.22 WMR


(This is a story of love, lust, rough sex, prostitution, sexual slavery, incest, rape, torture, and brutal murder. A warning for some;... a promise for others. The Author.)


Chapter One: Floater

She returned to consciousness and immediately knew she was fucked, both figuratively and -- soon enough -- literally.

She was naked. Her arms were stretched out toward one end of a long wooden surface, where the tip of a heavy, professional grade chopping knife was deep into the Maple, securing the chain of the hand cuffs digging into the skin of her wrists. Her chest and belly pressed hard against the surface, while her lower body dangled over the end. Her feet were separated and bound by thin cord -- possibly electrical wire -- which opened her thighs and, she knew, presented her pussy invitingly to...

To whom, she wondered. There was no sound; no voices, no breathing, no movement. She seemed to be all alone. And while she might be at the moment, she certainly didn't strip and bind herself this way on her own. Not this time, at least.

The last thing she remembered was making her drop in the park just after sun down and heading for her car. Then...


She struggled to raise her head, to searched the room for clues as to her location. She grimaced. Every muscle in her body ached, and the simple act of looking about sent sharp pains through her neck and shoulders. How long had she been here? It felt as if years, though the low lying sun beyond the building's translucent windows told her she'd only been 'out' for five or six hours.

It only took a moment to determine where she was: Goran Florists. She was stretched out upon a solid Maple chopping table where the owners of the now defunct flower shop had once used clippers and heavy knives -- like the one holding the cuffs in place -- to chop stems from the long stemmed flowers that went into their beautiful bouquets.

As if she hadn't already feared for her life, her stomach turned over in fright as she remembered the last time she'd been here. She'd been sitting outside the entrance in the Ferrari, hiding her shock and horror behind her thousand dollar sunglasses and designer scarf, as a woman inside had pleaded and cried through the brutal torture and murder of her husband. A few minutes after that, the woman was again pleading and crying as she was raped, questioned, raped again, and finally murdered, despite having given her questioner -- the Ferrari's owner -- the information for which he'd been searching.

She'd done nothing to stop the horrific act. She couldn't. Not without exposing who and what she truly was.

Of course, laying here now, she was pretty certain that THAT secret was out.

A door out of view behind her creaked open, then shut softly. She listened for more -- movement, steps, anything -- and when she heard nothing at all, she warned in a loud growl, "Do you KNOW who I am? Do you KNOW whose GIRL I am? Let me go now, and I won't tell him you did this to me. You can ... you can skip the country. You'll HAVE to skip the country if he finds out you've done this."

The response she received -- the familiar cadence of a man with a bum leg -- told her what her eyes couldn't. And even though feigning innocence -- of continuing to hide her identity -- was certainly a waste of time, she had learned early in her career never to give away any information to the 'enemy'.

She twisted her head to the left, laying her cheek upon the aching muscles of her upper arm. When he stepped into view, she begged, "William...? William, baby, what's happening? Why are you doing this to me?"

He remained quiet, only continuing to circle around to the end of the long table until the bright sun was behind him, casting him in silhouette.

"Please, William. Baby... Please ... if this is one of your sex games ... I'm not having fun. Please, let me go."

"You hurt me, Louisa," he said, the disappointment in his voice seemingly sincere.

"Baby ... baby, what did I do? Please, tell me what I did?" She began sobbing and tears filled her eyes. They were forced for the most part; even now, her hatred and disgust for who and what William was and for what he'd put her through over the last year made her strong and angry. "I love you, baby. I would never hurt you. You KNOW that!"

He stepped out from between her and the bright, distant sun. She squeezed her eyes shut as the harsh light struck her, and when she opened them again, he was standing close to her right side, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a leather wallet and opened it, revealing a DEA badge and a man's identification. There was blood on it.

"He forced me, baby," she continued, her sobs and tears magnified. "He said if I didn't work for him ... if I didn't help him ... didn't find SOME-thing ... he would arrest me ... arrest me for that thing in Miami ... remember baby, that thing in Miami?"

"That thing in Miami..."

"Miami, baby. Remember. I killed a man for you. He knew! He knew ALL about it."

"He knew about it..."

"Yeah, baby."

"About how you killed a man ... for me."

"Yeah, baby, remember...? I killed for you." She poured on the water works now, crying out, "I KILLED for you. I wouldn't hurt you. He made me help him! He made me."

"How did he know, Louisa."

She was sobbing uncontrollably now, the fear and despair more genuine than not. She knew she was dead. In a way, after a year of degrading herself in the ways she had, she almost welcomed death.

Almost. She hadn't gotten her man; she hadn't gotten William Harris and, even now, she was contemplating her failure at nailing one of the country's most ruthless criminals. Her disappointment with not seeing him behind bars or dead was more the reason for her current emotions than what she knew was coming.

"How did he know, Louisa," he repeated, leaning over a bit more, putting his face directly before her own. "Look at me, Louisa. Sweetheart, look at me please."

When she didn't open her eyes, he snatched a handful of her hair, pulled her head up forcefully, and yelled into her face, "LOOK AT ME!"

She only sobbed. It was over. Time to simply allow what ever was coming to come.

"HOW ... did he know you killed for me in Miami ... BABY? And considering WHAT you are ... why are you still on the job, and not sitting in a cell awaiting your review board?"

He reached into the opposite jacket pocket, withdrew a second ID wallet, and opened it, revealing yet another badge and another identification, this one with her photo. Still holding her head up off the block, he read, "Maria Bowers ... D ... E ... A."

He released his grip on her hair and her head slammed against the hard, thick maple, eliciting a quick cry of pain between the continuing sobs.

"These badges... They aren't licenses to kill. This isn't some James Bond movie. You put a gun to that man's head, pulled the trigger, and blew his brains out all over his car. And yet... You must have REALLY wanted me BAD."

He set both wallets out before her, opened, so that she could see their contents. "He kept it in his car. Your badge. So that when it was time to take me in, you could flash it in my face and make the arrest yourself."

Her sobs began to diminish as the anger began to return to her. "He told you that."


"Before you killed him."


A moment of relative silence passed before she said knowingly, "And now you're gonna kill me."

When he didn't answer, she lifted her head and searched for him. He was again between her and the sun, the halo about him making the tall, muscular man appear even larger than it was. After a moment, he answered, "Yes ... Maria. I'm going to kill you."

She heard feet upon the tile out of view behind her, and realized for the first time that they hadn't been alone. The door opened again, and three or four men shuffled inside.

"But..." William said softly, hesitating before he finished, "...not before some of the men got an opportunity to show you what I do with women who ... who hurt me."

Maria tried to see who was behind her, knowing that information is power. The pain prevented her from twisting enough. Instead, she looked back to William and growled, "FUCK you ... BABY." With amusement in his voice, he responded, "No, baby. That's over. Sorry."

She heard a familiar sound, but before she recognized it for a zipper descending at a man's groin, she felt a strong pair of hands clasp her buttocks, pulling them apart.

She could have begged and pleaded. She could have cursed and spit. Instead, Maria simply stared at the head of the large silhouette before her and took what was coming her way.

The man's intrusion was painful, causing her to grimace. She could have made it harder for him, squeezing the right muscles to close herself to him. But, she knew it was hopeless and, in the end, would only be more painful to her. So, she 'let him in'.

As the man pounded his cock deep inside her, harder and faster with each thrust, William asked with feigned sincerity, "He's not hurting you, is he ... baby?"

Maria's response was a spreading smile and a chuckle, rising deep from within her. She answered firmly, "No ... baby. He feels ... good."

William laughed as well. "I'm happy to see you're enjoying this."

Suddenly, the man inside her grasped her hips tightly, rammed himself deep inside her one last time, and grunted in orgasm. She could feel his dick lurching, emptying; it disgusted her to think of this uninvited man taking pleasure from her this way, and yet she was glad it was some unknown henchman as opposed to the man whose dick had been in her pussy -- and mouth, and ass -- on so many occasions over the past twelve months.

She laughed, "He didn't last long ... baby. But you know what ... he lasted longer than YOU usually did."

She could see his head shaking slightly, amazed at her attempt to needle him in this way.

"Funny," he said simply, following it with, "Next. NEXT!"

Maria grimaced again as the man pulled his cock out of her suddenly. A moment later, the hand of a second man was attempting to direct his not-quite ready erection into her swollen, now-wet hole. Again, she laughed. "This one's got your OTHER problem ... an inability to GET ... IT ... UP!"

"Next! Someone else."

William's tone was beginning to show his frustration, and Maria could sense it. She mimicked him, "NEXT! Someone who's more man than that! More man than your boss, the big dick in this operation."

A male voice she recognized said, "Move. Get out of the way."

She felt the second man's hands rip away from her body and knew he'd been forcibly sent away. She felt pressure at her pussy, then cried out in pain as a larger than expected cock rammed deep into her in one, violent plunge.

"I'll fuck you to death, bitch," a voice growled deeply.

"Frankie...?" Maria feigned joy at the knowledge of who was pummeling her pussy. She tried to look back, but could only see the shape of his body. But it was the voice of the man who was her full time chauffeur. She endured the pain of what was truly a mean fuck as she returned to her taunting. "Frankie! BA-by. Oooo, baby, I knew it was you, baby. I could tell the moment you got inside--"

"You're cute," William said softly, trying his best to hide his disappointment that his former 'cop' lover wasn't pleading for mercy. "You were always cute."

She ignored him, continuing to applaud the man raping her. "DO it, baby, DO it! Just like last time, baby. Remember last time, baby."

Maria felt hesitation in Frankie's thrusts. She continued complimenting him, causing him to slow even farther.

"I never fucked her before, William!" Frankie defended, his tone filled with obvious concern. "This is the first--"

"Tell'im the truth, baby. We fuck like this every time his back is turned. DO it, baby. FUCK me like William could only HOPE to fuck me."

"I wouldn't do that, boss." Frankie was beginning to sound as panicked as Maria had feigned being upon William's initial arrival. "Boss...?"

"Fuck me, Frankie--" The pain rising in her was almost unbearable, but she endured, willing herself to deny the crime boss the satisfaction he sought from this entire affair.

William again started for Maria's side, again blinding her temporarily with the harsh light of the sun that had almost risen out of frame of the window.

"FUCK me!" Maria continued, waiting for her eyes to adjust and find William, now standing over her with his hands upon the cutting block, holding his weight. "Just like before, baby. FUCK me HARD."

"Shut up," William said almost in a whisper.

"Boss?" Frankie was questioning, beginning to lose his steam.


"Shut up," William commanded his treacherous lover. Without looking up from her own gaze, William ordered, "FUCK her!"

"DO it, Frankie! Does it feel like last time--"

"Boss, I didn't..." Frankie's thrusts had come to an end, with his dick half in, half out of his employer's lover.

"You know what your problem in bed was?" William asked, his smile now absent and his face red with fury.

She laughed her answer, "I wasn't a sheep? Or maybe Frankie's your style?"

"You TALKED too much," he said, quickly ripping a large caliber semi-automatic pistol out of the holster inside his jacket, rising to height, and firing a shot.

Maria flinched at sound of the shot, then grimaced in pain as she felt Frankie's dick pull from her at an odd angle. She was still for a moment, waiting for the second shot to enter her and listening to one of the still living men behind her mumbling prayers in Spanish.

But the second bullet didn't come. She looked up at William to find him holstering the weapon, looking down at her. He made a talking hand gesture with his free hand, saying, "And all that yap yap yap ... GOD, you really knew how to fuck up a good screw--"

He looked beyond her to the men she couldn't see. He waved his free hand at them dismissively, saying, "Get him out of here. Go. ALL of you ... GET the FUCK OUT of here! We're done."

Maria remained silent as she listened to the other unseen men shuffle out of the building, dragging Frankie's body along with them. She raised her head to rest again on her upper arm, watching William as he stared out the window toward the tops of a grove of tall palms. A minute, perhaps two passed before she lowered her head to the block, pressing her forehead to the hard maple and continuing her taunt in a soft, almost loving voice. "I'm sorry that I fucked up your good screw."

He chuckled, then laughed loud and long. He turned to look at her, saying, "You knew that would happen. One thing I gotta say for you, you're one smart fucking cop."

"You could fuck me, William," she said, trying to wiggle her aching ass in invitation. She didn't want him inside her, of course. She only wanted his semen -- his DNA -- inside of her, to identify him as her rapist and killer later when they found her body in a shallow grave or floating in a river. She added, "For old times sake."

When he didn't answer, she raised her head unsteadily, showing her weak smile, and said, "I won't talk. Promise."


The Coroner's Assistant pulled back the sheet, causing the young red head on the other side of the glass to turn away in horror. She buried her face into the chest of the man standing with her and whimpered, "Oh God, it's her ... it's Maria."

Martin Speers nodded to the Assistant, then lead his distraught friend away to the lobby. He scribbled "Victoria Thomas" where a second Assistant indicated with an outstretched finger. When the man in the lab coat began to give Martin trouble about signing for her, he flashed his DEA Special Agent badge and said sternly, "Make it work."

Outside of the Morgue, he led her across the street to the park.

"Who did this to her?" Vicki sobbed. "Who would do this to my sister? Kill her, and dump her in the ocean."

Martin sat her down on a bench away from the other park goers, holding her close to him. Vicki continued to murmur, distraught, and when her words finally gave way to a quiet, continuing sob, he said, "We need to talk about your sister and what she was working on. I know this is hard, but sooner would be better than later. Can you tell me anything about what she'd learned? Did she tell you anything that would help us arrest Harris?"

Victoria wiped away her tears and looked up to Martin. "What are you talking about? Who is Harris?"

"William Harris. The man whose organization she had infiltrated more than a year..."

Martin hesitated, suddenly realizing that he'd made a mistake thinking 'sisters don't keep secrets', even if one of them is an undercover agent deep inside one of the most ruthless criminal organizations in the country.

"Maria worked in an office," Vicki responded, beginning to show her dismay at learning she'd been led astray about her sister's dangerous involvements. "I don't know much about her work, but she was transcribing audio from wire taps ... watching video tapes, or digital recordings, or how ever you do it nowadays. She said it was boring, and that she hated it because it kept her away from her family for days ... sometimes weeks. But she said it was important..."

She saw the look in his eyes, followed by a gentle, contradicting shake of the head. "What...? What ... are you saying she--"

"Maria was undercover, Vicki. She had been, for almost two years."

Her expression was one of total disbelief. "No. NO. She was sitting in a cubicle in Washington doing OFFICE work."

He tried to keep his tone soft, knowing she was confused, distraught, even angry. "No, Victoria. She was on assignment, undercover inside ... well, I can't really tell you that. But what she was doing WAS important, that's true."

"What was she doing?" Her tone had taken a definite turn toward the angry side.

Martin hesitated, looking about as if he expected to see men in trench coats and dark glasses ready to pounce if he disclosed classified information to her. "She was trying to get close to a man named William Harris."

"Who is he?"

"He's a very bad man."

She tilted her head with a disapproving look. "I'm twenty-two, not twelve. Who is he? And don't give me the glossed over, PG-13 version."

He hesitated for a moment, then -- knowing she needed to hear it -- gave it to her in the most concise way he could. "Your sister was collecting information on an international criminal, William Harris. He runs a crime syndicate that every month moves hundreds of millions of dollars in weapons, drugs, stolen merchandise ... women. They call him 'Mild Bill' Harris."

"Mild Bill?"

He hesitated. "He is a very even tempered, soft spoken man ... mild. Until you cross him ... and he kills you."

Vicki looked away, shocked again by the memory of her sister laying on that cold slab.

"Your sister had spent a year building a cover to get close to Harris, then another year inside his organization."

"What was her cover?"

He hesitated once again. "Are you sure you want to hear all of this?"

"WHAT was her cover?"

He drew and released a deep breath before saying bluntly, "Call girl."

Vicki's eye's widened, then -- as the realization struck her -- her mouth fell open as well. "She was sleeping with this ... Mild Bill."

Martin didn't answer, instead just staring into his new friend's eyes.

"Maria was FUCKING the man who KILLED her?"

"It was her cover, Victoria. It was her ... no, it wasn't her job. But, it was something that she chose to do to get what we needed on William Harris."

"She was his mistress," Vicki said, the thought coming to her suddenly. "She wasn't just ... fucking him once in a while. She was..."

Vicki looked to Martin to finish the sentence.

"For just a little more than a year, yes, Maria was, essentially, living with Harris. She was collecting and passing information on about his operation, and she was helping us to prevent crimes or catch those committing them..."

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