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Marcia takes on gang in back room.

Amanda was fascinated, and begged Fan to let her just stare at it for a while. Fan was glad to show off her tattoo to her slave, and when she noticed that Amanda was masturbating while looking at it, she said, "You oughta get you a tattoo, Fly."

She told her the address of the tattoo parlor where she'd gotten her vine, but Amanda couldn't work up the nerve to go, even though it was just three blocks away. Finally Fan took her there herself and watched her get a tattoo of a fly above her left breast.

Amanda's troubles began - or, more accurately, resumed - on the day in August that Fan didn't come home. She went out, as she often did, after dinner on a Friday night. Amanda went to bed alone as she did when Fan wasn't in by bedtime. Usually, when that happened, she woke up beside Fan in the morning.

But on Saturday morning Fan wasn't there. She wasn't there that afternoon either, or that night. Amanda started to worry when she woke up alone on Sunday morning. She tried calling Fan's cell, but there was no answer, and the whole day passed without Fan returning her call.

There was food for several days in the refrigerator and cabinets - a lucky thing, since Amanda was now doubly terrified to go out - but her worry left her little appetite. Consuming her own waste was little comfort - it just made her miss the way Fan made her feel safe.

By Monday morning Amanda was beside herself. She was alone in the world, with no one to appeal to for help. She couldn't very well call her parents: how would she explain her situation? She couldn't call Mr. Billings, who had sold her. She had never made any friends either in California or at Fordham. In her desperation, she considered looking through Fan's things for Hard's phone number.

She was saved the trouble when Fan came home on Monday afternoon. She ran to her and threw her arms around her. "Fan," she sobbed.

"You still here, babe. That good," said Fan, who had a bedraggled look and an unwashed smell.

"Where have you been, Fan?" asked Amanda. "I was so worried!"

"Never you mind. Get us something to eat while I take a shower. Then we gonna play."

Amanda microwaved a frozen dinner, and when Fan came to eat she looked like her old self. After dinner it was fine to have Fan's generous body again: Amanda had been so afraid of losing all the wonders it produced for her.

In the bathroom a little later, lying naked on the cool tile floor covered with shit while Fan sat beside her and petted her black hair, Amanda was sure she'd never been happier.

"I love you, Fan," she said.

Fan was startled. She'd been preoccupied with her own troubles - having to drum up money for a bail bondsman, the necessity of hiring a lawyer, the uncertainty about her future - and she hadn't been thinking much about her slave. She'd missed her, of course, as you miss a possession you value, but only now did it strike her that Fly was her dependent, a person with needs every bit as important and urgent as her own.

Fan suddenly felt burdened by a sense of responsibility for Amanda, but warmed, too, by her humanity and her devotion; and Fan realized in a flash that she felt a similar kind of devotion towards her little submissive.

Fan said, "I got a treat for you," and led her back to the bedroom, where she laid her out spreadeagled on the bed, and tied her hands with soft cord to the headboard and her feet to the legs under the foot of the bed.

Fan slid two fingers into Amanda's vagina. She paused a few seconds, smiling, and then fucked her hard, shaking her thin body. Within seconds Amanda was writhing and moaning, not sure whether this was worse than the whipping or the best thing that had ever happened to her.

She sobbed, "It hurts, Fan, please," and tried to squirm away, but she could move only a few inches this way or that, and Fan was relentless, her long, powerful fingers so deep, her palm jamming hard against Amanda's clitoris while with her other hand she kneaded Amanda's shit-smeared breasts, pinching her ha

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