Paul Gable - Daughter degraded

"Damn!" Don muttered.

"Got you worked up, huh? Don't worry," Jack said, flicking on the lights. "You'll get your chance with her just like you get your chance with all the others."

Cindy felt sick to her stomach. These men were smut movie producers as well, using these girls for their own pleasure as well. No wonder some of the girls they found on the roadsides were half-dazed. After they'd been through the mill, they were suffering from shell shock.

"And you'd be surprised who our customers are," Jack said, leading the girl out. "Good straight types, you know, San Fernando Valley guys… with the wife and kiddies and all that shit. Man, they eat this kinda shit up. Don't know how they hide it from the family, but that ain't our business."

"No, oh God, no," Cindy said, clapping her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear about their sick little operation. All she wanted to do was go home.

"There's nothin' you can do about it, so just relax and enjoy it. We got somethin' else goin' in a while. Take 'er back and let or calm down… and don't fuck with her, Joe."

Rhoda was frantic. It was the following morning and still no Cindy. Brad had spent the evening and left early, reassuring her, even suggesting that Cindy might have run away.

No, no she wouldn't, Rhoda said to herself, calling the authorities again and again until she finally badgered them into agreeing to launching some sort of search for her.

That afternoon dragged by slowly. Rhoda called in sick, sitting by the phone, waiting for the police to call. It was nearly eight that evening before it rang.

"Yes? Have you found…"

"You got a nice, hot cunt. I want to fuck it, take my dick and stick it all the way in 'til you scream."

Rhoda jumped to her feet, one hand to her throat. Her daughter was missing, possibly dead, and here she was listening to an obscene phone call!

"Stop it, whoever you are! Listen to me, I'm in no mood for this. Just stop it!"

Her hands were shaking, her body shuddering as the whispering voice continued, telling her how good her pussy was, and how he was going to fuck her so hard she wouldn't be able to walk for a week.

"And then I'm going to eat out your asshole, stick my tongue up that tight little bung and…"

"Stop!"

Rhoda wheeled around, slamming the receiver down hard on the cradle. She backed away, hugging her body tightly with both arms. It rang again. The woman started for the phone, stopped, then started again.

"Hello?"

"Then I'm gonna bite those tits… bite 'em, suck 'em in my mouth 'til…"

Rhoda slammed the receiver down again, running her fingers through her hair, looking around the room in despair. Her daughter was being searched for by the police. She couldn't keep the phone off the hook. They might call.

It rang again. The blonde woman turned away, bending half over, sobbing. It was some time after the telephone stopped ringing that Rhoda heard knocking at the door.

"It's me, Brad. I just wanted to check on things here," he said, entering the hallway.

Rhoda felt relieved. She was about to tell him of the phone calls, then decided against it. If it rang, then she'd have Brad pick it up.

"Yes, oh nothing's come in. They haven't called. I think I'll go crazy if I don't hear something from them soon," Rhoda wailed, sitting on the edge of the couch and putting her head in her hands.

"Don't get upset. The cops are good at this sort of thing, missing kids. I'll bet Cindy's having a good time right now. She's going to walk right through that door in a while and…"

Rhoda wasn't listening to him any more. Something clicked in her mind, something that had clicked before but hadn't fully aroused her suspicions. It was Brad's tone of voice, the phrasing, the cadence. In a shock of realization, Rhoda knew that the obscene caller was Brad!

She looked at him, her eyes wide, uncomprehending. Why had he done it? Why had he humiliated her like that, calling her all those awful names? Certainly he had done almost the same thing in bed last night. Why did he have to have the extra thrill of saying dirty things over the phone?

Brad stopped, his eyes narrowing. He folded his hands over his knees and nodded his head slowly up and down.

"You know, don't you?"

Rhoda felt thrills of fear and excitement rush up and down her spine. The woman wiggled her ass back, drawing her knees together and smoothing down the light cotton dress over her legs. Rhoda wanted to order him out of her house. But he was her boss, had tried to help her. Besides, was making a dirty call all that terrible?

"I like doing it, like standing there in the booth or laying there at home calling you, telling you what I'm going to do… and then doing it."

Rhoda felt her heart skip a beat. He couldn't be serious. Not with all the things on her mind.

"There's nothing you can do to bring Cindy back. She'll come around. But right now, there's nothing wrong with…"

"No, no, get out of here! I won't have it, not with my daughter missing, not with…"

She stopped short. Brad's face was red, his eyes wide with anger.

"Na one turns me down. No one."

The words were spoken quietly, but with a force behind them that made Rhoda shiver. He stepped up to her, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the chair.

"You're in my blood, Rhoda. And I'm gonna fuck you tonight whether you like it or not."

"No!"

Instinctively she wheeled around, twisting in his grip, slapping him hard across the face. Nothing deterred him.

"You like action, bin? Want to fight? Okay, you got it."

He was changing again. He was turning into a maniac as he pulled her through the living room into the kitchen.

"Stop!"

Rhoda tried hooking her ankles around tables, bending over at the waist and pulling back. But it was hopeless. Brad was too strong, too determined to have his way. Screaming, Rhoda found herself being dragged down the creaky wooden stairs that led to the small basement.

"Now, we have our fun."

He was holding her against the cold cement block wall with one hand pressed against her chest. With the other hand, he curled his fingers around the bodice of her dress. He tore at her, ripping her clothes from her body, peeling her bra and panties off until she was stark naked! Rhoda screamed again, silenced by a sharp backhanded slap across the right cheek. Her head snapped to one side as the world darkened before her eyes.

Rhoda was half-dazed while Brad moved her around. First the big stud carried her to where a wooden ladder lay propped against the stairs. Finding several pieces of half-inch line, Brad examined them carefully, seeing if they would do.

"And when I'm through with you, you won't be able to piss for a week," he repeated, dragging a large wooden table up to Rhoda.

He laid her across the table, her feet barely touching the cold concrete basement floor. The woman shivered, the dampness chilling her flesh.

She felt his hands on her right leg, felt ropes being wrapped around her ankle. In a moment the woman felt him pulling her leg out, stretching it until it was perpendicular to her body. Rhonda groaned, stretching out her hands and holding onto the opposite end of the table for balance.

Brad had tied a square knot around her ankle and was now tying a figure eight that was to hold her ankle to one of the rungs of the ladder. The tension from that awkward position of her leg nearly split her body in two. She could feel her cuntlips puffing apart, exposing more of her dark red moist cuntmeat. She bent her left knee a little, her foot sliding on the floor while her tits hung down and slapped against one another.

"Wh-why are you doing this to me?" Rhoda wailed.

Her fingers clawed at the table. She was close to letting go of the table. If the happened, Rhoda would pitch forward, her body twisted, and she would probably break her leg.