Sam could offer no resistance as several pairs of hands grabbed him and dragged him to the floor. His arms were twisted behind his back and a set of handcuffs snapped around his wrists. The image of Natalie towering above him swam before his eyes. She slapped him several times across the face, then seized him by the hair and spat into his open mouth.

"Stupid perverted pig! Do you think you're living in a fucking wet dream?"

"You'll be sorry you didn't stay in bed and plug your ears," another woman snarled.

By the time the effects of the stun gun had worn off, the vixens had ripped off Sam's robe and bound his ankles together with the belt. Natalie pushed his face down into the carpet and bore down on the back of his neck with the sharp heel of her right boot.

"Got your whip, KC?" she demanded.

A cold claw of terror gripped Sam's guts as the statuesque woman stepped forward. Her closely cropped, peroxide bleached hair stood out in dramatic contrast to her gleaming, dark skin. All she was wearing were a pair of spike studded red leather armbands that stretched from her wrists to her elbows, with a matching collar and garter belt.

"I've never used this on a man's ass before," she sneered, flexing the blood hued riding whip in her right hand.

"Then it's about time you did," Natalie replied, gouging so hard, Sam thought she was going to skewer his neck to the floor.

The carpet muffled a scream of agony as the whip slashed like a hot razor across Sam's bare buttocks. The black woman lashed him a further five times, each stroke burning more severely than the previous. Even worse than the pain was the humiliation of being watched by the remaining bitches, who spat on him and shrieked encouragement to his vicious tormentor.

"Had enough, fucker?" Natalie demanded.

"Yes..., yes!" he whined. "Oh Christ, it hurts."

"Well, tough shit," she retorted. "There are eight of us bitches here and we're all going to have a piece of you."

"Gimme that," said a slender, thirty-something brunette in a tight denim mini skirt and white bra. "I haven't beaten the crap out of a guy since my husband ran away."

'Lucky guy!' Sam thought bitterly.

She might have been small, but the tattooed bitch obviously held a grudge against men, as she carved Sam's ass with six vicious lashes that brought tears to his eyes. As soon as she was finished, she passed the whip to the next lady in line.

The apartment sounded like a cavern of hell, filled with Sam's anguished howls, the cheers of the cruel bitches, the cracking of the whip and the hard rock once again pounding from the hi-fi. Each of the eight women took her turn on his defenseless flesh, striping him from his shoulders to the backs of his thighs and leaving him feeling like he had been run through a mincer.

"Want to go home now, neighbor?" Sherri demanded, grabbing his hair and wrenching him to his knees.

"Yes, please, let me go!" he sobbed.

She smiled wickedly. "I don't think so. The night is still young and you haven't even had a drink yet. Come on girls, our guest is thirsty. Let's get him into the bathroom."

Sam started to protest that he didn't want a drink, but his reluctance to party was of no relevance to these sadistic bitches. Sherri and two of her friends dragged him towards the bathroom, while their accomplices kicked him and spat on him. At that moment, the terrified captive became convinced he was never going to leave the apartment alive.

Moments later, he was kneeling on the cold black and white tiles of the bathroom floor, with Sherri holding him by the hair.

"No more, please!" he croaked.

"You'll drink what we give you and you'll like it, you fucking worm," the black dominatrix growled, towering over him like an angel of death.

Holding a half-pint glass between her firm thighs, she filled it to the brim with a gush of amber from between the lips of her densely thatched cunt. As she raised it to his mouth, Sam felt the steam on his face. She wasn't seriously expecting him to drink her piss! No way was he going to do that, no matter how they tried to force him.

"Don't let it go cold, doggy," she said, touching the rim of the warm glass to his lips.

He tried to turn away, but Sherri had a tight grip on his hair. A tall blonde in skintight purple rubber hot pants and a ripped black tee shirt stepped up and slapped him so hard across the face, he felt his teeth rattle. She waited a few seconds, then struck him again, but Sam still refused to open his mouth. If these sick bitches were going to use him as a toilet, they would have to knock him unconscious first.