain, fed generous quantities of cornmeal porridge by spoon. A day before the harvest festival they would be laid out on the plaza for use by the tribe's men and boys until sundown, then returned to their wicker cases for the night.

The next morning they would be taken outside before dawn. They would be allowed a last farewell hug before they were stretched on their backs atop the altar, their heads facing east and their arms and legs held down by women of the village.

And there, in a ritual dating back to the time of the Aztecs, sacrificed to the ancient deity.

Jeanne pointed to a poster on the wall of the cell. It was a photograph of a large dagger made of black obsidian. The blade had been finely honed to leave it with razor-sharp serrations on both sides.

The chief priest would hold the knife up for each of them to kiss and they would all wait for the rising of the sun. At the instant of its appearance above the ridge he would say a few words in a forgotten language and perform the first sacrifice, on Jeanne.

They would take her away and the priest would hold the knife overhead until the last of the yellow disk cleared the horizon and it was the daughter's turn.

The crowd would watch and listen to their responses, auguries of the coming year. Their final cries were considered messages from heaven.

In the center of the plaza close to the altar was a large shallow depression; it would be filled for the holiday with glowing coals, and two long iron roasting spits set on racks above it.

Gigi explained that their diet here consisted of milk and grain; allowed no exercise in their cell, they had become tender and succulent. Jeanne who had once been sinewy was now almost plump.

Children of the tribe would take turns rotating the spits under the supervision of the temple's chief cook. They vied for the honor of being chosen for this task.

If the smoke rose up to heaven, it meant the offering was accepted. Jeanne and Gigi were now concubines of the sun god, and males who shared them the day before were in fellowship with the divinity.

What remained behind was for the people; when the cook decided it was done, she would order it removed from the fire and cut up for serving.

Afterwards there would be a festival for the entire village. Music, dancing, and a feast consisting of corn, beans, fermented beverages to fuel their discussion of the victims' performance on the plaza and on the altar. And quantities of roasted meat.

The priests and elders had first choice. They would likely favor Gigi; unused portions plus Jeanne would go to the peasants.

Some leftovers would be carried home. The remainder would be given to the jaguars that roamed the temple grounds.

Jeanne and Gigi understood this; they even looked forward to it, though Jeanne confessed to a growing fear.

Would she be able to play her part when the time came? Would she falter at the last moment and disappoint the people or commit a sacrilege?

She told herself she would not, could not fail. They would be guided and controlled at every step. But her voice quavered; she was afraid.

Anne spoke soothing words to her. These feelings were quite common, perfectly normal, nothing to be concerned about; she would overcome them and do honor to her trainers.

Jeanne was comforted by this. Anne had restored her confidence. Yes, she could go through with it now.

Unable to extend a hand, she touched her forehead to the floor in gratitude.

That evening Anne took her dinner with them from a large common bowl. The milk-grain mixture was a nice change from her usual feed pellets; she thanked Jeanne for offering to share it.

Shortly afterwards the lights in the cell went dark and she lay down for sleep. The stone floor was cold but not more than usual, and she closed her eyes.

She wondered if the tribe would accept a dark-haired girl like herself; and hold her in a wicker cage for days before stretching her on the plaza for the village to possess. And then at last, the ultimate: publicly sacrificing her on an altar for the benefit of these humble folk and their god.

Imagine Gigi's feelings in the brief space of time after the priest sacrificed Jeanne, waiting for him to offer her up to their gods as well. Holding the knife over her, pointing it down, beginning the descent...

She envied the other two. Perhaps the tribe had a god of darkness. She drifted off, picturing herself on the altar beneath a night sky.

The next morning she was awakened by the sounds of her cell door opening. A thin swarthy man with jet-black hair directed attendants who wheeled in a pair of wire cages. Jeanne and Gigi each crawled into one. They were taken out and away in silence as Lobo closed the iron door behind him, leaving her alone.