"Turn around and face the table!" Zane snapped.

Natalie shook with terror and turned back, her arms shaking with the strain. Her dress was pulled up almost to her knees by her raised arms and she knew that Lance was looking at her legs. He came over.

"Fuck," he said, "when did this go out of style? You wear this shit in L.A.?"

"Yes." Natalie trembled from head to foot. "Fuck!" Lance shook his head. He put his beer down and lifted the hem of her dress, up over Natalie's knees.

"Stop, stop!" Natalie screamed, wriggling as her stocking tops were exposed.

He laughed and dropped the dress again, leaving Natalie sobbing with fear.

"Cherie," called Zane.

"Yes, Daddy?" a girl called from an adjoining room.

"Come on in."

"Yes, Daddy."

Natalie gasped as the sultry blonde entered.

It was Matt's wife, or at least, she had been introduced to Natalie on her last visit as Matt's wife. Perhaps she was Zane's daughter. But she was blonde, unlike the rest of them. She wore a lot of makeup, her eyes outlined in black and her wide mouth a sweeping slash of sensual scarlet as she pouted and hung in the doorway.

"Fuck," she said, "is that what all the fuss is about?"

She was dressed in nothing more than a low-cut top that slid under her thrusting tits, a very short denim skirt that strained against her ass, and a pair of high-heeled shoes. She strutted into the room, her hips swaying, her eyes alight with lust.

"Why get her in?" she demanded. "She's just trouble. I can take care of you all," she grinned at Roxanne. "Even you, whore."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth, girl," said Zane.

"Yes, Daddy." Cherie ran her hands over her tits. "You want me to show her?" She jerked a thumb in Natalie's direction.

"Yeah," answered Zane. "Right now."

"Fuck!" The pouting blonde came over to the whimpering Natalie. "You watch this, cunt. This is what you get around here for playing these fuckers around. Only I like it."