“From superheroine to seafood — how the mighty have fallen!” exclaimed Moulton. He was in a cheerful mood.

“It’s not funny,” Bohner grumbled. “We almost lost a multi-million-dollar piece of meat. In fact, we still might.”

“Not to worry,” said Moulton. “It’s only money. Besides, I believe she’s going to be fine. Here comes Tasher. Let’s get it from the horse’s mouth.”

A serious-looking middle-aged man wearing rimless spectacles joined them on the veranda.

“How goes our famous patient?” asked Moulton.

Tasher waggled his hand in a gesture of ambivalence. “Not so bad, not so good. The application of moderate electric shock succeeded in removing the lampreys, though her nipples will be red and raw for several days. We also removed about a dozen leeches. The damage they did was superficial. As for the piranhas, they did quite a number on her leg. We sewed it up. She’ll have a scar, but it shouldn’t hurt the bidding. Hell, some men might find it attractive.”

“See,” said Moulton, turning to Bohner. “No problem.”

“Well, actually there is a problem,” said Tasher. “It’s the candiru.”

“What the hell is that?” said Bohner.

“A small fish, found in the Amazon, that swims up a larger animal’s urethra,” said Tasher. “Once lodged there, it cannot be extracted — except by surgery.”

“So she has this fish in her urinary tract?” said Bohner.

“No. The candiru in Mr. Moulton’s aquarium is a rare variety of Vandellia cirrhosa. It’s too large to fit up the urethra, so it seeks out other bodily orifices — the anus or, in the case of a large female mammal such as Ms. A, the vagina.”

“My God,” said Moulton. “So which has it gone after in this case? Does she have a perch in her pussy or an eel in her anus.”

“Both, until about an hour ago,” said Tasher. “We got them all before they had advanced very far. Luckily, these little bastards don’t have the backward-swept spines found on the more common variety of candiru, so surgery wasn’t necessary. But they do have a voracious appetite for blood. In fact, Ms. A had already done a lot of bleeding. But we’ve given her a transfusion, and she’s on antibiotics. My guess is that she’ll be fully recovered in two or three weeks.”

“Damn,” said Bohner. “That puts us behind schedule.”

“Sorry, but you can’t very well put her through the kind of rough stuff you have in mind when she’s in the condition she’s in now. Whatever her crime-fighting exploits in the past, she’s not superhuman anymore.”

A shapely, dark-haired housemaid in a skimpy black and white uniform came out on the veranda with a tray of drinks. When she came to Moulton, she leaned forward, whispered to him and handed him an envelope. He read it and smiled.

“Thank you, Marietta,” he said. As she turned away, he gave her a friendly pat on the behind.

“News?” asked Bohner.

“Yes,” said Moulton. “Stepford called a few minutes ago. It seems Ms. A’s little friend Flag Girl is on her way here. She confided to Stepford that someone told her Ms. A had been abducted, and she’s decided to rescue her.”

“Another problem,” Bohner said, frowning.

“No, it’s more of an opportunity. If Ms. A is worth, say, twenty million on the sex-slave market, this little strumpet should be worth at least four or five. In fact, we could sell them as a set. I believe they’d fetch more that way than sold separately.”

He removed a cell phone from the breast pocket of his Armani sport jacket.

“Oliver,” he said, “we’re going to have a visitor shortly, an attractive young blonde with big boobs and a skimpy costume. I want you to follow her movements carefully, but no dogs and no rough stuff. When she gets close to the house, have someone with smooth manners meet her — I think Ludwig would do fine.”

He put away the cell phone and smiled at Bohner and Tasher. “Ms. A is the big prize, of course, but I’ve long wanted an opportunity to abuse this lovely little twit. As they say, good things come to those who wait.”

# # #

Security cameras picked up Flag Girl the moment she jumped down from the eight-foot fence that surrounded Moulton’s estate. Half a dozen armed guards in camouflage followed her through the woods. Four more guards, in black slacks and white golf shirts, made themselves as conspicuous as possible, at strategic spots. The effect was just what Taggart, head of security, wanted. Flag Girl tried to avoid the guards she saw, and this brought her to the Garden of Earthly Delights.

She stopped, awestruck.

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?” said a man’s voice behind her.

She spun around and assumed a martial arts position.

“Sorry,” said the man. He wore black slacks and a white golf shirt. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He spoke with a German accent.

“Don’t get any closer,” said Flag Girl.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. I’ve been sent by Mr. Moulton to invite you to join him and several other guests for drinks on the veranda.”

“You knew I was here?” Flag Girl said, a note of disappointment in her voice.

“Yes,” said the young man. “We have an excellent security system. We spotted you right away. If you don’t mind my saying so, after one look, I was very eager to meet you.”

Flag Girl for the first time noticed that the young man was very handsome. And he seemed nice enough. Still . . . .

“Don’t try to take advantage of me,” Flag Girl warned.

“I wouldn’t think of it. Now, if you’ll just follow me.”

# # #

“Ah, you must be Flag Girl,” said Moulton, hurrying up to her and bowing to kiss her hand.

“How’d you know?” she asked.

Moulton looked up at her. She didn’t seem to be kidding.

“Well, my dear,” he said, “it must have had something to do with your costume.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, blushing slightly. “I forgot about that.”

“Well, please join us in a drink. What will you have?”

“I don’t drink alcohol,” he said sternly. “And I don’t smoke. I don’t do anything unhealthy or immoral.”

“Yes, yes, very admirable,” said Moulton.

“What is he drinking?” she asked, pointing to Bohner.

“Gin and tonic,” said Bohner.

“Does that have alcohol?” she asked.

Moulton looked at her with what he hoped was a bland and benign expression — and wondered how he could put her monumental stupidity to good use.

“Yes, it does, my dear. But I know just the thing for you. It’s flavorful and full of anti-oxidants.” He waved to a waiter who had joined Marietta on the veranda. “André , would you get the young lady a Kir, and ask Tommy to fortify it with a splash of Absolut.”

He turned his attention back to Flag Girl. “Now, we’re all very eager to hear why you came here, and why you climbed over the fence instead of ringing at the front gate.”

“Well,” said Flag Girl, “I came looking for Bren . . . I mean Ms. Americana. Someone told me she had been kidnapped and taken here.”

“Ah,” said Moulton. “So you climbed the fence so you wouldn’t alert the — what shall we call them? The ‘bad guys’?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Flag Girl. The waiter returned and handed her a drink. “Gosh, it’s so pretty,” she said, holding the glass up to the setting sun.

“Yes, and it tastes even better than it looks,” said Moulton. “But you must have thought we were the bad guys. Am I not right?”

She sipped her drink, smiled, then drank the rest in two gulps. “That’s really delish,” she said.

“And good for you. André, bring the young lady another, please. Now, back to how you came here.”

Flag Girl looked around nervously. “Well, I was told Brenda . . . I mean, Ms. Americana . . . .”

“It’s okay,” interrupted Bohner. “We all know that Ms. Americana is really Brenda Wade.”

“You do!” Flag Girl looked stunned.

“Yes, of course,” said Bohner. “We’re her friends. Brenda and I go way back. And she wasn’t kidnapped. She came here because she needed to get away from the stress of the city.”

“I know,” Flag Girl said sadly. “Terrible things happened to her when she was captured by the Magyar. I feel bad that I was out of town. I should’ve been with her.”

“Ah, well, these things can’t be helped,” said Moulton. “Where exactly were you?”

“I was on vacation in Omaha.”

“Oh,” said Bohner, “you have family in Nebraska.”

“No. Commissioner Stepford recommended it. He said they have great beaches.” She frowned. “But when I got there, nobody seemed to know where the beaches were. Not a very friendly town. That’s why I only stayed ten days.”

Moulton and Bohner glanced at one another, then Bohner began coughing violently. Tasher slapped him on the back. “You okay?” he asked. Then he began coughing too.

Flag Girl looked at Moulton. “Gosh, that’s strange,” she said. “Both of them coughing like that — must be something going around.”

At this, Bohner actually fell to his knees, and his coughing sounded very much like laughter.

Moulton took her arm and guided her toward a table filled with hors d’oeuvres. “Try the brie, my dear. It is exquisite.”

After several more glasses of Kir, it was Flag Girl’s turn to succumb to uncontrollable laughter. Everything that anyone said seemed terribly funny.

Everything was starting to look funny, too. She tried to focus on Moulton, but the elderly gentleman insisted on blurring and become two overlapping elderly gentlemen.

Then she stopped laughing and said, “I don’t feel so good.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” said one of the Moultons. “Let me help you into the house, and you can lie down for a while.”

The last thing she remembered, before the room started whirling around her, was lying on a couch in a room with soft lighting. Mr. Moulton was removing the top of her costume. Then he cried, “So beautiful, so luscious, so large for such a small girl!”

She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or offended. Everything went dark before she could resolve the question.

# # #

The sky looked threatening, so breakfast the next morning was indoors, in what Moulton called the Boulangerie. It was comfortable room with tile floors and half a dozen tables Moulton had bought from a Parisian café. Against one wall was an old-fashioned glass case with shelves. And on the shelves was a wide assortment of baked goods.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Moulton said, as Bohner and Tasher joined him. “I hope you slept well.”

“Very well,” said Bohner.

“And how’s the patient?”

“Still recovering nicely,” said Tasher. “I’ve cut the sedative levels. I think she can handle the pain. And speaking of sedation, how is our new guest?”

“Our little Flag Girl?” said Moulton with a wide grin. “I imagine she’s not feeling much better than her mentor this morning. She was quite drunk last night, and I’m afraid we took unfair advantage of her.”

“Do tell,” said Bohner.

“I really shouldn’t,” said Bohner. “A true gentleman wouldn’t. But since you asked, it was a most enjoyable evening. Her boobies are quite wonderful. I pressed them together and fucked them like a man of 60. Ludwig was next. He screwed her in the ass. Then the others.”

“How many?” asked Tasher.

“Enough so that she’ll be quite sore this morning. Not quite as bad as having a pickerel in your privates, like poor Ms. A, but bad enough.” Marietta entered, and Moulton said, “Café au lait for me, my dear, and one of those almond croissants that Henri does so nicely. Gentlemen, how about you?”

“Coffee. Black,” said Bohner.

“Orange juice and toast,” said Tasher.

“She’s a nice little tart,” said Bohner, as Marietta left the room.

“Indeed she is,” said Moulton. “Every bit as delectable as the food she serves. Oral sex is her specialty.”

“Well, what’s on the agenda today?” asked Tasher.

“Ms. A is still too weak for sexual assault,” said Bohner, “but I think a bit of psychological subversion is in order.”

“What do you mean?” asked Moulton.

“I mean we can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I suggest we give Flag Girl a workout with the wand, and force Ms. A to watch.”

“Excellent,” said Moulton.

“I have no problem with that,” said Tasher, “but Nurse Betty might. She seems to have become quite fond of Ms. A.”

“Betty will do what I tell her,” Bohner snapped.

# # #

Bohner was right. Betty grumbled but did as she was told. She helped get a still very groggy MA into a wheelchair and pushed her to the big recreation room.

Flag Girl was already there, tied to steel rings in the wall, her arms and legs spread. She was fully clothed again, if wearing such a skimpy outfit could be called being fully clothed. Bohner had decided that slowly stripping her would add to the drama.

They positioned MA a few feet to the left of Flag Girl. At first, she gave no indication that she recognized her young proté gé . But Flag Girl recognized her.

“Oh, Brenda, what have they done to you?” she cried. “You look terrible.”

MA shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. She did her best to focus on the scene before her, but everything was blurry. The voice was definitely Flag Girl’s, but she couldn’t see her.

She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a hoarse whisper.

“Don’t try to speak, Ms. A,” said Bohner. “Save all your energy for watching and listening.”

She watched, and the blurry image began to clarify. It was, indeed, Flag Girl, and she was tied and helpless. Oh, great, thought MA, now they have both of us.

Moulton would do the honors today. He stood directly in front of Flag Girl and ripped off her mask.

“Oh, no,” cried the blonde semi-superheroine. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re quite right, dear,” said Moulton. “And neither is this.”

He slowly pulled away her blue, star-spangled top.

“Was I exaggerating, gentlemen?” said Moulton, nodding toward her tits.

“Very nice,” said Bohner. Tasher allowed himself a small, tight grin.

Moulton slipped his hand into the waist-band of her short red and white skirt and pushed it down to her crotch.

“Oh, that really is unfair,” she sobbed. “I can’t believe you’d be so mean.”

“Obviously, you don’t remember last night’s fun,” said the old man. He began massaging her clitoris. Despite her cries of protest, she began getting wet.

“Betty,” Moulton said, “help me with this.” Betty unzipped and removed Flag Girl’s skirt, then ripped off her panties. The little blonde was now naked, except for her red boots and a blue choker around her neck.

“Bohner, the wand.”

Bohner handed him the wand. “Remember,” he said, “start at level two and don’t go higher than six.”

“Very well,” Moulton said impatiently. He examined the base of the wand, adjusted the power level, then pushed it suddenly under Flag Girl’s right breast.

“Oh!” she cried. “Oh, my, oh!”

He slid the silver sphere around her aureole several times, then pressed it directly against the nipple. Flag Girl began to writhe in her bonds. She sobbed and moaned and bit her lower lip.

“By Jove, I think she likes it,” said Moulton.

He continued to apply the wand to her breasts, producing three orgasms in less than two minutes. Exhausted, she hung limp from the rings.

“A randy little vixen. Let’s see if her pussy is as erogenous as her tits.”

“No,” cried MA. “Leave her alone. For the sake of the Goddess, release her.”

“Why should we, Ms. A?” said Moulton. “Surely you can see that she is enjoying this even more than we are.”

“Do what you want to me,” MA begged. “Just let her go.”

“Oh, but we will do what we want to you — and to her. You are both completely helpless, defenseless. What could be more erotic than two beautiful women — two proud and beautiful women — unable to prevent their abuse at the hands of an old reprobate like me?” Moulton loosened his belt and dropped his trousers. His dick wasn’t as firm as it once would have been, but it was hard enough to do the job.

Flag Girl, who had slid into semi-consciousness, awoke with a start.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Ow, that hurts.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are a little tender down there, my dear,” said Moulton, breathing heavily. “But it will feel better shortly.”

He gave one last push and came with a loud groan.

“Are you okay, Mr. M?” asked Bohner.

Moulton rested against Flag Girl for a while, then withdrew his prick and pulled up his pants. Bohner helped him to a chair.

“I’d love to continue with the wand, Bohner, but I’m afraid I’ve overexerted myself this morning. I’ll just rest and watch you work it.”

“Can I?” Betty asked.

Bohner looked at Moulton and Tasher, neither of whom objected.

“Go ahead,” he said, handing her the wand.

She tested it with her finger, then stroked it lightly across her forearm.

“You’re supposed to be doing Flag Twit, not yourself,” said Bohner.

“Yeah, but I gotta get a sense of how this works,” said Betty. “I want to be able to use it as effectively as possible.” She slipped the silver sphere under her blouse and pressed it against her breast.

“Oh, wow, this really is great! And it’s only on Level 2.”

She pulled it out and turned up the power level. She grabbed Flag Girl by the throat with her left hand, and pressed the wand into her belly.

“Here comes the Sugarland Express,” she whispered, sliding the wand down to her captive’s crotch.

“Oh my god,” cried Flag Girl. “Oh my god!”

“Hell, it isn’t even inside you yet,” Betty said. She slid the sphere back and forth, caressing Flag Girl’s vulva. Then she bent slightly, positioning the wand for an upward thrust, and said, “Night-night time.”

She crammed it into Flag Girl’s pussy with all her might. The little blonde rose with the pressure, trying to evade the overwhelming surge of sensations. She wiggled on the wand like a fish on a spear.

Betty worked the wand around inside her, then pulled it out as suddenly as she had inserted it. Flag Girl’s body went limp.

“We’ll keep doing this until you beg for it, slut,” she whispered in Flag Girl’s ear. “And the more we focus on you, the less our mutual friend, Brenda, will have to go through.”

Betty’s strategy for protecting MA seemed to be working. Flag Girl was raped with the wand several times a day. She came to expect it, to look forward to it eagerly. Her pussy would lubricate at the mere sight of the wand.

“Pavlov would’ve loved this little bitch,” said Bohner.

At night, Ludwig and his fellow security guards raped her the old-fashioned way, with Moulton looking on appreciatively.

But Bohner hadn’t lost sight of the main goal. After a week of abusing Flag Girl, he announced that MA was fit enough to join in the fun — as a victim. Moulton was bubbling over with excitement.

“I think it’s time I activated my Garden of Earthly Delights,” he said. “It will be great fun with these two lovely young ladies running about naked.”

Bohner was reluctant to cross his host, but he had heard about Moulton’s “Paradise parties.” They usually ended up with someone dead — more often than not, a good-looking young woman.

“Isn’t that kind of dangerous, Mr. M?” he said.

“Oh, we’ll be very careful. Like the Magyar’s magic wand, the Garden has what you might call power settings — degrees of danger. We want enough danger to make the whole affair interesting, but we can control how much. These parties don’t have to involve fatalities. In any event, we’ll send Flag Girl in all by herself first.”

“Whatever you say,” Bohner mumbled. He was not reassured.

# # #

MA and Flag Girl weren’t allowed to spend much time together without someone watching and listening. Bohner didn’t want to take any chances on them cooking up an escape plan. And Betty, who had taken an instant dislike to Flag Girl, was jealous of the dumb blonde. She couldn’t figure out what MA could possibly see in her.

So when Moulton announced that Flag Girl would be first to go through the Garden, Betty was delighted. She had no idea what dangers lurked there, but she hoped that she would soon see the last of her.

It was midmorning on a cool, cloudy day. The colors of the strange structures in the Garden were even more vivid than in bright sunlight.

Moulton, Bohner and Tasher sat on a wooden viewing platform. Betty was on the ground, escorting Flag Girl, who wore only a stainless steel collar. Betty had given the little blonde a rough time earlier in the morning, and it showed. One of her eyes was swollen nearly shut, and her lips were puffed up. Her demeanor showed it, too. She was clearly afraid of Betty, who held her left arm in a tight grip and was guiding her to a gate in the steel fence that surrounded the Garden.

“Okay, Slag Heap, here’s where we part company,” Betty said in a low voice. She spun Flag Girl around so they faced one another, then planted a foot in her midsection and kicked her through the entrance. Flag Girl landed on her back, and Betty swung the gate shut with a loud clang.

Flag Girl lay there for nearly a minute, dazed and frightened. Then she rose painfully to her feet and staggered into the Garden. In the middle was a lake. She skirted it and passed a large pink structure that somehow looked both manmade and botanical. A hairy green shoot that had been vertical now bent toward her.

“What the hell is that?” Bohner asked.

“Ingenious, isn’t it?” said Moulton. “Absolutely lifelike.”

“How does it sense her? Can it see?”

“No,” said Moulton. “But it can pick up radio waves, and a transmitter is embedded in the collar our sweet little ignoramus is wearing.”

Flag Girl saw the tendril just as it reached her. She screamed and jumped backward, but she was too late. It wrapped itself around her waist and lifted her high off the ground. In seconds she was 30 feet in the air, kicking and struggling.

“Now, watch this,” Moulton said with a chortle.

“How could I not?” Bohner said breathlessly.

The green tendril coiled itself around her several more times, drawing her toward the main structure, which was shaped like an oversized gourd. Attached to it was a tower that resembled a tulip blossom. The tendril plunged Flag Girl into it.

Bohner jumped to his feet.

“What’s going to happen to her? For God’s sake, she’s too valuable to kill.”

“Calm down,” said Moulton. “It isn’t going to kill her. Turn around and look at the TV monitor. There’s a camera up there, and it shows what’s happening to our little heroine.”

What it showed was Flag Girl, still in the embrace of the green tendril, being submerged in a pink gel. She disappeared below the surface, was pulled out, then was submerged again. Each time, she came out glistening with whatever the substance was — and with a look on her face that could only be described as ecstatic.

“The best man in the chemical division of Moulton Enterprises came up with this stuff,” said Moulton. “It’s filled with natural pheromones and hormones. In effect, she’s being bathed in sex. When she comes out, she’ll want to fuck anything on two legs — or four, or even more. And if you get close to her, you’ll have an irresistible desire to accommodate her. Now, back to the live show.”

They turned back just in time to see Flag Girl pulled from the opening in the gourd and deposited by the tendril on the ground. She rolled around on the grass, caressing her breasts, her belly and her crotch.

Suddenly, several furry animals about the size of groundhogs appeared and began rubbing themselves against her. They had long, tapered snouts like anteaters, and from these snouts, long blue tongues emerged and began licking her.

“Did your chemist come up with them, too?” Bohner asked.

“No, a molecular biologist from Italy produced those for me. I haven’t the foggiest idea how — some nonsense about DNA splicing.”

Flag Girl lay spread-eagle, allowing the animals to rub and lick all of her most sensitive areas. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. One of the creatures climbed onto her face and began humping her mouth.

“They have surprisingly big dicks for such little creatures,” said Moulton.

“Gives new meaning to Groundhog Day,” replied Bohner.

As if in response to some signal inaudible to humans, the animals suddenly stood on their hind legs, then scampered away.

Moulton looked up at the sky. “That’s what scared them,” he said.

A pair of vultures circled lazily, not very far above them.

“I’ve never seen buzzards this close,” Bohner said.

“Nasty beasts,” said Tasher. “Don’t like them at all.”

“Oh, they serve a purpose,” said Moulton. “But this is not the time or place for them. Call down to Betty to get into the Garden fast and get our little bimbo out of there. Most buzzards wait til a meal is safely dead, but these have grown accustomed to live but helpless prey.”

One of the birds landed a few feet from Flag Girl. Betty was still over 50 yards away. And she wasn’t hurrying as fast as she could have. The idea of a buzzard taking a piece out of the little bitch appealed to her.

But whatever its original intentions, the buzzard now wasn’t interested in devouring Flag Girl. The pheromone gel she had nearly drowned in quickly overpowered the ugly black bird. It jumped on her belly and began a weird dance. Finally, it toppled off her and landed beside her, on its back. Between its legs, it sported a tumid white hard-on.

Before Betty reached Flag Girl and the sex-drugged buzzard, Ludwig, who was close behind her, yelled out a warning.

“Stay away until we hose her down. If you get too close . . . .”

But Betty was already too close. Suddenly, she had an irresistible desire to make love to the supine blonde. She kicked the vulture aside, knelt between Flag Girl’s legs and began licking her pussy. The little blonde moaned and writhed. This excited Betty even more. Soon, the two women were locked in a 69 embrace, giving each other as much pleasure as their tongues could generate.

It took two hours and several showers before Betty and Flag Girl recovered from the pheromones. Ludwig himself got too close to them before the hoses arrived and had to be restrained by four other guards from joining in the sex party. The buzzard, left to his own devices, hopped around the Garden looking for something, anything, to fuck. He had to settle for a mallard that had strayed too far from the lake.

“I’m not sure we need to use the wand anymore,” Bohner said. “This pheromone concoction appears to be just what we need to turn Ms. A into a groveling slut, begging to be fucked.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Moulton. “It’s dangerously indiscriminate. Rub it on her, and she becomes a hazard to anyone near her. What’s more, the effects are temporary. Once the gel is washed away, the person, or animal, smeared with it returns to normal. The wand, on the other hand, appears to do long-lasting damage to a young lady’s sexual scruples.”

“Well,” said Bohner, “I don’t mind applying the wand. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy it. But I would like a jar of that gel to bring back to Delta-City — for scientific purposes.”

“Yes, of course. Mustn’t stand in the way of science. I’ll arrange for you to have a gallon jug when you leave. But be very, very careful. Drop it in the city, and you could provoke a rape riot. Ho, ho, ho.”

# # #

It made no sense and was terribly unfair, but Betty blamed Flag Girl for what happened in the Garden. Betty’s loss of control and moments of sexual abandon became another strike against the blonde bimbo.

At every opportunity, when no one was looking, she would punch the poor girl in the belly, or trip her, or slam her face into a wall. The injuries became so noticeable that Bohner at one point asked Flag Girl if they were self-inflicted. Flag Girl shook her head no but declined to blame Betty. She was afraid of what would happen if word got back to her tormentor. She didn’t trust Bohner to protect her.

For once, she had the situation figured out right. Bohner felt he had an investment in Flag Girl, and he didn’t want that investment endangered. But he had an old and close relationship with Betty, and he would have been reluctant to confront her had Flag Girl complained.

So the bullying continued. It reached a crescendo one afternoon when MA was dragged to the recreation room for a resumption of abuse by the wand. Flag Girl was in the room, tied to a chair and forced to watch while Bohner and Betty took turns driving MA to the edge of mental and physical destruction. Betty had just thrust the silver sphere into MA’s vulva for the fourth time when Flag Girl cried out, “Leave her alone, you dyke bully! You and Dr. Bonehead and old Mr. Limp Dick are nothing but a bunch of perverts and cowards.”

Betty left the wand stuck in MA’s pussy, turned to Bohner and said, “You take over. I’m going to teach Flag Fuck a lesson.”

“Not too rough,” Bohner warned. “Remember, she’s going to help make us rich.”

“Sure, sure,” said Betty. “I’ll be real careful.”

She untied Flag Girl but threw a loop of rope around her neck.

“Come on, baby, we’re going for a walk,” she said through clenched teeth.

They went outside, and Betty, through yanks of the rope and bodily shoves, forced her into the Garden.

“Let’s have a bit of privacy, slut,” she said, dragging Flag Girl behind a large, glassy blue sphere.

“What are you going to do to me?” Flag Girl asked, her voice quavering.

“First, this,” said Betty, with a savage punch to the bimbo’s left breast.

“Ow!”

“Then this,” said Betty, slamming a fist into her right tit.

Flag Girl dropped to her knees in pain.

“And don’t forget this!” Betty grabbed the back of Flag Girl’s head and drove her knee into the girl’s throat. The little heroine wannabe fell over on her side, gagging.

Betty finished up with several kicks to Flag Girl’s guts.

Betty leaned down and put her mouth close to Flag Girl’s ear. “I don’t think you’ll be calling me names anymore, will you? In fact, with a broken windpipe, you’ll be lucky just to keep breathing,” she said. But Flag Girl clearly heard not a word. Betty straightened up. “You’d better not die on me, bitch,” she said. She looked up at the sky. “But if you do, I hope those buzzards get you before anyone finds you.”

She walked around the blue sphere and made sure no one had seen her. Bohner would be pissed, of course, but she could handle him. Moulton was so fucking rich, he wouldn’t mind losing out on a chance for another million or so. No, nobody was going to really care all that much if Flag Girl was beaten to death and devoured by scavengers — except Ms. A. That thought hit Betty like an arrow through her heart. One more reason to hate this damned dumb bunny.

# # #

“What have you done with Lydia?” MA asked when Betty came to her room to fetch her for dinner.

“Lydia?” Betty looked puzzled. “Oh, you mean Slag Girl. Wow, that’s great — Lydia. With just a little adjustment, it becomes Lydiot, as in ‘Lydiot, the Idiot.’”

“What did you do to her?” MA’s voice was low but firm.

“What the hell difference does it make what I did to her?” Betty said angrily. “She doesn’t have the IQ of a cucumber. Are you queer on her, is that it?”

MA, who had been sitting on a window ledge, got up and advanced toward Betty with fire in her eyes.

Betty crouched and prepared to defend herself.

“Don’t be a fool, Brenda. You know you’ll get your ass kicked.”

But MA wasn’t intimidated. She threw herself at Betty, and the two women were instantly on the floor, wrestling.

Betty’s advantages in weight and strength were more than enough to counter MA’s grit and determination.

Betty sat on MA’s chest, grabbed her ears and slammed her head against the floor again and again, until the former superheroine lost consciousness.

“Shit,” Betty said. “Shit, shit, shit. Everything I do turns to shit.”

She picked up MA and dumped her on the bed. She wanted to make love to her while she was knocked out. But she also wanted to kill her, to ruin her beauty, to do whatever it took to stop loving her.

She no longer cared about what Bohner and Moulton and the rest of them thought — or what they’d do to her if she destroyed their multi-million-dollar investment. She certainly didn’t care about her share of the promised loot.

She grabbed a pillow and pressed it over MA’s face. She leaned on the pillow, putting all her weight on it.

The door opened, and Bohner stuck his head in.

“Jesus Christ!” he yelled.

He lunged and knocked Betty off the bed, then his momentum carried him forward and he landed on top of her. They battled on the floor, while in the bed, MA lay very still, her face purple and her eyes rolled back.

# # #

The strategy session was in Moulton’s study, a comfortable, book-lined room with a well-stocked wet bar and lewd paintings and engravings by 18^th Century French and English artists.

“So she’ll make a full recovery?” said Moulton.

“Yes,” said Bohner. “I was worried about brain damage, but we did some tests and it appears there was no permanent harm.”

Moulton grunted. “Well, of course, it’s not really her brains that bidders will be most interested in, but you don’t spend twenty or thirty or forty million on just tits and ass. The prize here is her humiliation. She has to have enough brainpower to appreciate how far she has fallen. That’s what they’ll pay for.”

“Yes, of course,” said Bohner. “Now, about Flag Girl. Betty wouldn’t tell us what she did to her. Even after a pretty big dose of sodium pentathol, all she’d say is that she beat her up and dumped her somewhere in the Garden. But your security force has combed the Garden and found no trace of her.”

“Most unfortunate,” muttered Moulton. “I was just feeling recharged enough to have another go at her. Disappeared, eh? Well, I doubt she got off the estate. Not after taking a beating from Betty.”

“I agree. I think she’s on premises somewhere. But you have over 300 acres, and it’s dark. I guess we’ll just have to suspend the search until morning.”

“What about the aquarium?” asked Tasher. “Ms. A ended up there. Maybe Flag Girl is in one of the tanks.”

Moulton shuddered. “Now there’s a thought,” he said.

He picked up a phone and punched in two digits. “Oliver? I want you to send Ludwig or Stan to check the fish tanks — both of them.” He paused. “Yes, I agree. There might not be much left if she‘s in there, but get someone down there right away.”

He hung up and glared at Bohner. “It’s so goddam hard to get good help. As you should know. Betty was yours, wasn’t she?”

Bohner nodded. “I hired her. I trusted her. And I’m profoundly sorry I did.”

“Where is she now?”

“Locked up in a room in the basement. I asked Taggart to put her there.”

“Fine, fine,” said Moulton. “We’ll figure out how to dispose of her tomorrow. My own inclination is to chop her up and feed her to the sharks, but the professionals who run the aquarium might not approve.”

“Yes, well that’s outside my area of expertise,” said Bohner. “I’m less worried about how to get rid of Betty than in finding Flag Girl. If she gets out and somehow gets to the press, the results could be pretty embarrassing.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Moulton. “The Delta-City Democrat is owned by my brother-in-law. WUSS-TV is owned by my nephew. The radio stations have more independence, but their routine sensationalism undermines their credibility. Besides, I’m sure the little strumpet hasn’t escaped.”

# # #

Moulton was right. Flag Girl had not escaped.

Minutes after Betty had left her, she felt herself being lifted off the ground. She didn’t know who or what was carrying her. She didn’t care. For the moment, just breathing required all of her concentration. Then, even that became too difficult, and she descended into blackness.

When she regained consciousness, the first thing she became aware of was that the pain in her throat had subsided to a dull ache and she no longer had to struggle to breathe. She opened her eyes. She was in a small, circular room. The only light came from an oval window, in front of which stood a naked man, his back toward her.

She tried to move and realized that she was lying on something soft, moist — and alive! She rolled off of it, onto the floor. The mattress or futon or whatever it was she had been lying on was grayish pink. It looked like a huge tongue.

She shuddered. A slight noise behind her caused her to turn. The man at the window now faced her.

She screamed. He had the head of a bird — a bird with a large, down-curved beak, like a parrot’s.

She tried to get to her feet and fell backward onto the tongue. This made her scream again. She jumped off, looking for a way out. There was an oval doorway in the pink wall, but the door was shut and there was no handle.

She felt something and jumped back. The man had reached out and touched her. He was making strange, small, squeaky noises and had a concerned look on his face — if a bird’s face the size of a man’s could be said to look concerned.

He backed away, as if to reassure her he was no threat. The room was small, and staying away from both him and the big tongue meant pressing her back against the wall, next to the doorway.

After a few minutes, the birdman turned from her and resumed looking out the window. Occasionally, he made a little chirping sound, and she could hear a similar response from outside.

She felt cold and hugged herself as she leaned against the wall. She was beginning to fall asleep. Or maybe she was already asleep, and this was all a dream.

If it was a dream, it was a very vivid one, because just as she was dozing off, the door opened and bumped into her elbow.

She jumped backward, and a fish looked in. Actually, it was a human body with a fish’s head. Flag Girl noticed that the body was that of a woman, but that observation was swept aside as she tripped and landed back on the tongue.

It was all too much. Flag Girl curled up in a tight ball and began to cry. She had never been so frightened in her life.

The fish and the bird were conversing a few feet away. The noises they made did not sound menacing. In fact, they sounded worried.

A hand touched Flag Girl’s shoulder. She flinched but didn’t try to retreat. She looked up into a fishy eye.

“Don’t hurt me,” Flag Girl whispered.

The fishwoman went to the window and gestured to Flag Girl to join her. She did, cautiously. When she looked out, she saw Moulton’s security guards walking through the Garden. They were carrying guns, and they looked like they meant business.

The birdman pointed outside, then at Flag Girl.

The men outside were searching for her. Suddenly, she understood that these strange creatures were trying to protect her.

She nodded and moved away from the window.

Outside, she heard the voice of Ludwig, one of the men who had repeatedly raped her — the one she had trusted the night she arrived. “The bitch has just vanished,” he said.

Another man said, “This place gives me the creeps. If I see one of Moulton’s monsters, I’m going to shoot it — I don’t care if the old son-of-a-bitch fires me.”

The voices moved away.

Flag Girl lay back on the gently undulating tongue and tried to forget it was alive. Soon she was fast asleep.

[To be continued.]