She regained consciousness slowly, in stages. First there were sounds: the clank of chains, the scrape of something heavy being dragged across a concrete floor, the whir of an electric motor, voices.

No, actually just one voice — heavily accented, fruity and breathless. Like Vincent Price doing an impression of Zsa Zsa Gabor, MA thought.

The speaker occasionally gave an order to some subordinate who remained silent, but mostly he chattered about home décor.

“I mean, I told him in no uncertain terms,” said the voice. “I said, ‘Hector, you have got to ditch the gold lamé . It clashes with absolutely everything.’ — No, Corgi, we’re not going to use the clamps. I don’t want to damage her more than necessary. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, so I simply insisted . . . .”

Ms. Americana became aware that she was tied to a sturdy, straight-backed chair, with her wrists bound behind her. She made an enormous effort and finally opened her eyes. What greeted her, at first, was a blurry pattern of light and dark. The pattern changed as someone, or something, moved in front of her, but she couldn’t make out what it was.

She blinked several times, hoping to clear her vision.

“Look,” someone whispered.

Then the first voice said, “Well, how nice, Miss American Pie has at last joined us in mind, as well as body. The fluttering eyelids, the color restored to those lovely cheeks. How are you feeling, my dear?”

“Where . . . ?” But MA couldn’t finish the question. Her small reserve of strength had quickly been exhausted, and she again closed her eyes.

“Where are you? Is that what you’re wondering,” said the voice. When MA didn’t respond, the voice became sharper. “Corgi, can you get her attention, please?”

MA felt a stab of pain as someone twisted her left nipple. She opened her eyes just in time to see a blur of motion, as that someone slapped her hard on the side of the head.

“I know it’s difficult,” said the voice, which now came from farther away, “but you really must try to pay attention and stay awake. We have an awful lot of work to do.”

Finally, MA got a glimpse of the speaker who went with the voice. It was a tall, slender man in a black satin leisure suit. He was arranging cushions on a chaise lounge on the far side of the room. His back had been toward her, but now he turned, and her blood froze. It was the Magyar.

“Look, Corgi. The shock of recognition — isn’t it lovely? I believe she is quite frightened. Are you frightened, my dear?”

When MA didn’t answer, the Magyar made the slightest nod of his head, and Corgi’s fist slammed into her jaw.

“Not too hard, Corgi dearest. We want her to be able to cooperate.”

It took MA half a minute to regain consciousness. When she raised her head, she was looking into the bland, stupid face of a thickset man in a grey T-shirt. So this was Corgi, she thought.

“She’s awake again, sir,” he said. Then he stepped aside, and the Magyar was looking down at her.

“Are we ready to chat?” he asked brightly.

MA nodded.

The Magyar knelt before her, put his hand under her chin and lifted her head.

“My, you’re every bit as beautiful as advertised,” he said.

“And you’re every bit the Hungarian Queen I was told you were,” she said hoarsely.

She waited for the blow to fall, but the Magyar’s expression didn’t change. In fact, he smiled.

MA pressed on. “I know you’re new to this country, asshole, but that’s no excuse for dressing like it’s still 1977. And your teeth! Don’t they have orthodontists in Budapest?”

“Ah, yes. They told me you were a tough cookie.”

“Tough cookie?” said MA. “Who writes your dialogue? That went out in the ‘40s.”

The Magyar rose and turned to Corgi. “See. Exactly the response one would expect from a tough cookie. Here she is, barely begun to recover from a powerful neurotoxin that will leave her weak for days, and with her hands tied behind her. But does she grovel and plead for mercy? No, she insults my teeth, my clothes, my idiomatic English. And her expression of bored insolence! I just love that in a woman. It means she’s too stupid to know she’s in danger.”

Actually, MA was well aware of how much danger she was in. But wisecracking seemed a better course than begging. Everything she had learned about the Magyar from Interpol suggested that he killed mostly out of boredom.

She didn’t intend to let him get bored.

The Magyar walked over to the chaise lounge and picked up what looked like a cell phone. “Spaniel, get the bitches and bring them down here. I’m going to get some lunch and I want all of you to work on her a while. Nothing too heavy. And be sure to tape it. I want a record of the proceedings to send to her handlers.”

# # #

The workout was brief but brutal. MA was untied, yanked upright and dragged across the room, past a variety of torture implements and devices, to a full-length mirror. She looked at herself and had to fight back tears. She was naked except for her red boots. Her face was puffy from repeated blows. Her power belt was gone. Her big, beautiful breasts were exposed — and red from what appeared to be bite marks. Her vagina hurt, and she assumed she had been raped more than once.

Spaniel, a slim young man with a mop of auburn hair, stood next to the mirror, videotaping her as she looked at her reflection. Corgi held one of her arms. A big, tough-looking woman in a black leather jerkin and black jeans held her other. In the mirror, MA could see two other women, also dressed in black, behind her.

“Enough of this narcissistic bullshit,” said one of them. “Let’s do it.”

Corgi spun her around, and the woman hit her hard in the stomach. MA bent over, retching.

“Tough cookie tosses cookies,” said Corgi, grinning.

A knee slammed into MA’s face. It straightened her up for half a second, then her knees buckled. Corgi caught her from behind, his big hands reaching around and squeezing her tits.

The Magyar’s three “bitches” were relentless. Several times, Corgi had to tell them to back off.

“Why,” asked Wolfhound, the biggest of the bunch. “She’s supposed to be some kind of fuckin’ super heroine. We’ve been beating the shit out of her, and she still looks fresh as a daisy. I say, anything goes.”

With that she kicked MA in the crotch so hard that her boot disappeared up to the instep.

“Yeah,” said Corgi, “but it ain’t what you say that goes. The boss says don’t hurt her too bad.”

“Wait,” said Spaniel. “Let me get a close-up of this.” He moved the camera to within inches of MA’s crotch as Wolfhound shook and twisted her boot, pulled it part-way out, then shoved it in again.

“She’s drooling,” Bulldog said with a laugh. Spaniel pointed the camera at MA’s face, and sure enough a string of spittle hung from her parted lips.

“I think she likes you, Wolfie,” said Corgi.

“I bet she’ll like this even better,” said Mastiff. She had strapped on a foot-long studded copper dildo.

“Great,” said Wolfhound. “I’ve already got her pussy lathered up.”

“Pussy, hell,” said Mastiff. “Get her face down and put that cushion under her. I’m going to butt-fuck her until her ass is as wide as Mammoth Cave.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” objected Corgi. But he didn’t interfere as the others pulled MA’s legs apart and Mastiff plunged the giant dildo into her anus.

MA, who had been only semi-conscious, awoke with a scream. Mastiff was pumping vigorously. MA struggled to free herself and nearly succeeded, despite the lopsided odds and the lingering effects of the drug. But at last she went limp, and Mastiff continued to ream her until Corgi pulled her away.

# # #

“Not hungry?” said the Magyar. “You really should eat. You need to build up your strength.”

“You want me to be strong? Give me back my belt.”

The Magyar laughed. They were sitting at a wicker table on a terrace overlooking his Hounds County estate. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn that led down to the formal garden.

“No, I want you to be strong enough to cooperate with us, not to . . . .” Here he hesitated and looked over at Spaniel, who stood a few feet away, videocam still at the ready.

“Kick ass,” said Spaniel.

“Right. We don’t want you so strong that you can ‘kick ass.’”

“So you’re a coward, as well as a sadist,” said MA.

“A coward? But of course. Only a fool puts himself needlessly in harm’s way. I am very careful about my physical safety. But a sadist — no, I don’t think so.”

“No?” said MA with a grim smile. “You could have fooled me. I’ve seen pictures of the girls you’ve worked on. In some cases, they were unrecognizable. And your goons did a pretty good job on me today.”

“Goons? I have no goons. The men and women who ‘kicked ass’ today are my associates. Like most American employers these days, I have no employees or servants. Or goons. We are all associates — are we not, Spaniel?”

“Absolutely, sir,” answered Spaniel.

“And as for being a sadist, I believe a sadist is someone who gets sexual pleasure from hurting others. But my pleasure, I assure you, is purely aesthetic. You may be sexually appealing to most men, but to me you are merely a promising subject for experiments in cruelty.”

MA decided to change the subject. “How come all your ‘associates’ have dogs’ names?”

“No, not dog names — names of canine breeds,” the Magyar corrected her. “I don’t know why. Perhaps I am sentimental. I love dogs very much. And this is, after all, Hounds County.”

“And you are, after all, such a bitch,” MA added.

The Magyar evidently had grown tired of her cockiness. He nodded, and MA suddenly felt something hard and heavy hit the back of her head. She slumped forward, and her face landed in the vichyssoise.

“Get her out before she drowns,” the Magyar said grumpily. “Then put her in the kennel. A night with real dogs might do her some good.”

“Yes, sir,” said Corgi. “But if I might make a suggestion, shouldn’t I first remove the pit bulls? I mean, you said you didn’t want any unnecessary damage.”

“Yes, of course. You’re quite right. No pit bulls. And no Dobermans. But I definitely want the Pyrenees and the two male St. Bernards in with her. They have such deliciously big dicks. And be sure to give our princess a squirt of Heat before you lock her up.”

# # #

Corgi and Mastiff laid MA facedown in the little courtyard at the center of the kennel. Mastiff slipped a burlap sack filled with dog biscuits under MA’s pelvis, so her pussy would be more accessible. Then Corgi sprayed her behind and crotch with the aerosol sex stimulant that the Magyar’s staff veterinarian had concocted.

“Okay, boys, come and get it,” Mastiff yelled as she opened the cages of the Pyrenees and the St. Bernards. They came out full of eager playfulness, ready for a romp on the grounds. But when they got a whiff of Heat, their demeanor changed instantly.

The big Pyrenees got to her first. He sniffed her pussy, then licked it with his enormous tongue. The St. Bernards crowded in, but the Pyrenees wasn’t about to let them in on the fun. He snarled and snapped first at one, then at the other. And even while doing so, he managed to get his prick into MA’s already slick pussy.

It was all over in seconds. The Pyrenees withdrew his dripping cock and walked away, no longer aroused or even interested.

One St. Bernard mounted MA, and the other stood with his head hanging inches from hers. When MA moaned and started to squirm, he clamped his huge jaws around her neck and squeezed. She struggled harder, and he increased the pressure on her neck. At last, she went limp again.

Spaniel, perched on a wall overlooking the courtyard, got it all on tape. The highlight came when the first St. Bernard had shot his wad and withdrawn, and MA suddenly turned over onto her back and tried to sit up. The second St. Bernard lunged at her, grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she lost consciousness. Then he neatly spread her legs with his muzzle and raped her while looking down into her half-closed eyes.

II

“Until now,” said the Magyar, “you have suffered only the crudest forms of torture and humiliation. I am not apologizing for my associates. It’s just that they have limited imaginations.”

They were back in the room with the concrete floor and the torture devices. The Magyar sat on the chaise lounge. MA stood before him, head bowed. She now wore, in addition to her boots, a silver choke collar, to which was attached a long leash.

“I must admit, though, that the night with the canines was my idea,” the Magyar said, gently jostling the leash. “It was intended to teach you a little lesson in humility. Were you humiliated, being fucked by dogs?”

The tears that streamed from her downturned eyes answered his question.

“Excellent. Now, we can mix some pleasure with the pain. This is what I am especially good at.”

He rose and led her to a large X-shaped wooden frame that was mounted on a low platform and tilted back at a slight angle.

“Step up, and lean back against the frame,” he said. She did as he ordered. “Now, raise your arms and Corgi and Spaniel will secure your wrists.”

Quickly, MA found herself shackled to the frame. Her legs were spread, her pussy, belly and breasts defenseless against whatever the Magyar had in mind.

He opened a chest and took out a thick silver wand with a spherical knob on one end. He touched the knob lightly several times, removing his fingers quickly after each touch.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked. “No, of course you don’t,” he continued, before she could try to answer. “I call this my swizzle stick. When I apply this to your skin, it will stir up a cocktail of indescribable sensations. I am quite certain you will enjoy it — at first.”

He brushed the end of the wand against the outside of MA’s leg. It tingled in a way she had never felt before. He make a circular motion in the air, then tapped the knob against her right nipple. She shivered with pleasure and fear.

He stepped onto the platform and brushed his lips against hers. She tried to turn her head away, then, against her will, she turned her face upward for more.

“Naughty, naughty,” he said teasingly. He stepped back and rubbed the knob across her mouth. She turned her head to the side, trying to escape it, but he kept pressing it against her lips. The sensation was driving her crazy. She shook her head violently from side to side, but the tingling knob was always there.

At last, she parted her lips and let it into her mouth.

“Suck it,” the Magyar said in a silky voice.

She sucked it. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were closed.

He flipped a switch at the base of the handle, and her head snapped back.

“You see, my lovely little slut, how close pleasure is to pain. Just a few more amperes, and — poof! — your budding orgasm becomes a spasm of agony.”

He flipped the switch and lowered the power, then he drew the knob down her throat. He circled one breast, then the other, and slid it down to her navel.

“And what is this?” he whispered. “A mini pussy, no?”

He pressed the knob into her navel and twisted it. MA moaned with ecstasy and her pelvis began gyrating. She could feel her pussy getting wet.

He leaned close to her, tilted his head, bit hard into her exposed throat. She shivered again, torn between the pleasure of the electric knob in her navel and the pain of his grip on her throat.

He released her and looked into her eyes. “There is a legend in my family that my great-great-great grandfather was a vampire,” he whispered. “Is that not a quaint notion?” There was blood on his teeth, and on MA’s throat.

“Please,” she said in a scarcely audible voice.

“Please,” he said. “Please what, my child? Please bite me again? Please push this magic wand so far into my belly that it comes out my back? Or perhaps this!”

He lowered the wand between her legs, then shoved it deep into her pussy.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she shrieked.

He was manipulating the wand inside her, and the surge of power was at full strength. Her body banged against the frame, as she tried to escape the electric fury.

Then, after one last, violent tremor, her body went limp and her head fell forward onto her chest.

The Magyar removed the wand, turned off the power, then lightly licked the knob. “The juices of Paradise,” he said.

He slipped the wand into his belt, then raised MA’s head. So lovely, he thought — even in death.

He turned abruptly and shouted, “Get her down, and take her body to the lab. Toynbee is curious about her, and I promised he could do whatever experiments he liked.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Corgi. “Can we have a bit of fun with her before she goes to the lab?”

The Magyar frowned. “Her beauty is undeniable, but I really don’t understand what it is that makes her so irresistible to some men.”

“And some women,” added Mastiff, who had joined them.

“Okay, go ahead,” said the Magyar. “Fuck her all you want. Bend her, fold her, spindle her. Just get her to Dr. Toynbee in one piece and fresh enough to be usable.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you 45 minutes.”

# # #

Corgi carried MA over his shoulder. They had tried to clean her up, but cum still seeped from her pussy and made her legs sticky.

Mastiff knocked at the door, and Toynbee’s assistant, Spencer, opened it.

“We’ve got the super cunt for Toynbee,” she said.

Spencer, a pimply young man with thick glasses, seemed annoyed. “We’re in the middle of an experiment,” he said irritably.

“The boss said to get her to Toynbee right away,” said Corgi.

Spencer stepped around Corgi and lifted MA’s head.

“She looks dead,” he said.

“She is dead,” said Corgi. “The boss said that wouldn’t make any difference.”

“Yes, but she’s already getting cold,” Spencer said. “You should’ve come sooner.”

“Oh, we came soon enough — and often enough,” Corgi said, with a knowing look at Mastiff.

They laid MA on her back on a metal examining table.

“Good looking, ain’t she?” said Corgi.

“I’ve seen better,” Spencer snapped.

“Yeah, in your dreams,” said Mastiff.

“You want us to help rip her open?” asked Corgi.

“No, thank you very much. We don’t ‘rip open’ our subjects,” said Spencer in a tone of growing exasperation. “When we make incisions, they are based on a thorough knowledge of anatomy.”

“So you think we don’t know about bodies?” Corgi shot back.

Just then a door opened and Toynbee joined them. He was an owlish man of 70 with tufts of white hair above each ear and a perpetual squint.

“Hullo, Dr. Toynbee,” Corgi said respectfully. “We’re just here to deliver the goods, so to speak.”

“Yes, yes, well now they’re delivered and you can be on your way,” said Toynbee. “Spencer, get me a scalpel and a bone saw — the small one.”

“Oh, a saw,” said Mastiff. “Awesome. I’ve never seen anyone sawed on before.”

“And you’re not going to see one today,” Toynbee said sharply. “Now, get out, both of you. We’ve got work to do.”

He hurried them out and slammed the door after them.

He paused to catch his breath, then smiled slyly. “Forget the saw, Spencer,” he said. “That was just for their entertainment.”

“So we’re not going to dissect her,” Spencer said. He sounded disappointed.

“Oh, yes, we’ll cut her up eventually. But why waste the few hours we have left before rigor mortis sets in? She is so lovely. And it appears from the stickiness of her thighs that our friends have taken full advantage of her defenselessness.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Yes, of course. How can you call yourself a scientist if you’re not willing to plumb the depths of human behavior, as well as scale the heights?”

So Toynbee and Spencer took turns making love to MA’s lifeless body. First, they flipped her face down on the examining table and fucked her from behind. Then, they hung her by her wrists to a hook in the ceiling and fucked her simultaneously, front and back, as she dangled.

Finally, they spread her out on her back on the floor and fucked her in the Missionary Position.

“Never have I so enjoyed a sexual escapade,” sighed Toynbee as he sat, exhausted, next to her body. “Nor I,” said Spencer, who sat on the other side of her. “Though truth be told, I never had a sexual escapade before today.”

“Well, you started with the best. Ms. Americana’s body is a work of art,” said Toynbee. “But it’s time we got on with our work. She won’t last forever.”

“And what, if you don’t mind my asking, is our work?” asked Spencer. “I mean, what are we looking for?”

“Why, the secret of her power, of course. We want to find out why she was able, for so long, to defy the odds — to survive terrible beatings, brutal rapes, even bullets fired at close range.”

Spencer looked puzzled. “But we know her secret,” he said. “It’s in her belt, not in her body. Once the Magyar was able to drug her with synthetic curare and remove her belt, she was just another overly athletic bimbo. That’s why we’re sitting next to her dead body, instead of being sprawled out at her feet after being beaten unconscious.”

“The belt!” Toynbee said, in a tone of disbelief. “But I thought it was just a comic book gimmick. Whoever heard of such a thing in the real world? Well, where is this belt? It’s that, we should be dissecting, not her.”

They got to their feet, with great difficulty in the case of Toynbee, and set out to find the belt — leaving MA spread-eagle on the lab floor.

[To be continued.]