"You're not going to try anything funny, are you, Miss Holly?"

"No," the girl whispered. "Whatever you say."

Excellent. Smith rubbed the girl's shoulders, and tried to massage some life back into her

cramped arms. As had happened before, with her little sister Mandy, Smith found that brutalizing

the bitch made him feel a certain weird fondness for her, if only out of simple gratitude; after all,

Holly had brought him a great deal of pleasure that night. He removed the ropes from her ankles,

and the paper clamps from her pussy lips. He cupped water in his hands at the sink and carried it

to the weakened young thing, who lapped it up like a dog.

The sight of Holly's utter abasement and helplessness, and her bruised and helpless body,

was making Smith's cock grow again already. I own this bitch! he thought exultantly. His blood

tingled in his veins. Power, absolute brutal power over a frightened and beautiful woman, was

like a drug to him now--a drug that he had been craving, like an addict gone cold turkey, ever

since he was locked up for his crimes against Mandy Argent. How sweet, that his first fix in two

years came in the form of his first victim's sister, who had been sent to exact revenge on him!