The Loophole - A Halloween Story

As Mahaila pulled Trevor toward the far corner, Maxwell once again stepped into the center of the room. "We haven't forgotten you, Diana," he began. "And before you waste your time protesting that we are wrong about you, look down. Your body testifies against you."

Diana looked down at her blue spandex costume. A darker blue splotch now decorated the area between her legs and the stars within the splotch were no longer shining white. "Why don't you just take off those sopping wet bottoms-- or for that matter, why not take everything off except your bracelets and crown, and put yourself over the couch like Trevor did?"

Wonder Woman slowly slid her panty-like bottoms to the ground, followed shortly thereafter by her red top and cape. That left her standing there in her crown, her bracelets, and her thigh-high red and white shiny leather boots. "The couch," said Max and she slowly draped herself over the leather cushions.

"On second thought," he said, "it might be better if you were just on your hands and knees in the middle of the room." Diana pushed herself up from the couch and followed Max's directions so that she was now on her hands and knees in the spot he indicated.

"We are going to see just how much of a pain slut you really are," he said. "You can get up and go back to your partner at any time, but if you do so before you orgasm from the pain, you will not be able to cum in any fashion for the rest of the evening. The drugs you ingested will prevent that and I won't give you the antidote unless you stay with the pain all the way to the peak. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," she answered. "I cum from the pain or I don't get to cum at all for at least the rest of the night."

"You understand very well," Max said with a smile. Marta walked into the center of the room to join him for a moment. She was carrying a long, cane-like object which she handed to her husband and then returned to the edges of the crowd.

Max lifted the cane and placed its tip-- or should I say tips-- against Wonder Woman's cunt and asshole. There was a slight click, a soft "pffft", and an extremely loud scream as the cattle prod discharged. Diana's body reflexively straightened from the jolt which passed through it and she launched herself forward several feet to where she lay panting and sobbing on the floor.

"Return to the position," Max ordered softly. As she pulled herself back up to her hands and knees and crawled back into place, he turned to the room and asked, "How many do you think it will take for her to cum?" He surveyed the crowd and added, "Or do you think she will break first?"

"She will take whatever you give her," said Superman, who had accompanied Wonder Woman to the party. "She is that much into pain."

Six more times the click, pffft, and scream were repeated. Each time it took just a little longer for her to pull herself back up to her hands and knees and return to her position. The last time, as she wobbled back to her place in front of Max, instead of finalizing her position by spreading her hands and knees to brace herself, she rolled over onto her back with her legs drawn up and her feet nearly against her ass. She then spread her knees widely.

"Are you sure you want to do it this way?" Max asked.

In response, she spread her knees even further apart causing her cunt to gape slightly. Max muttered, "So be it," and pressed the prod against her from the front. Now the two prongs were against her clit and the very back of her cunt opening. This time the click, pffft, was followed by an extremely loud and long yell that sounded like the scream of a tormented soul from the depths of hell.

Diana took a gurgling intake of breath and continued to scream, but the tone of the scream changed. It was deeper, throatier, and broken into short gasps. Her back arched so greatly that her body came up off the ground except where her shoulders and heels were touching. She remained in that position quivering and screaming for several minutes until she collapsed back to the floor with a sigh.

Several people in the crowd could be seen exchanging money. Evidently there had been a few side bets as to whether or not anyone could actually cum from such pain. Diana rose shakily to her feet and Marta handed her a small glass. "It will taste like white wine," Marta murmured, "but it will counteract any effects of the other drugs."

Diana drained the small glass in one gulp and returned to Superman on one of the leather couches. Again, Marta handed her a towel to sit on.

"It's time for a short intermission to our activities," Max announced. "Refill your drinks. Pick up some snacks. But do not leave. We will resume shortly.

***

About a half hour later, Maxwell called everyone back into the front room. The furniture had been slightly re-arranged so that it was now in a semi-circle facing the outer wall. Four raised lecterns or podia stood facing the room. A fifth was slightly to the side.

"For our next courses of sexual sin," Max explained, "We are going to play a little game for some very high stakes." One of the helpers came into the room and handed something very heavy to Max, who grunted slightly as he stepped forward and placed it on a small pedestal slightly in front of where he was standing. When he stepped back so that the object could be seen, there was a loud gasp from the crowd.

"Yes," he said smugly, "that is a standard 400 ounce bar of gold bullion." He chuckled, "I'm sure that all of you know the current price of gold. It is down a little from its peak, but this shiny door stopper is still worth somewhere around a half a million dollars."

He looked around the crowd, stopping to make eye contact with several of the people who were staring greedily at the softly shining gold bar. "Are any of you greedy enough to put yourself up against this gold bar in our little game?"

He laughed then said, "Of course you are. How silly of me to ask." He raised his hand with one finger extended like some ancient orator and asked, "But are any of you greedy enough to put your spouse up against this 'Good Delivery Certified' bar of precious metal?

"What about you, Dracula? Are you willing to put Elvira at risk?

"And you, Klingon? Would you risk your Starfleet mate?

"Or perhaps you, Doctor Frankenstein. Are you willing to put up your bride?

"Perhaps Clyde would be willing to put Bonnie on the block for a chance to win this little bauble?"

The room became very quiet. Max waited for a few more moments and said softly, "I assure you that none of you have been given any drugs. The only drug acting on you right now is your own greed.

"The rules of the game are very simple. We will play four rounds. The loser of the first round experiences forced exhibition. The loser of the second round receives forced humiliation. The third round is, of course, forced pain. And the fourth round... well, we will discuss that when we get there. But at that point, the remaining player will have to decide if they are going to walk away with a consolation prize or risk everything going for even more than this bauble that you now see before you."

Marta was standing next to the curtains which closed off the bay window area. She reached behind the edge of the curtains and they began slowly sliding open. "If you are willing to take the risk," Max continued, "then restrain your partner or spouse in one the devices in the bay window and go take your position behind the corresponding podium."

For several more moments, no one moved. Then the mad doctor stood up and pulled his wife to a standing position. "Do I have to?" she whined. "You said I wouldn't have to do anything tonight. I only came because I wanted to see what that crazy old bastard was up to this time."

"I know what he is up to," Dr. Frankenstein-- actually Harold Bently, a local real estate developer-- said harshly. "He is hoping that he can embarrass me or hurt me. That might happen, but I'm willing to take the risk. That gold bar is worth over $500,000 dollars."

"But I'm the one who might get stuck with a cattle prod or have to suck off one of these old farts," Gloria whined, shaking her heavy, lightning-bolt-streaked wig from side to side.

"You married me for my power and wealth," he shot back, "remember, honey? And you've gotten real used to using that power and spending my money. Don't you think it's time that you earned some of it?"

With that he dragged her over to the first platform, which was labeled with a large number 1. "Into the stocks," he ordered. Gloria complied and he quickly closed the top over her head and hands.

"Actually," Maxwell said, now holding his hand up as if instructing a student, "these are pillories, even though they are commonly called stocks. Technically, a stock is flat on the ground and holds a person's legs while they are seated on the ground. A pillory, on the other hand, holds a person bent over at the waist by trapping their hands and head."

"Whatever," snarled a rough-looking man in a pin-striped 1920's style suit as he locked his partner in crime into pillory number 2. Bonnie was actually Loraine Westcamp, and Clyde was her husband Tim. Tim was a local banker known for foreclosing on properties as soon as possible if a person began to have trouble making the payments. Loraine was known for controlling most of the upscale social activities in town and taking great joy in freezing out any woman whom she deemed to be unworthy.

Mr. Worf, actually Virgil Hampton, a physics teacher at the local high school, carefully placed his companion's head in pillory number 3. "I'll do my best to win," he assured him. "I know it's a risk, but we really could use the extra cash."

"I knew I shouldn't have worn a red shirt tonight," the Starfleet midshipman wailed in response. He was actually Lee Williams, a grade school teacher.

Meanwhile, Dracula and Vampira continued a rather loud, hissing argument. Dracula-- actually an accountant named Bruce Stover-- and Vampira-- actually his significant other and co-owner of his accounting firm, Wendy Saperstein-- evidently reached agreement because she walked over and set her hands and head into Pillory number 4.

Several heads swivelled in an attempt to get a good view down Vampira's cleavage, but as she leaned over it was very obvious that she had a thin blouse or some other kind of wrap beneath the deep V of the black dress. Actually all four of the "spouses" were very conservatively dressed for one of Fred's parties. It was rather obvious that none of them had intended to be participants in whatever it was that Maxwell and Fred had in mind.

"We are not going to rely on buzzers or any other gimmicks like that," Max began. "This will not be a contest of luck and speed, but rather will be purely a competition of knowledge, wisdom, and cunning."

He paused to look each contestant squarely in the eyes and said, "You have heard the rules. You know what you are risking. We are descending into non-consensual sex. There are many different choices at each level, but we are going to stick with our choices from the three consensual levels. That means non-consensual exhibition, non-consensual humiliation, and non-consensual pain. That is what you are risking."

He paused and took a deep breath before continuing quietly, "You can still change your mind at this point. All you have to do is release your partner and go back to your chairs." His voice suddenly became loud and forceful, "But once we begin, there is no backing out. You are in this contest until you win or until your partner pays the forfeit."

Max again looked each man in the eyes and asked, "Are you in or out?"

"I'm in," responded each in turn.

"Then we begin," he said softly.

***

"The first question is a moral and legal one," Max explained. "Your company has built a substandard apartment building which collapsed when it caught fire from faulty wiring. Many people were killed in the inferno and you are being held personally and legally liable for the negligence. What do you do?"

Max reached under his podium and pulled out a large analog timer. It was set to five minutes. "You have five minutes to come up with an appropriate solution," he said. "After we have heard all solutions, the group will judge them from best to worst." He laughed and added, "Remember, you don't have to have the best answer, you just have to NOT have the worst answer. The worst answer is the loser in this round."

He pressed a large button on the top of the timer and the second hand began its sweep around the clock face. All four men paused in thought for a few moments and then began writing furiously on the large whiteboards which would display their answer. Meanwhile, Marta and several other serving maids, passed through the crowd with drinks and snacks.

A loud "ding" announced the end of the five minutes. "Pens down," said Max. "And be ready to display your answers."

Clyde turned over his slate and said in his tough-guy voice, "Cop a plea and turn against your partners and the architect. Let them take most of the fall."

Polite applause met this response and Tim Westlake frowned at the crowd, obviously displeased that his answer was not appreciated.

Lt. Worf snarled out his answer. "Hire the best lawyers money can buy and tie it up in the courts until you die of old age."

From the level of conversation buzzing in the room, it appeared as if the party goers were arguing about which of the attorneys they knew could actually do that.

Dr. Frankenstein turned over his slate and read his answer in a clipped, Austrian accent that wasn't a part of his character but was actually the way that Harold, whose last name was Von Schmidt, actually spoke. "Convert your holdings into cash," he read, "and flee to a country without extradition. With enough money in your hands, anywhere is home."

This answer was met with more enthusiastic applause than the first two.

Dracula chuckled softly. His laugh had an evil tone to it that brought shivers to many of those who heard it. "I would not be in that position to begin with," his answer began. "I would have formed a new company through one of my holding companies when I bid the contract to build the building. That way I would be at least two levels away from the charges and they wouldn't be able to come back against me personally."

Bruce Stover, who actually ran several different construction companies in the state in addition to his accounting firm, then finished with "And to make sure, I would probably use a holding company headquartered in Mexico or some Caribbean nation so that the listing of ownership and board of directors would not be public record."

His answer was met with loud applause and shouts of "Bravo, bravo, bravo!"

"I think we have a winner," said Max. "And more importantly, we have a loser."

Loraine Westcamp began to struggle against the wooden stock which held her firmly in place. Meanwhile, Tim began slowly backing further into the corner of the room.

"Don't worry, Mr. Banker," Max intoned. "Nothing will happen to you. The only pain you will experience will be to stand and watch your wife publicly humiliate herself by displaying for us her true inner slut."

He chuckled slightly, "But then you usually just stand in the shadows and watch others struggle while you collect your fee, don't you? Your fee tonight, by the way-- the consolation prize for this round-- is twenty thousand dollars."

Tim smiled at the thought of the cash while his wife, Loraine, renewed her struggles in the pillory. Two of the black-clothed helpers pulled the stand holding the pillory-- and her-- into the center of the room. They then began cutting away at her clothing using electric scissors. They did not cut through the cloth so that the blouse or dress would immediately fall, but instead cut thin strips so that they slowly trimmed the cloth back revealing more and more of her body to the crowd.

"Slow and steady does it," said Maxwell in his measured tone. "Let the suspense build as she displays more and more flesh like the common whore that she really is."

At his words, Loraine turned an even deeper shade of red. The phrase "common whore," was one of the descriptors which she, herself, used when denying membership to other women at one of her exclusive clubs.

When the old-fashioned blouse and skirt were lying in strips on the floor at her feet, the two helpers began attacking her undergarments. Soon she was standing bent over, naked and quivering, in front of people whom she normally viewed as her inferiors.

"Now we will see just how much of a slut you really are," boomed Max. Another platform was wheeled into the room. On it sat a Sybian female masturbation machine. Loraine immediately knew what it was because she had one secreted in her upstairs closet. She was sure that no one knew about it, but this unit was identical, even to exactly the same twin dildos mounted on the crest of the saddle-like machine.

Of course, "no one," in Loraine's mind would not include her personal maids and servants. She didn't ever think of them as people. They were nothings... nobodies... no ones... and those "no ones" knew all about her evenings riding her "unicorn," as she called her machine.

"How long do you think this slut needs to ride the unicorn before she has her tenth orgasm?" asked Max.

Loraine's mouth was now fully agape. The fact that Max had called it a unicorn shocked her greatly. But ten orgasms! She had ridden her unicorn to five before, and perhaps six or seven if she was really carried away, but she would not be able to stand ten. And she would be doing this in front of her friends. They would know how truly wanton she was if she allowed herself to orgasm in front of them again and again and again.

The two helpers who had cut off her clothing stepped back and a different two released her from the pillory and guided her over to the platform with the Sybian mounted on it. They forced her to her knees straddling the machine and positioned her above the dildos. Then, after strapping her feet and shins firmly in place, they pushed her down on the twin plastic pricks.

The two dildos had been heavily lubricated and she slid relatively easily into place. A wide leather belt was strapped around her waist and four very strong elastic bands were attached from the belt to the edges of the platform and made taut. She could move slightly, but was held very firmly in place on the machine. Her arms were then crossed behind her back, wrists to elbows. and bound in place.

After the two helpers stepped away, silence reigned for several moments as the guests watched her squirm with discomfort and try to look away from their gaze. Then a soft humming filled the room which grew louder and louder as the machine was brought up to its maximum settings. Those who were familiar with a Sybian knew that the forward dildo was now also rotating within her cunt stimulating her from within as much, or more so, than the vibrations were stimulating her clit and the tender flesh between her legs. The anal probe transmitted the vibrations of the machine deep inside her.

Now soft moans and cries of "No, please no, please make it stop," were starting to fill the room. The cries soon turned to gasps of "Oh, oh, oh, oh," and then, as the vibrations continued, became unintelligible grunts and gasps which soon turned into a shrill, keening wail as Loraine was forced higher and higher toward her first orgasm.

Suddenly, she threw back her head and ground her crotch frantically against the machine as she screamed out her first orgasm. Her mind wanted to drift in the afterglow of that orgasm, but as many of the women in the crowd knew, that was not possible on a running Sybian where one orgasm was just the gateway to a second and third and fourth until your body could stand no more.