Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Vanishing Virgins
by Roger Hastings
ISBN: 978-1-942331-37-7
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
For information contact:
Pink Flamingo Publications
www.pinkflamingo.com
P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083
USA
Chapter One
A Hunting We Will Go
London Times headline, June 1st, 1897: London Ladies Vanish; Foul Play Suspected.
“Tell me, James, what do you make of this?”
My colleague and roommate Edward Rand handed me his newspaper, the London Times, and tapped the headline with his long forefinger.
I scanned it, and glanced up in shock. “Why, Edward, what can this mean?”
He took his Times back and read aloud; “Scotland Yard’s Inspector Howard Marcel reports the disappearance of several young ladies of noble linage. No ransom has yet to be demanded. The girls’ names were not released by the police for publication.”
“No ransom?” I said. “I can’t understand why not. Surely their families are wealthy, as well as titled.”
“No, my dear James, this is darker and more sinister than a mere kidnapping. Look at the girls’ photographs. Surely it’s evident what purpose such young and beautiful females would be desired for—it is unmistakably obvious.”
“They are lovely girls indeed, Edward. So young and innocent-looking. Surely no one would wish to do them harm.”
Edward looked at me down the length of his smoldering pipe and gave me a condescending smile. “Professor James Corwin, surely all those years you spent teaching medicine at the university, while certainly brilliant, have left you woefully deficient in understanding the criminal mind.”
“That’s your specialty,” I replied. “You’re the private detective and everyone admits you are remarkably brilliant in your own field.”
“Perhaps not everyone will be as charitable as you are in judging me. I expect one of them will be calling on us this evening.”
“Inspector Marcel, you mean?”
“The same. I have this telegram from him,” he drew it from the pocket of his lounging robe and handed it to me.
Dear Mr. Rand:
May I have the benefit of your theories concerning the disappearance of several young ladies from London’s most illustrious families? I shall call around to your apartment at 25 Tallow Lane this evening at seven.
Inspector Marcel
Now concerning my companion, Edward Rand, who is perhaps the most noteworthy and clever private detective in Victorian London, mostly due to his many successful triumphs in solving several crimes of the most diabolical and cunning nature that criminal minds have devised. Yet in his person, here in our mutually-shared second-floor apartment, he appeared to be the most common and disorganized of men. Our furniture is festooned with scattered and sometimes crumpled newspapers, opened books, and Edward’s collection of photographs, all waiting each morning for our housekeeper to return them to their ordered place. The fireplace mantel is littered with pipes, tobacco tins—a few empty but not yet disposed of, cigarette papers and scraps of notepaper filled with Edward’s arcane, carelessly scrawled notes and innumerable items that defy description. I intend to write another book about my friend, and tried to read his notes, finally giving up in frustration.
“Sanskrit, my dear James,” he replied to my puzzled comment. “In my field of work, one must always guard against revealing my thoughts to any intruder who may burgle our home to learn my secrets.”
“You wouldn’t mind would you,” I asked, “If I make notes of this event, and write about our involvement in it?”
“Certainly not, James. It should be amusing for me to see what you make of all this. What will you call your book?”
“Oh, something like—um—The Adventure of the Vanishing Virgins.”
Edward laughed. “Really, James, you do have imagination after all. An excellent title, both lurid and sensational.”
“You’re mocking me, surely.”
“Not at all, James. You’ve seen my library. Scandalous stuff. My notes of my criminal cases fill several scrapbooks. I expect you will mine them for material for future books.”
I smiled and nodded. “If I may.”
Edward removed his pipe and jabbed its stem at me. “See that you stick to the facts, James. I don’t want my name dragged through pages of absurd fiction, just to make a better story.”
“I promise, Edward.”
There was a faint knock at our door and the willowy form of our young, widowed housekeeper, Mrs. Corliss Blanford, strode in with a large empty tray.
“I’ll just clear up the supper dishes, then.” As she deliberately bent over the table, facing us, her abundant breasts enthusiastically struggled to burst out of her low-cut maid’s costume. She stacked the plates, cups, and platters on the tray, shaking her head at Edward’s scatter of tableware and soiled napkins. “Good evening, gentlemen. If you’ll be wanting tea later, just ring.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Blanford,” Edward replied. “Perhaps you could serve tea for three at precisely five after seven this evening.”
“Yes, Mr. Rand.” With a physically yearning glance at Edward, her short, petite physique scurried out the door, cups, plates and silverware rattling on her tray.
Edward strode to the fireplace and tapped his pipe to empty the burnt odium he called tobacco into the flames. “There’s something sinister about this case, my dear James. Have you noticed that in the newspaper’s prattle?”
I picked up the crumpled first page, sat down and smoothed it out on my lap. “Hmmmm, it seems odd that the kidnappers chose only the most beautiful and young ladies from wealthy, titled families, and yet ask for no ransom.”
“I dare say, James, you have taken up the scent, but not caught the quarry yet. Anything more?”
“Well, Edward, if they were just after girls for the white slave traffic, why take only the most well guarded and sheltered of girls? Surely there are thousands of pretty girls wandering the streets and alleys. They would be so much easier and less risky to capture.”
“Indeed, James, you are closing in on the truth. What thoughts next, then?”
“Well, I can see only one other motive.”
“And that is?”
“I seem to recall, the fathers of all of the families of these girls were recently involved in the debate in Parliament concerning cleaning up the crime in London, especially closing the houses of prostitution and arresting their owners and procurers.”
“Your conclusion?”
“Revenge, Edward. They must be holding these girls hostage to extort an end to the crackdown on their licentious, but immensely popular business.”
“Bravo. Surely your reputation will soon eclipse mine.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I hardly think that I...”
“However, I must advise you that your conclusions, however reasonable, are far short of the mark. Think, James; beautiful virgin girls, wealthy families, no ransom. Surely these villains mean to keep the girls for their own immoral use and then to sell them into sexual slavery; probably transport them to some country on the continent where girls are kept captive in some remote villa for the lewd enjoyment of wealthy patrons of the pleasures of feminine flesh.”
“Edward! That’s appalling!”
“Exactly. So appalling in fact, that the queen herself has communicated with me.”
“Queen Victoria!”
“Yes. That is why inspector Marcel is visiting us tonight. The queen summoned him for an audience with her to discuss her deep concern for the girls’ fate. Some of their families are related to the royal family.”
“Edward! The royal family’s relatives in sexual slavery?”
“You can see, James, can’t you, that this case may be my most important one ever.”
“Indeed.”
“Yes, I may have the opportunity in this crime of snaring the most clever and deadly London criminal of all time.”
“Ah! The arch-enemy, Dr. Valentine?”
“The very same. This crime has all the aspects of his hand; audacity, insolence, cunning and a great deal of sexual gratification, which I know is his one overwhelming appetite.”
“Dr. Valentine! Would he risk his vast criminal empire just for a spot of revenge and a few pounds sterling of British money? He’s always been so circumspect in his nefarious enterprise.”
“So circumspect that until now, I had no hope of bringing him to justice. Now he has risked all for this monumental crime; abducting the loveliest daughters of Britain’s most prominent families, and forcing them to perform degrading sexual services.
I sat down in my chair next to the fireplace. “If it’s revenge, they will probably be held captive to be repeatedly tormented and sexually abused by the lowest scum of criminals and foreign foes of the British Empire.”
“Exactly, my dear James.” Edward fingered fresh tobacco into his pipe, bent toward the fireplace flames and lit a twisted stem of paper, using it to light his pipe. He straightened up, inhaled, and exhaled a stream of suffocating smoke. “And I shall have him. I shall have him in the courts again, and this time we shall see him hang for this appalling crime.”
He puffed a few more times and sauntered over to one of the windows facing Tallow Lane below. Pulling the drape aside, he gazed vacantly down at the commerce of tradesmen and carriages passing. “We both have often patronized the ladies of the evening, but never against their will.” He paused to puff on his pipe for a few minutes, then turned back to me. “Perhaps we must conceal our identity in disguise, James, and pretend to be eager to have sex with captive girls in order to locate them. As much as it may distress us to participate in Dr. Avernus Valentine’s activities, I cannot foresee any other opportunity of finding these suffering daughters and rescuing them.”
There was a knock at the door. Edward glanced at the mantel clock. “Ah, come in, Inspector Marcel.”
The door opened and the familiar short, slightly plump figure of Edward’s friend and often competitor in solving cases, strode in. He removed his Derby hat and coat, draping them on the coat rack by the door. “Rand,” He said, breathless from dashing up the stairs, “another young woman was abducted, less than an hour ago.”
“Another? Whom was it this time?”
“A young bride this time, Rand. Only minutes before she was to become the Lady Edith Leighton, bride to Lord Alfred Odell-Leighton.”
I leapt out of my chair. “How?”
Inspector Marcel turned his distraught face to me. “Captured, right at the wedding service. A gang of toughs stormed into the Bride’s dressing chamber, roughed up her bridesmaids, and made off with her, still in her wedding gown.”
Edward frowned. “They didn’t let her wear it much longer, I expect.”
“Gentlemen, this is horrible,” I said. “We must act at once.”
“Exactly, James.” Edward strode to the clothes rack and donned his evening jacket and black silk top hat. “We must examine the scene of the abduction, my friends, and see what we may learn. Any thread uncovered will aid us in tracking them.”
“My carriage is waiting at the curb,” Inspector Marcel said. “We must hurry, it will be dark soon.”
Edward tugged me toward the stairway door and flung it open. “Come, James, the chase awaits us.”
We grabbed our coats and hats against the late autumn chill and clattered down the stairs, Edward almost colliding with our housekeeper bringing up the tray of tea he had requested. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blanford,” he called back over his shoulder. “The quest has commenced.” He paused a second to tone down her temper. “My dear young woman, you look absolutely lovely this evening.”
She scowled at him and shrugged her shoulders as we shot out the front door and slammed it. “Edward, Edward,” she said with a weary sigh. “How many times must you exasperate me? One of these days—and soon, mark my words—I’ll show you and Professor Corwin what my audacious lady friends and I have constructed in my cellar, We’ll drag you both down there, and then I’ll have my revenge.”
Chapter Two
Undressing Rite
“Such a lovely wedding gown you’re wearing, my dear Miss Edith Odette. It would be a crime for you to let any harm happen to it.” Dr. Avernus Valentine, a PhD in human biology, reached out and lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Such a lovely girl you are—too lovely, in fact, to conceal your beauty with clothing.” He smiled and stepped back to his upholstered chair facing her. Sitting down with a joyous sigh, he leaned back and folded his hands together under his chin, grinning as he eyed the trembling form of the terrified young girl.
The tall kerosene lamps on the elegant tables and wall sconces shed a warm, inviting golden glow on her body, enhancing and emphasizing her bountiful breasts, waist-length auburn hair, and the luscious curves of her petite, virginal body. The windows facing the enclosed courtyard revealed a crescent moon winking lasciviously at her through drifting clouds embroidering a purpled velvet evening sky.
“You’re hideous,” Edith replied, her terrified blue eyes glancing at the two henchmen gripping her arms on each side of her. “How can a man of your exalted education and long-established social advantage treat me with such a depraved manner?” She lifted her chin. “I am the daughter of Lord and Lady Odette, and the promised bride to Lord Alfred Odell-Leighton. My father is a judge and will see to it that you all hang for your impudence and discourtesy to a lady!”
Dr. Valentine shifted his tall, lean frame in his chair. “You fail to understand your situation, my dear. It is precisely whose daughter you are that appeals to me. I went to great expense and risk to obtain your body for my personal advantage, and to share your intimate beauty with my well-paying clients. I am a man of business, the carnal pleasure business, and captive aristocratic girls like you are my stock in trade. My clients pay me handsomely in gold for the opportunity to enjoy the intimate sexual pleasures of an aristocratic girl’s naked body.”
The men holding her grinned, exchanging winks.
Edith shuddered. “Is that what you intend to do to me? Abominable!”
“I intend,” Dr. Valentine said with a quiet laugh, “that you should remove your now-useless wedding gown, and all the other clothing that you are wearing.”
“Never!” She spat out. “You repulsive, insufferable beast!”
“I’m sorry to see you so rebellious, my dear. Disobedience to me is rewarded with brutal pain in my underground lair. I have experts at obedience training waiting for you in the deep cellars below this very room. But first, we are all anxious to view the delightful feminine charms of your naked body.”
Edith’s jaw tightened. “I will never suffer the degradation of undressing in front of you.”
“Very well, then. We’ll remove your clothing for you—slowly, so we can savor your agonizing embarrassment.” Dr. Valentine nodded to his henchmen. They forced Edith’s arms up and locked her wrists in the cuffs attached to chains dangling from the ceiling. Then they removed her high-buttoned shoes and spread her white-stockinged legs wide and locked her ankles in cuffs chained to ringbolts in the floor. One of the men turned the crank on the post behind Edith, pulling up on her wrist chains, stretching her body tight. When they finished, they strode away, standing beside Dr. Valentine with their muscular arms folded, one on each side of his chair, grinning as they anticipated Edith’s initiation.
Dr. Valentine shook his head at Edith. “Since you stubbornly refuse to accommodate our desires by voluntarily removing all your clothing, my expert with scissors must do it for you.” He beckoned to the butler to open the parlor door. Two figures entered, and Edith shrieked in panic.
A pretty young girl, naked except for the leashed collar around her neck, crawled in on her hands and knees. Behind her was a bald and naked male, his physique squat and muscular, his beefy body only about four feet tall, every inch of him unmistakably masculine. His one hand held the girl’s leash and a long, wicked crop. His other hand held a shiny pair of silver scissors, working the blades open and shut. He, too, wore a wide black leather collar, but his had gleaming brass letters riveted to it. They spelled out two terse words, ‘Obey me!’ Lifting up and out from his crotch was a surprisingly long, ponderous cock, elevated and enhanced by a cunning harness that exaggerated its already terrifyingly impressive size and length. An array of gleaming, somewhat pyramid-shaped golden studs decorated the encircling leather strap just behind his cock’s head, their blunted tips diabolically intended to inflict punishing pain, but not injury, while stroking deep inside a defenseless pussy. His stiffened cock danced and waved about as his squat, bulky, almost primate-looking body waddled toward Edith. He herded the collared girl along with blows to her already welted ass from his black leather crop. It was even longer than he was tall, and he wielded it with gleeful precision. The girl crept around in front of Dr. Valentine, her head down, tears dripping from her soft brown eyes as she moved in between his legs. The little man put down his crop and handed the leash to Dr. Valentine. He paused next to him, waiting for orders.
“This is Borga; he trains my female pets,” Dr. Valentine said to Edith. “I thought that should be his name because he loves to bore into pretty girl’s orifices. I’m sure he will make it excruciatingly plain to you why I gave him that name.” He reached out and patted his shiny bald head. “This stubborn young girl refuses to remove her clothing for our amusement. Can you make an even more entertaining spectacle of her?”
His voice was the scrape of rough gravel underfoot. “Yes, Master Valentine. It will be a pleasure.” The scissors quivered impatiently in his grip.
“You may begin.” He nodded to Borga, then spread his legs wide and spoke to the brunette girl hovering between his thighs. “Begin.”
She fumbled with the buttons of his fly, spreading it open and reaching in with her petite fingers. She carefully pulled out Dr. Valentine’s already swelling cock and kissed it tenderly.
Borga marched up to Edith, gazing up at her face, grinning wickedly at the panic-stricken girl reduced to whimpering. He scooped up the bottom hem of her wedding gown and slid his stubby fingers under her frilly petticoat and glided his fingers slowly up the length of her leg, from her ankle to her knee. His giggle was a mixture of gulping snot and the snorting of a pig.
“NO! NO!” Edith screamed. “STOP!” Her arms and legs strained with the effort as she tried uselessly to twist away from the stubby, groping fingers.
Dr. Valentine spread his legs even wider, settled back in his large chair, and sighed with ecstasy at the sight of Edith struggling helplessly. He stroked his fingers through his kneeling captive girl’s long, silky blonde hair. She serviced him with her ruby lips as he enjoyed Edith’s sobbing cries and screams, and the sensual feel of his girl’s fingers caressing his cock and balls.
Borga reached up and petted Edith’s quivering belly, nuzzling his head against the inside of her thighs, sniffing and rubbing his nose against her crotch. He stepped back and lifted the hem of her gown again. His scissors nibbled into the cloth, snipping away a fragment about an inch square. Bit by bit, with unhurried technique, pausing occasionally to step back and admire his artistry, he snipped away at her wedding costume and frilly lace petticoat. As minutes melted together into an hour, tiny piece by tiny piece around the perimeter of her gown disappeared, exposing an ever rising view of Edith’s shapely legs in white silk stockings. Her frail, lacy fortress of modesty was gradually breached with delightful ease. In the first half-hour, one foot of her beset wedding gown and petticoat lay in pieces like erotic confetti on the polished marble floor under her scandalously widespread legs. At the end of the hour, her alluring knees came into view. Borga ducked under her shortened gown, reaching up to caress the crotch of her panties. She screamed and desperately thrashed against her chains, frantically trying to escape his touch. Borga giggled and moved out from under her, grinning and winking at his master and the two men. The butler standing at the door had unbuttoned his fly, also grinning as he fondled his throbbing cock.
“I’m sure by now, my dear,” Dr. Valentine said with a shake of his head and a shaming ‘tsk-tsk’, “that you can feel the cool draft of air on your disgracefully exposed legs. How could you degrade yourself by inviting my servant, Borga, to touch your most intimate and desirable treasure?”
B-b-but,” She stammered, “I didn’t! I couldn’t—I can’t stop him!” Her head tipped back as she wailed. “Oh, please, please! Someone help me!”
Dr. Valentine gestured at her wrist chains. “And you also must be quite uncomfortable hanging there so long with the chains stretching you out. It would have been so much more comfortable for you to remove your clothing yourself. But do not concern yourself, my dear. All my girls have refused to obey in the beginning. And I’m really not disappointed, you know.” His smile widened. “I’m actually enjoying your pain and humiliation. And I’m sure Borga is enjoying playing with your defenseless body even more than any of us watching your performance.”
He turned and flashed a grinning nod at Dr. Valentine.
Edith’s head hung down, her long, smoky-red hair sweeping to her waist, her blue eyes closed, and tears dripping from her cheeks. Her chest quaked with her sobs, shaking the twin beauties of her generously proportioned breasts.
Slowly, deliciously, bit by tiny bit, Edith’s creamy, curvaceous thighs were revealed. An hour and fifteen minutes into her ordeal, the jagged edge of what remained of her gown was half-way up from her knees to her waist. In the next ten minutes, Borga deprived Edith of a few more inches of her gown, and a pair of dainty, flounced pink-ribbon silk garters appeared, garnishing her magnificent thighs. He cut one garter off her leg and tied it around his swollen cock. The other one he pulled down over her feet and around the chain, then stripped Edith’s white stockings down to her ankles and cut them off her feet. His stumpy hands stroked up and down her shivering, naked legs while saliva drooled from his thick lips.
Edith’s face was crimson with humiliation, her eyes still closed, her lower lip quivering as she silently wept. She hung motionless in her chains, exhausted by her panicked struggles and weeping despair. A carpet of feminine silk and lace fragments lay under her, with an embarrassing wet yellow stain in the center.
When the bottom of Edith’s ravaged gown was only a few inches below her panties, Dr. Valentine lifted his hand. “That’s a delightful view of her legs, Borga. Now let’s have a go at her blouse. Such large and lovely breasts shouldn’t be hidden from our deserving eyes.”
“No, no, no,” Edith moaned, slowly shaking her head. She lifted her face and gazed at him with tear-reddened eyes through her half-opened eyelids. “Please, sir, leave me alone. Please take me back to my family, to the man I am promised to for my husband.”
“You really don’t need him, my dear. You now have me and my associates, plus an unlimited number of my clients. I assure you, my dear, your charming naked body will be incessantly attended to by a never-ending parade of male admirers.” Dr. Valentine pushed the girl’s head aside and pointed at his cum-dripping cock.
Edith gasped and turned her head away, biting her lip and shutting her eyes against the shock of her first sight of a man’s cock and balls.
“All men have the same appendage, Miss Odette. You can pretend that the anxious male hordes to visit you in the near future are your husbands. Every day shall be your wedding day, and every night you shall be continuously supplied with an endless number of brief honeymoons with your momentary husbands.”
Dr. Valentine beckoned to one of his henchman standing beside him, and pointed at the naked girl cowering between his legs. “Take her aside. I want my erection to be in full sight of our newest guest while Borga continues stripping her naked.” The man dragged the girl a few feet away where she cowered on the floor.
“Now,” he said to Borga, “show us what splendid treasures she’s hiding under all that troublesome clothing—but proceed slowly—very slowly. Let’s not spoil the fun for her by rushing our amusing little game of hide and seek.”
“Yes, Master Valentine. I know just how to make it most interesting for you.” He waddled over to a stepladder by the bookcases and dragged it back beside Edith, positioning it so he wouldn’t block Dr. Valentine’s view of her body. Scrambling up its steps, he reached out and snipped at the elastic lace cuff at her wrist. With a snap it parted, and Borga resumed his task of snipping away inch by square inch of her embroidered sleeve. Edith choked and gagged at the musky male cum-scent of the unwashed, bobbing cock so close to her dismayed face.
He worked slowly and deliberately, taking a full fifteen minutes to expose her dainty arm up to her elbow. She gagged again as he stroked his face across the bare skin of her forearm, pressing his lips against her with a drooling, sucking sound. When he finally cut away the entire sleeve, revealing her bare feminine shoulder to Dr. Valentine’s appreciative stare, he clambered down off the ladder and dragged it around to her other up-stretched arm.
The grandfather clock ticked away the time, the masculine persona of its gears and hammers chiming out each quarter-hour stage of Edith’s increasingly uncovered body with musical glee. There was a great whirring of gears and clanging of the hour when Edith’s other shoulder was exposed at last. The final hour of Edith’s modesty and untainted virtue had come at last. Captive, chained and defenseless, Edith’s bare arms and bare legs stretched out from her torso. Nothing remained of her pitifully ravaged gown but her deliciously low-cut bodice, and her scandalously abbreviated skirt. The clock’s loud ticking began its triumphant task of measuring out the ever-shrinking amount of fabric shielding Edith’s most precious, and soon to be deliciously revealed, intimate secrets of feminine beauty.
“Easy, Borga,” Dr. Valentine said. “Start with cutting away the fabric concealing her belly; then work upward, snipping away her bodice, going ever so slowly while approaching the very edge of her pink-nippled twin beauties before revealing them. Then go back to her skirt, shortening it with half-inch increments. And linger a bit from time to time. And when her gown is gone, let us have a moment to admire her lacy pink silk panties. Make her dance and whimper for us by stroking your hands over them, caressing her thighs and buttocks awhile before carefully removing her panties for my collection.” The men glanced up at the four walls of the room, smiling at the dozens of picture frames brazenly displaying Dr. Valentine’s collection of girl’s lacy panties. Displayed under the glass, below their crotches, was a delicate muff of shaved-off pussy hair. He grinned and laughed softly, “I look forward to adding yours to my collection, Miss Odette, but let’s not spoil the fun for you by rushing things.”
The two henchmen laughed and nudged each other.
“Yes, Master Valentine,” Borga said with a wide, toothy grin, “it will be my pleasure to obey.”
Edith’s head drooped forward, her long, glossy auburn tresses cascading down beside her trembling breasts, their curling ends flounced against the curves of her adorably swelling hips.
Borga grasped the fabric of Edith’s disappearing gown with his finger and thumb, pulling it out and snipping into it. Then he slipped one blade of his scissors under the cut fabric and sliced, a quarter inch at a time, a spiraling opening in the fabric. With excruciating slowness, Edith felt the bare skin of her belly exposed to the men’s leering eyes. When he had cut a ten-inch opening, Borga paused to grip her slim, still-clothed thighs and stretch up on his bare toes to lick into her belly button with the tip of his slimy tongue. He snorted his pig-grunting laughter around his extended tongue as Edith tucked in her belly and shrieked, throwing her head back, unable to escape the slimy, worm-like sensation aggressively poking and twisting into her unprotected navel. Borga’s oily saliva trickled down her quaking, naked belly, soaking into the remaining scrap of her gown and her pink panties. She was weeping hysterically now, desperately trying to blot out of her consciousness the horror being forced upon her.
“Now let us have the pleasure of watching her delightful mounds slowly emerge from hiding, Borga.” Dr. Valentine signaled the girl cowering on the floor. She rose up on her knees and began fondling his cock and balls with both hands. She quickly coaxed him into a rigid erection, and then carefully and gently caressed his cock with her crop-bruised breasts to keep it in full glory without the accident of a premature ejaculation.
Borga gleefully snipped away around the bottom of Edith’s ravaged bodice, revealing, bit by tiny bit, more and more soft, creamy naked skin of her trembling torso. Around her side, across her back, then along her other side, scrap by tiny cloth scrap fluttered to the floor like silky snowflakes as Edith’s frail guardian of modesty surrendered and deserted her defenseless body to the leering eyes of the men. Her ample breasts jiggled and jounced with her soft, heaving sobs. Inch by inch, those evil scissors snipped away bits of the retreating cloth guardian of modesty. Her face flushed crimson in humiliation; her heart ached with the certainty the precious purity of her sweetly guarded virginity was living out its final hour.
“Stop! Oh, ple-e-e-ase, stop!” Edith sobbed; her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut, the tears flooding down her cheeks.
The now-severed scraps of the remaining lower portion of her ruined wedding gown slid a few inches down her hips, exposing the erotic beauty of her sheer, almost-transparent, wedding-night panties. Edith was dangerously close to revealing the sweet, lacy-haired muffin-treasure snuggled in them. The ever-shrinking upper bit of her wedding dress, unquestionably losing its futile struggle to guard the modesty of her bountiful breasts, danced and twitched with her fitful, gasping breaths.
“Pause a bit with your scissors,” Dr. Valentine said to Borga. “Let’s spend a few minutes drinking in the amusing beauty of her desperate, but futile, struggle to defend her lovely femininity from our male observation. Give her time to imagine the dreadful methods we will use on her for our amusement and sexual gratification.” He patted the blonde head of the girl kneeling between his legs. “How I love to watch a terrified, defenseless girl being slowly stripped in front of lusty males. It would be a shame to rush the finale of this delightful entertainment.” He sighed. “How satisfying it is, taking my revenge on those troublesome titled aristocrats by kidnapping, humiliating and deflowering their daughters and brides. Then, when we become bored with fucking them, we sell them to illicit brothels hidden in the mountains on the continent.”
When Edith heard his words, her whole body shook with her sobs; her head still flung back, shaking it from side to side in desperate denial. “No, no! Oh please, pity me.” Tears coursed down the sides of her face. “Please, no more. Let me go home!”
Dr. Valentine’s voice was a soft, mocking sympathy. “You will go home, my dear.” He turned and grinned up at his henchmen standing beside his chair, then turned back to Edith. “Your home is a cage in my cellar. You’ll have many others of my female captives to keep you company, where I and my men will visit you often for the delightful pleasure of fucking your lovely captive body.”