The Evil Within Ch. 01

The cuffs were attached to a strong spring in an eyehook in the ceiling of the shower. The girl's lean figure was stretched out and Roxanne felt her cunt flood with blood from her desire. God, Roxanne thought, I can barely wait to use her!

Roxanne stood behind the girl, her hands on the girl's hips, "Nice, boy hips you have little whore."

The girl giggled a bit and then slurred out a 'thank you'."

"Now let's see how high you can stand on your tip toes, sweety." Roxanne slapped the girl's flank and instantly the girl obeyed. Roxanne pressed herself to the girl's back and ran her hand over the girl's front: the small, almost bud like breasts, the flat belly and ending up at the girl's hairless cunt.

The girl gasped in pleasure as Roxanne worked her fingers roughly and deeply inside the girl. Roxanne played with the girl, worked her for a minute or two and then forcefully mounted the girl with her strapon.

Under the drug, the girl simply moaned in pleasure and pain as Roxanne penetrated her. Roxanne felt so out of control.

~~~~~~~~~~

Around one that afternoon Roxanne's Mustang GT Convertible pulled up near one of the entrances of UCLA on Sunset and let the girl out. Roxanne was headed to Malibu for lunch with her girlfriends. The girl wore her clothes from the previous night. She was still disoriented. Passersby starred as the girl, her eyes vacant, stumbled down the sidewalk. Her t-shirt was torn exposing a small, bruised breast, she had a black eye and a fat lower lip. There was a dark, wet stain on the insides of her thighs - it wasn't known until later if it was blood or urine, or both. As Roxanne's GT sped west on Sunset a UCLA Campus Police car pulled up to the girl. They took her to the ER at the Med Center.

On the veranda of a private club in the hills around Malibu that overlooked the Pacific, three girlfriends sat waiting for Roxanne to arrive for their weekly late afternoon lunch. Physically, the three were all cut from the same cloth: tall, lean, tanned figures with modest but perfectly shaped breasts; faces without wrinkle or blemish; clothed in designer dresses, mostly sleeveless, made of light fabric that maximized their beauty and the suggestion of their sybaritic sexuality while simultaneously being "proper"; and shoulder length or longer hair, meticulously cut and styled to look soft and natural as if they'd done nothing more that to run a brush through it after they dried it after their morning showers.

Cynthia Knowles, a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, was the alpha female; the convener of the lunches and the facilitator of the women's pleasures. Amy Chang, an oncologist, and Deb Baker, an infectious disease specialist rounded out the trio.

Roxanne Sommers was the proverbial "odd man," the shape that didn't match the other shapes on a psychological test. The big woman was clothed in a man's white oxford button down dress shirt, open to her belly, showing her white, lacy, heavy under wire bra and a vast expanse of Roxanne's upper chest and belly. Her skirt was tight, black linen that simultaneously accented her full hips and ass while camouflaging - but only just a bit - her stout belly.

Her hair, that Deb Baker swore in private with her other friends Roxanne must cut at home with kitchen scissors, was slicked straight back and shiny with styling gel. Her face was mostly devoid of makeup except for some garish shade of red lipstick that made her full lips look almost obscene. With just a little more makeup she could have covered some teenage acne scars and some of the "ravages" of age as she neared 40. But that was Roxanne. You took her as she was or not at all.

"It's about time, Rox," chided Deb Baker as Roxanne took long strides through the dining room toward the trio. "We could have starved to death waiting for you."

Roxanne snorted as she sat down at the table, "If you girls would put a little more meat on your bones, starvation would not be such a pressing issue."

Amy Chang leaned over to kiss Roxanne on the cheek, "Bitch," she said with a friendly smile. Cynthia sat on the other side of Roxanne and she too leaned over to kiss Roxanne's cheek. "You've been fucking, haven't you? I can smell it; sweet and salty. Mmm," she half whispered, but loud enough for the other women to hear, prompting a chorus of oooo's and ah's.

Roxanne sat upright, fished in her bag for her cigarettes and lighter and then caught a sensually exaggerated air kiss from Deb Baker sitting opposite her.

"Don't tease me, Deb. I have spent the last 24 hours in some serious debauchery and I am not yet satiated. You wouldn't want to take a walk would you?"

"Well, you big dyke, it's tempting, but my tennis instructor took very adequate care of me before I came over."

"Hey, I don't mind some spunk if it means getting to eat that sweet pussy of yours," Roxanne said as she lit up, took a drag and blew it out.

More oooo's and ah's.

"Sorry, Roxie, my love, I am just too tired to service you."

"And your point, Deb?"

The girls all giggled.

"So, Rox, tell us about her," Cynthia leaned close, grasping Roxanne's upper arm, her fingertips discretely caressing Roxanne's sensitive skin on the underside of her arm.

Roxanne leaned back in her chair and proudly began to recount her latest adventures. The other women leaned in, with smiles on their faces, eager for the details.

"Ladies, I definitely scored last night. She was literally fresh off the farm, from Iowa, no less. Tall, skinny; long, fine blond hair, tiny breasts and hardly any hips - nice boy hips. She had a tight ass and an even tighter cunt. She was nicely shaved too; smooth as a baby's ass. She's probably here on a volley ball scholarship - she looked a little "jock- ish," if you know what I mean.

"God, she was so eager all night but I had to put the hammer on her this morning. I just couldn't resist; she was really a virgin. God damn bled when I popped her cherry! So I had to have that twat again now that I had made her a woman. Sadly - well, no not really - she resisted this morning when she woke up."

"Apparently, you either forgot to dose her or you're experimenting with different agents," Deb said, cocking her head toward two women moving toward them from the dining room.

Roxanne turned and looked. "Shit. Yeah, used a new mixture this morning; it made her nicely cooperative and she really seemed to enjoy it but apparently didn't do much to erase her memories."

"Maybe it just needs refinement," Cynthia commented professionally.

"Yeah, I really loved what it did to her."

"Doctors, Rox," the lead woman greeted the foursome, deliberately snubbing Roxanne, as she put her fingertips lightly on the backs of Cynthia's and Deb's seats and bent slightly at the waist.

"Deputy D.A. Masters and..." Cynthia started to return the greeting but didn't know the other woman.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Knowles, where are my manners?" The Deputy L.A. County D.A. and the foursome had been through this conversation before. It was a highly stylized play; a game. "Allow me to introduce Dr. Monica Small, - uh, Ph.D. - the newly created Provost for Women's Student Life at UCLA. Dr. Small, Drs. Knowles, Baker and Chang - and of course, you know Dr. Sommers."

Dr. Small smiled politely and nodded at each of the women and then commented, "Well, I certainly know Dr. Sommers by reputation." Her tone of voice carried just a hint of loathing, but only a hint. Dr. Small had been thoroughly briefed on how this meeting had to go.

Cynthia played the ever so proper and polite hostess. She stood and politely shook Dr. Small's hand and then gestured at the table and asked Deputy D.A. Masters, "Would you ladies care to join us?"

"Thank you Dr. Knowles but we just came to have a little chat with Roxie."

"Oh. Would you like us to leave for a moment so you can talk to her and enjoy the sea breeze?"

"No thank you, Dr. Knowles, this won't take long." Cynthia sat down; Deputy D.A. Masters helped scoot Cynthia's chair to the table.

"You're always so gracious, District Attorney Masters. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Doctor," the Deputy D.A. turned to Roxanne, "So, uh, Rox, where've you been this morning?"

"Why do ask Stacy?" Roxanne winked at the Deputy D.A., again all part of the play.

"A 19 year old Iowa freshman turned up in the Med Center just before noon. She'd been sexually battered, rather severely. She described her attacker as," the Deputy D.A. hesitated a moment as if searching for the proper, non-offensive word, "a very, ah, substantial woman who drove a convertible Mustang. So I immediately thought of you Rox."

"And that's it, District Attorney Masters? That's all you have?" Cynthia asked in a tone of professional concern.

Dr. Small interrupted, but with just the right timing and inflection to fit the "high" tone of the meeting though she detested this charade; she had a six and a half inch thick file of sexual assaults likely all attributable to Dr. Sommers. She knew beyond a reasonable doubt that Roxanne was a sexual predator of UCLA female freshmen. "Well, she was drugged heavily. I'd say she had some ex, roofies and some sort of mood altering amphetamine in her system. We're waiting on the toxicology report."

Amy Chang shook her head, her voice full of concern, "It is such a shame that these young girls from the Midwest come here and experiment with such dangerous drugs and then get in over their heads sexually."

The other three women nodded their heads, gravely, in agreement. Dr. Small bristled inside. Deputy D.A. Masters smiled to herself. She had warned the Provost that this would be exactly the way this conversation would play out. Amy Chang always took the high ground of "concern."

"Well, Stacy, I got here about an hour ago and before that I was with Cynthia at her house."

"Mmm," Cynthia quickly cut in, "oh, yes, District Attorney Masters, that's true. Dr. Sommers was helping me do some research."

"Well, I knew Dr. Knowles that there would be some reasonable explanation," said the Deputy D.A. "Rox, another time perhaps?"

"I always look forward to our visits, Stacy."

To the shock of Dr. Small, Deputy D.A. Masters was winding up the interview. "Doctors, Rox, I'm sorry to have disturbed your lunch."

"Oh, not at all District Attorney Masters, we're just sorry we cannot help. And we feel so sorry for that young girl," Cynthia said.

"Right, well, ladies..." And with that the two women left. When they were gone, the women all tittered.

"So what was the mood altering amphetamine, Rox?" Deb asked with professional interest.

"I got a hold of some of that French Survector, you know the antidepressant that the FDA pulled because there were reports of spontaneous orgasm; thought I'd give it a try. I think it enhanced the little whore's response very nicely but it seems to have co-opted the amnesiac effect of the roofies."

The women all nodded in professional agreement. Cynthia said, "Well, I'm having some freshmen girls from Pepperdine and some upper classmen - men and women - from Mary Mount over this weekend. Protestants versus the Catholics," Cynthia smiled as if she were picturing the bacchanalia in her mind, "maybe you could refine your pill and try it out this weekend?"

Roxanne licked her lips, a wicked smile on her face, "Promise me the tenderest frosh and you have a deal Cynthia."

Cynthia laid her hand on Roxanne's bare thigh through the part in Rox's skirt, "Have I ever denied you anything, by sweet, beautiful dyke?"

~~~~~~~~~~

In the parking lot Dr. Small was agitated and about ready to go off. "Ms. Masters, how in the world can you let them off like that?!"

"Dr. Small, spare me the attitude, please; I brought you along strictly as a courtesy. I told you how this was going to go down. You didn't believe me until you saw it with your own eyes."

"I thought you were bringing me as a warning," Dr. Small protested.

"Yeah, uh, right. I doubt whether the Devil himself would scare any of those women, especially Cynthia Knowles. After she'd give Satan a blow job while she finger fucked his ass, she'd tell him to go back to Hell and she'd call him sometime."

"Then why the charade at all?!" Dr. Small practically shouted in frustration.

"As tough as those bitches are they do need to know the law is watching. They're all fairly benign, relatively speaking; there are worse predators in Southern California than Roxanne Sommers. I suppose I should tell you that Rox and I were roommates as undergrads. And I spent nine months of my freshman year being her fuck toy."

Dr. Small was stunned beyond words. When she finally found her voice she said, with all the self-righteous outrage she could muster, "So you're letting that sexual predator off because you were lovers?"

Deputy D.A. Masters stepped close in front of Dr. Small; her face had taken a hard set and her voice was icy and malicious, "I didn't arrest Roxanne Sommers because all we have is a frightened Iowa farm girl, drugged to the gills, who likely willingly got her cherry popped by a piece of leather instead of a boy's dick, like her ma and pa think would be proper.

"She can't positively identify Roxanne and remember when we talked to her roomie, she said that the girl was going to a lesbian club last night in hopes of getting picked up and what was the quote? Oh yes, have her cunt sucked and fingered until she couldn't come anymore.

"And, Dr. Small, I said I spent nine months as Roxanne's fuck toy. I was most definitely not her lover. Being her fuck toy meant I was on 24 hour call to be used anyway she wanted me and in case you didn't notice from her body size, she has large appetites; she wanted me often and used me hard, like a piece of meat. So until you've had a leather dildo shoved up your ass, your face banged against the wall until your eye blackens and blood runs down your thighs from rectal tearing while you are being fucked - in the bathroom of a church - during a very, very close relative's funeral, you can just GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FACE, Dr. Small!" Dr. Small gasped and shrank back at Masters' command.

Masters laughed quietly and bitterly, "You are so fucking far out of your league it would be funny if the circumstances weren't so serious!" Stacy Masters' face was red, almost purple, with fury and Dr. Small shrank back further, trying to take in the apparently calculated and casual violence that was - and is - Roxanne Sommers. "By the way, Dr. Small, do you know Dr. Sommer's preferred method of lubricating a dildo before fucking a girl in the ass?"

"Uh...I-I'm very sorry for your pain and ordeal..." Dr. Small said, averting her eyes and feeling profoundly uncomfortable.

"I didn't ask for your pity Dr. Small; do you have any idea what Roxanne uses for lubrication?!"

Her eyes wide and her tanned complexion drawn almost yellow as she paled, Dr. Small shook her head. She was more than uncomfortable; she felt sick now.

"Spit. She only uses spit; the spit of the victim. I can probably give the absolutely best blow job in all of L.A. - hell, maybe North America - because you know what doctor? When the degree of your pain and the amount of rectal tearing and bleeding is almost completely dependent on how well you can get a dildo wet and slimy with your mouth, you learn to do it really, really well because spit is a piss poor lubricant for those purposes!

"Someday Rox will slip up. Rest assured that when that day comes, I will be there. And she will pay for her sins. I know a good many of them. I roomed with her for four years."

Dr. Small was stunned even further. "My God, four years? But why would you stay with her?"

"By my sophomore year I was too old and too experienced for her tastes; she likes young, pliable virginal girls. 18 in her target age." Masters sounded bitter and melancholy at the same time, "By 19, I was over the hill. So I was safe, in a way, rooming with her the rest of college."

Stacy Masters looked intently at Dr. Small in a way that Dr. Small took as both extremely sexual and extremely threatening. Masters reached out and gently ran her index finger along the lipstick of Dr. Small's lower lip while touching the tip of her own tongue to her own upper lip. Masters made a noise that Dr. Small interpreted as intense sexual desire for her.

Masters shifted her stance, pulling herself into Dr. Small; Masters rubbed her thighs together, shifting her weight and sexually posturing. She barely whispered, her breath softly caressing the doctor's face, "You see, Dr. Small, I liked it. I liked the way she used me after nine months of almost continual rape, sodomy and torture in her sadistic embrace. I begged like I was begging for my life for her to whore me out when she wasn't using me; when she grew tired of me. I would have done anything, and just to be clear, I would have literally done anything she had told me to do, no matter how degrading or depraved or illegal. At that point in my life I needed it. It's a level of desire you will probably never experience. I don't know whether I pity you or whether I should tell you how mind boggling lucky you are for not having to feel it.

"God, I wanted it so badly - and well, it's no fun for a true sadist if their victim gets off on their torturer's depravity. And you know what else, doc?" Stacy Masters barely touched her lips to the doctor's lips, feeling the slightly older woman quiver. Her whisper was so soft, "I spent more time in therapy after I graduated over wanting sex; kinky, rough, violent, predatory sex than I did for what Roxanne Sommers did to me." In a voice devoid of humor but still thick with the memory of the lusts that she had experienced, Masters smiled, her eyes locked with Dr. Small's, and whispered, "Ironic, don't you think?"

Then Masters' overt sexuality disappeared and her anger returned as abruptly as it had appeared. Masters turned away from Dr. Small, her hand ready to open the driver's door, and said, "Now get in the fucking car!"

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a new parking valet on duty at the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. When Yvette Harriman slid from her seat in her Hummer the valet got quite a sight and he actually gawked. He couldn't help it. Likely, few could have. Yvette's slip was sticking to the Hummer's seat. As directed by her husband, it was the only thing she was wearing under her arctic parka. And so the valet witnessed the progressive baring of long, bare legs, a shaven sex that was so wet and swollen that even the young valet could tell the woman's arousal, and a flat, almost concave, belly - with a belly button ring - elegantly framed by prominent, slim hip bones.

Yvette was so self-conscious of the way she was dressed she didn't realize what was happening or why the valet was staring at her, wide eyed and with his mouth open. When her feet were finally flat on the ground and she felt the hem of her slip fall past her belly and touch her thighs she realized and blushed.

"Oh my God!" Yvette genuinely shrieked in embarrassment, "I'm so sorry! I'm really...uh...my husband...I-I'm uh..."

The valet finally found the aplomb he was told was the hallmark of a Pfister valet. "No need to apologize ma'am. I apologize for watching instead of averting my eyes and warning you about your clothing, uh, situation. Please accept my apologies."

Yvette sort of giggled. She felt embarrassed, not so much for herself now but for the valet. In a deep twist of irony, Yvette Harriman never considered herself that sexually desirable, despite her life history and her looks. "Um, thank you. But, uh, no, please let me apologize. I was so improper." She handed the valet her key, waited for the receipt and headed inside.