The Adventures of Astoria Morgan Ch. 02

Chapter 2 - Little Bird Sings

Pudenda Minks looked down at the young woman tied to the chair in the center of the room. Naked and trembling, just the way she liked them. A lamp hanging low from the ceiling threw a merciless light that made the sweat on the captive's forehead glisten and her red curly hair glow with an almost bloody hue. Bloody but not broken, to be sure. The girl's stocky and fit frame wore the ropes well, and it was hard to tell if the slight tremble was from fear, cold or a desire to snap her bonds and tear into her captor. The girl's green eyes squinted, not quite cat-like enough to make out clearly the shadowy figure lurking in the gloom before her. "Who's there? Who the fuck are you?"

A good question. Having gone by so many names at various times and ages, it was hard to know which one to choose at any particular moment. A partial list of f/k/a's scrolled through her mind: Destiny Wild, Shady Lady, Ilsa of the Standing Soldiers, Hot Voodoo, la belle dame sans undies, HelloKitty!, Mommy Dearest, She who Mosby betrayed, Messy Lena, Domme-di-dom-dom, Faim Fetal, Li'l Princest, Blibdoolpoolp, Organa Mafei, Judy Haloferns, Our Lady of the Downward Spiral, Lola Sveg, the Duchess of Duke Street, Pirate Jenny, Nighty-night, the Switch Queen of Marang and 40 Whacks.

So many, many aliases, monikers, pseudonyms and noms de guerre had piled up over the years that she simply couldn't keep track of them all. Lately she just went by Minx, which is how most people thought her last name was spelled anyway. Idiots.

"That's not important. I'd much rather hear about you," Minx replied, stepping into the light to reveal her darkness.

Her brunette hair coiled down around her face in snaky dreadlocks with menacing highlights of purple and blue, colors that whispered of bruises to come. Most of the rest of her tall, shapely body was encased in a black spandex catsuit, cinched at the waist by a broad leather belt. Since there was obviously no need to dress to impress this piece of trash, Minx had chosen a simple pair of thigh-high boots with sensible 3" heels. The leather boots, belt and matching collar around her neck were all accented by silver spikes and studs, giving her a very prickly, uncuddly appearance indeed. As off-putting as her wardrobe may have been, her dark eyes drew in whatever was fixed by her gaze, two black holes dragging their prey towards the red, hungry lips below.

Her present victim had started to make her very hungry indeed. The foolish girl had been caught trying to sell her body on a street that everyone knew, or should have known, belonged to Minx. This was The Drains, the part of town that sucked in all the flotsam, jetsam and filth of Chatham City, where it collected in a clogged cesspool of vice and corruption with Minx floating serenely on top. Whatever the scam or scheme, if Minx didn't plan it, she at least got her cut.

Prostitution was naturally one of her main lines of business, exercised under a closely guarded monopoly both to assure customers who came to The Drains a consistent quality of product and to maintain a healthy level of profit against the threat of ruinous competition. To have a common streetwalker simply walk onto one of her streets and set up shop was an affront to cherished local customs and traditions that could not be tolerated.

Of course, the air-headed little bimbo probably had no idea what she was doing. She was undoubtedly put up to it by a pimp, some cowardly weasel who was just using this innocent to test the waters and see what he could get away with - and would do it again unless he was tracked down and properly punished.

"Listen lady, I don't know . . ." The nameless girl's blustering protest was cut short by a hard slap to the face. Luckily, the chair was bolted to the floor. Minx was a hard slapper.

"People who don't know anything should keep their mouths shut and spare the rest of us from their ignorant remarks."

"Look bitch . . ." Another hard slap, this time to the right cheek.

"You'll speak when spoken to!"

"Shit . . ." SLAP!

"Fu . . ." SLAP!

"Cu . . ." SLAP!

It was fun to turn the girl's cheeks as red as her hair and to smash her face from side to side, making her look like a spectator at a tennis match who also happened to be the ball. Face slapping is even better than butt spanking, Minx realized, because you get to watch the asshole cry. Tears had indeed begun to well up in the girl's eyes, either from rage or despair or perhaps a bit of each.

In any event, both sides could see that this exchange was going nowhere. Minx wasn't getting any answers and the girl wasn't of an age where she would grow back any lost teeth. Having seized the initiative, Minx deployed a new tactic.

"Let's play a little game, shall we?" purred Minx. "Don't worry, I won't play too rough with such a sweet thing like you. And naturally we must have a safe word. What shall we use? I know, how about the name of your pimp. You say that name, and I'll stop at once."

" I don't have a pimp!" cried the girl, crying.

"Of course you don't, dear. But let me show you my toys. Perhaps they will help you remember." Minx's gloved hand pulled a little wheeled cart into the circle of light on which rested a dozen long golden needles.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" squeaked her captive. "Just let me go and you'll never see me again, I promise."

Minx only smiled. "Don't be silly, I like to see you, darling. I guess it's just the artist in me, but when I look at your pure white skin, well, the canvas beckons. Your bare breasts, for example, just cry out for, shall we say, ornamentation."

With that Minx picked up one of the needles and, starting on the girl's chest just above her left breast, slowly dragged the tip of the needle along her skin until it almost reached the nipple. The girl watched in horror as a thin red line appeared, not bleeding yet, but definitely a noticeable and painful scar.

"Now what am I thinking?" exclaimed Minx suddenly. "We can't really start to play until we properly disinfect the area."

With that she reached under the top of the cart and brought forth a plastic bottle. "It's my own mixture of rubbing alcohol and concentrated red naga chili. Really burns the germs. See for yourself!"

Putting a healthy dollop on her glove, the cruel woman massaged it into her victim's breasts. The girl felt an uncomfortable tingle that became positively excruciating in the area Minx had scratched open.

Noticing her captive's distress, Minx cooed, "Don't you worry. I'll also be sure that my toys are properly sterilized before we really get started."

Minx deftly coated one needle with the gel and then slowly began working it into the flesh just under the girl's left nipple, all the while crooning in a sing-song voice: "Needles and pins, needles and pins. So nice when they're out, so baaaad when they're in."

To her victim, it was as if a rapier of fire had impaled her tit and was roasting it from the inside. Minx cast an appreciative eye at the muscles of the girl's arms and legs straining against their bonds. But the ropes held. They always did.

Her victim now began screaming and crying, working herself into a nice state of hysteria as two more shafts of flaming gold pierced her left breast. Working the firm, well-rounded tit into position for the next strike, Minx noticed the nipple swell under her touch. "So that's the way it is!" thought Minx to herself.

As her tormentor jabbed the fourth needle directly through this inviting target, the girl threw her head back, her mouth wide in a silent scream, a dry heave of agony. Minx lost no time in pressing her lips to the girl's and ramming her tongue deep into her throat, ravenously sucking in all the anguish flowing out of that tormented body.

Keeping her lips locked on her prey, Minx seized the needle that had pierced the nipple and slowly began to twist it, causing the girl to emit a high pitched, keening wail, like squealing brakes on an old jalopy just before its final crash. Minx pulled away. "Sing for me now, little bird, sing for me," as she twisted the needle in the other direction.

"Please . . . please," was all her victim could gasp. Minx could see that all the fight had gone out of her prey, and now was the time to move in for the kill.

Perching herself on the girl's lap, Minx looked into those big green eyes, filled with fear and submission. "So tell me, Little Bird, for that is what I will call you as you sing so beautifully, tell me who you are working for."

"No one," came the hoarse reply. "I swear."

And then Little Bird went on to sing her song of woe, of broken homes and bad choices and worse men. She had been forced to sell her body to survive, and yes, she had had a pimp before, who was horrible to her, but in another part of the city, far away from Minx's domain.

At her wit's end, Little Bird had fled to The Drains and found refuge in the Morgan Haven for Distressed Women. There she had learned to take pride in herself and her work. Sex work was work and should be honored as such.

The dedicated and enthusiastic staff at the Haven had given her the confidence to go back out on the streets with head held high and without the "protection" of some bloodsucking male pimp. Astoria Morgan had visited the Haven one day and personally assured Little Bird that she had only to believe in herself in order to succeed in life. The girl was still a bit unsure about that, but definitely believed in the wonderful and wise Astoria Morgan, who had done so much for her and for all of Chatham City.

Minx listened in silence as she mulled over this new problem. The girl was no longer the issue. Minx was actually pleased that fate had sent this tasty morsel her way. Nonetheless, the meddling of that do-gooder Astoria Morgan in Minx's territory must end. That rich bitch needed to be taught a lesson in manners and respect for limits. A devious and cruel lesson that she would not soon forget. But there would be time for that.

"I believe you, Little Bird. You have been terribly wronged, in so many ways, and I have decided to help you."

"Then you'll let me go?" the girl piped up hopefully.

"Not just yet," purred Minx, with a hungry look coming back into her eyes. "I think I'd like to kiss you for a bit longer - and we still have eight needles left."