Chapter 7
Sat before the slim computer laptop on loan to him, Agent Lloyd is sequestered in his office at the Chicago task force headquarters. The softly cursing detective is scrolling through a variety of websites searching for islands in the vast Caribbean that were settled by the British. Across the way, Detective Dietz is working on his own laptop in pursuit of possible leads of his own.
That blue and white road sign that Deborah Collins had described to the FBI agent was a sign indicating that a roundabout was somewhere near the airport she’d been flown to when she was first captured many months ago. That clue she gave Carter narrowed it down to any of a hundred or so locations across the vast area of ocean that a plane might have reached given the time frame Deb had described in her many statements to the task force. It was a daunting task to try to determine where the sex traffickers had taken the 20 young women. Collins hadn’t provided any other useful information to help narrow down the search area.
The only other obvious clue to the people who took Collins was that they were clearly well financed. Neat little private airports, fancy multi-row vans with privacy tinting and her description of the resort where she was kept all indicated big money behind these sex traffickers. Was it good detective work to be squinting at satellite shots of Caribbean islands for well-healed airports or just a colossal waste of his time? Such was the nature of plodding police work.
Jim Dietz was highly skeptical about Carter’s chances for success but he had kept his mouth shut for the last 45 minutes while the FBI profiler grumbled and scrolled and pinched his nose or rubbed his neck. Finally, Dietz spoke two words.
“Any luck?”
“I might be narrowing down things a bit but unless Supergirl activates that homing device, it’s like trying to hit the lottery using birthdays, numbers in song titles and your weight. You might feel some good mojo but you know for damn sure it ain’t going to work!”
“You ever win any money in a lottery?” Dietz’s question has Lloyd pausing a moment in his scrolling to think.
“Barely. My best break was catching the words “Bonus Bux” on a crossword scratch off ticket to nab $150 dollars,” the profiler replies. “I gave it back over the course of a year buying more tickets trying to recapture the magic. Should have gone out for a fancy steak dinner instead! What are you working on?”
“I’m cross-referencing the girl’s locations at their time of capture and see if there are any commonalities of any descriptions of individuals in the area from canvasses by the patrol cops doing door-knocking follow-ups.” Dietz turns from his laptop to look directly at Lloyd. “Two prospects pop out: a tall gaunt albino in a worn leather Pink Floyd jacket and some good-looking blond guy with lots of charm but dead eyes.”
“You got addresses for them? Any way to interview them?”
“Nada there, but both come up too often in witness reports to be coincidence. They could both just be from that neighborhood. The albino just seems like the noticeable type to me but I’d sure like to chat with the dead-eye guy.”
“Should we go back to that area and see if we can dig him up?”
“He’s probably long gone but we may as well take a ride out there. Maybe get lucky? Shoe leather time,” Dietz says, rising and pulling his suit jacket off the back of his chair.
“Nature of the job,” confirms Lloyd as he shrugs on his own jacket before following the detective out the door.
The dead-eyed blonde man in whom the Chicago task force has a keen interest just happens to be the very person being introduced in the auditorium on Harmony Island in the Caribbean.
“Ladies,” Russ Hughes announces as he stands over a badly-stupefied Supergirl laying prostrate on the floor at his feet, a drool puddle gleaming under her cheek. The heroine’s eyes are mere slits. Russ’ face beams with satisfaction at just how well things are proceeding, “I want to invite onto the stage now someone to help us with the next important training stage of Supergirl’s passage into your sisterhood of the gobbling cock: You all know him as the man who turned your nightmare into our dream scenario. I give you Mr. Derek Gray.”
Several women in the audience shudder at the name while others grimly stare at the man with obvious loathing as he bounds onto the stage like some game show host. They all know Derek as the man who led them astray with promises of fame, money, a luxurious lifestyle and more, only to be unceremoniously drugged and dragged into a life of unending sexual abuse. Half of the young women hate the man more than the clients for whom they’re forced to spread their legs and subject their gaping mouths to cocks of all lengths and widths.
“Good evening, to all the young women here and thank you, Russ. I wouldn’t have been able to achieve all we’ve done here on the island without the generous financial and tactical support of you, Russ and your father, the remarkable Clayton Hughes.
“When the three of us sat together in that small diner in suburban Skokie and shared the idea of creating this pleasure palace for the rich and powerful elite class on this planet, who would have dreamed we would get so far so fast? And now, we have captured the most famous and powerful female on Earth to lead our team of dedicated sex workers into the brightest future imaginable. It takes men of vision like you and Clayton to bring about this reality. I’m just pleased that I could be an important contributor to this venture. Really, it’s been my pleasure!”
“You’re being much too modest, Derek. Without your charm, your style and your ruthless exploitation of the gullibility of every single woman here, I’d dare say none of this venture would have been nearly as successful. But enough patting ourselves on the back, let’s get this pathetic example of blundering blonde stupidity into a chair so we can begin the next phase of her training.”
“Here, hold this for me, Derek,” Bruno says as he hands the man the glass snifter filled with the thick silvery green dose of Whore. He calmly walks over to Supergirl, bends down and grabs her by the wrists. He drags the nearly oblivious 19-year-old champion across the stage like he’s lugging a decrepit rolled-up carpet. With his brute strength, of course, it’s not any kind of effort and as the boots of the famous heroine scrape along the wooden boards, all Supergirl can do is moan quietly as she manhandled into a heavy wooden dining room chair provided from the wings by Russ.
Bruno squats behind the chair and maneuvers Supergirl’s arms around the back of the chair and pins them there using his left hand to grip both wrists and his right hand to cup her neck in his palm and force the lethargic teen to look up directly into Derek Gray’s face. Supergirl has finally begun to regain some of her senses and a pittance of energy. She glares up at Gray’s face with obvious hostility.
“Nice to see you again, Chrissy…uhm…Chambers was it? Lacross scholarship at Stanhope. Possible valedictorian and quite the looker. Shapely, so cute and so absolutely moronic! How’s your little undercover assignment going, Chrissy? You about ready to bust out of here and round up all us evil doers?”
“It’ll happen soon enough, Gray. You’re going to be spending about 20 years of your life in a prison cell when all is said and done.”
“The sad thing is that you actually believe that, you naïve buffoon,” Gray declares with total contempt. “Fact is, you’re the one who’ll be trapped in a cage when you’re not sucking off or fucking whatever privileged client that we command you to satisfy. Now, drink up. This elixir is going to fuck you up!”
Derek steps to the side of the chair, then reaches out and pinches the cute upturned nose of the famous Maid of Steel with one hand while he holds the snifter ready in his other. In the meantime, Bruno’s palm closes over her mouth to cut off all oxygen to the wide-eyed blonde. Weakened as she is, the defenseless beauty can’t hold out more than 45 seconds of this before she begins to thrash in the chair, struggling for air. Her legs kick out, her calves waving frantically, but both men are out of the way of those shiny red boots.
Russ Hughes takes a look at all the fuss Supergirl is making and walks over to the podium. He slips The Convincer over his right hand, walks up to the flailing teen and punches her in the gut. Her eyes bulge out and, as Bruno moves his hand away from her mouth to her throat, she gasps out with a painful wheezing, her mouth gaping wide for any air. Derek Gray tilts the snifter to Supergirl’s lips and dumps the contents down the defenseless girl’s throat.
“That’s a good girl, drink it all up,” Derek says, keeping the snifter tilted until the last thick drop of the Whore elixir slides down Supergirl’s gullet. The warmth of the devilish brew surprises the Maid of Steel. Like a very strong yet sweet-tasting brandy, the double-strength elixir creates a rush of potency in the young woman. She shakes her head to try to dispel the breath-taking effect of the drugged drink but whatever ingredients are in it, they send a shower of sparkles behind Supergirl’s eyes and she sags in place, just trying to regain her composure.
She licks the sweetness off her lower lip and rests in the chair, pinned in place still by Bruno clamping firmly on her wrists.
Whoa! This stuff is really powerful…dizzy…but gotta’ fight it. Gotta be strong!
Without warning, Bruno pulls Supergirl’s arms from behind the chair back and presses them against the arms of the heavy chair. From his pocket, Derek Gray pulls out two pairs of handcuffs and the blonde dynamo struggles to pull her wrists out of Bruno’s powerful grip. Even with all she’s been subjected to, Supergirl’s straining effort to free herself from Bruno’s grasp is going much better than Russ had imagined she’d be capable of.
“Oh fuck this!” He declares, taking the vaginal dildo remote from his pocket and opening up the kryptonite lens to 75%.
“Gaaaahhh!” The blonde champion screeches in agony. Every once of fight vaporizes out of the girl and she slumps in the chair, panting heavily with her legs askew, her head on her chest and her entire body quivering like a baby kitten. “….ooooohhhhhhhh…” she sighs, crippled and beaten as the steel handcuffs are closed around her wrists and the chair arm. Then her other wrist is shackled. She can barely rattle them at the moment with the kryptonite flooding through her.
Finally, Russ lowers the kryptonite lens back down to 40%. The heroine groans but the relief she feels shows.
“Gotta’ give you credit, bitch. You’re a gamer,” says Bruno as he backs up a step. “Russ, we need to cuff her ankles to the legs. I think. She could do some real damage if she kicks any of us.”
“Good thinking, guy,” says Derek. “I don’t have any other sets on me but there are plenty in the storage room off the main lobby.”
“I’ll have the concierge bring them,” says Russ. He goes over to the podium and picks up a walkie talkie from the shelf there and makes arrangements with Paco, the concierge, to bring two sets of cuffs.
“While we’re waiting, let’s play a game. Let’s decide which perverted sex acts we can get Supergirl here to perform,” Russ suggests. “The three of us have our own ideas but any of you women out there who want to see this comely little ingenue act like a depraved slut in one particular way, just call out.”
“…you people…monsters…” the blonde softly murmurs. Nobody onstage responds or cares what she says or thinks.
“Well, without a doubt,” Derek states categorically, “those hooters need loads of attention.”
“Breast play. A time-honored tradition, Why don’t we start with that to get our girl’s motor running? What else?”
“I’m not leaving here without fucking that prime super ass!”
“Heavy anal for the young man with the NFL expulsion. Done,” smiles Russ, who continues, “Naturally, I’m getting my blow job because, well, I’m Russ and you know that’s my thing.”
From the front row, the hand of a blonde with long flowing locks shoots up and she calls out, “Doggie style for the uppity bitch!”
Russ laughs loudly for almost a full 15 seconds, shaking his head and pointing to the Farah Fawcett lookalike. “Suzy McMichaels. I should have known you’d ask for that. You just seem to adore that frenzied impersonal cock drilling, don’t you?”
“You know it, Russ. And I’m guessing this newly-minted whore will too!”
“Okay, good suggestion,” Russ nods. “I’m sure all the cameras positioned around the auditorium will be able to catch some very unflattering expressions from this lovely lass from that particular position. Some of them, me thinks," he grins, "will be fucking indecent.”
Supergirl’s head rises up abruptly when hearing this, her face a mask of horror at the news.
Cameras! …course there are cameras…idiotic of me…to think they wouldn’t record this.
From offstage, Paco comes in with two sets of handcuffs. “Who gets these?”
“I’ll take those,” says Derek. He walks over to the slouched blonde in the chair, squats down to look under the lowered angry brow into the eyes of the young woman. “You’re not going to give me any trouble about this, are you, blondie?”
“…t..try…m..me…” Supergirl says darkly.
“Russ, please put this cunt’s vag dildo on 100% exposure,” Derek growls. “She still thinks she’s a threat to us. Twenty seconds at full radiation ought to convince her once and for all, she needs to behave or die.”
“I won’t do one hundred percent, Derek. Killing her helps no one! I’ll go up to 85 but that’s it!”
“No! No, don’t,” pleads Supergirl. “I’ll behave. I won’t kick you. Look, I’m wrapping my feet behind the chair legs. Put on the shackles… but please, please don’t hurt me anymore. No more vaginal radiation! Please!”
“Okay, champ, that’s much better. Just relax,” Derek advises as he clicks the handcuffs closed around the right ankle of Supergirl’s shiny red boots. A second click locks the cuff to the chair leg. He repeats the procedure with Supergirl’s left ankle as he smiles up at the morose face looking back at him. “Cheer up, sport. You’re actually going to enjoy yourself once that Whore kicks in.”
In fact, the elixir is working its way through Supergirl’s system and she’s beginning to feel its effects. The world seems too bright, the colors somehow wrong, overly saturated. Her thoughts also feel sluggish. It was hard to connect them and focus. Pinned in place, the Maid of Might is anything but mighty. She slumps in the chair in helpless resignation. These men held all the cards and she was the one who put herself in this position. Undercover? That was a bitter joke. They were onto her from the get-go. It takes everything Supergirl has not to let the tear fall from her liquid demoralized eyes.