At 6, Neff picked up Savannah at her apartment in the limo.
"Wow, you look fabulous, my dear," he enthused, as he took both her hands and lifted them shoulder height, appraising her bosom, her small waist and her ample backside. "The dress really shows off your best assets." He kissed her lightly on the lips.
It made Savannah smile to be so appreciated. She had been wondering why, after dating Neff Rainer, the sexy, handsome, smart, and successful investment banker for almost a month, he had not been more aggressive about bedding her. She was certainly willing, because if his kisses and embraces foretold how steamy he would be as a lover, she had bet on the right horse. Savannah had high hopes for romance when she "won" Neff as the highest bidder at a charity event for "Bachelor of the Month." She wanted those blond curls and chiseled jaw, and her top bid was $10,000, but the rest of the bidders dropped out at $8,500. She felt it was money well spent.
Having had a few hot makeout sessions with him but not having gone any further, she was surprised by his seeming lack of ardor. His not wanting to have sex with her was puzzling, as they seemed to be compatible in many ways. He didn't seem gay, and there was definite chemistry, or so she thought.
What she could not know is that Neff believed that Savannah's father killed his mother twenty-four years ago, strangled during rough sex play. Neff's mother Wanda had become Chet Pembroke's mistress when she was struggling to make ends meet as a single mother after her alcoholic husband ran their family business into the ground.
Neff and Savannah enjoyed a wonderful evening at the ballet, and afterward, a light dinner at Oberwark, a trendy bistro near the performing arts center. Over cognac, he suggested that they attend a late night party with the dancers whom they had just enjoyed in the ballet.
Thrilled at the idea of mingling and conversing with the dancers, Savannah enthused, "Oh, yes, I'd love to go."
"Where are the dancers and your friends?" Savannah asked when they got to the hotel.
"They are already partying upstairs in the suite," Neff responded lightly. "We'll be going up there in a few minutes. Meanwhile, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends I can see over there at the bar."
As he introduces Savannah to them all, she notes to herself that they are surely an odd assortment of people. Not that she was a judgmental person, but these people looked like characters from a Tim Burton movie—older, pudgy, balding men, butchy-looking women. The way they some of them looked her over, pausing their gaze on her breasts, made Savannah a little uneasy, but she chalked up her nervousness and unease to social anxiety and fear of not being accepted, and brushed it off.
"I'll get us a drink," Neff announced, in the straightforward manner he used when deciding for them both, and disappeared in the crowded bar to order, leaving Savannah standing next to a tall, gregarious woman who was laughing a bit too loudly at her husband doing a bad impersonation of Sean Connery as James Bond.
She was glad when Neff returned with the drinks so she didn't have to try to converse with this odd group, and perhaps drank her Cosmo a little too fast.
There must have been something added to the drink because suddenly Savannah was way more high than she should have been on one drink. She felt so relaxed, and all of her concerns melted away. Life was beautiful...
Everything after that began happening as if in a dream, and not such a good one. Savannah went from feeling warm and comfortable to queasily panicked. It was like being in a carnival funhouse. Laughter became loud, then faded away...faces loomed in... talking heads bobbed in front of her, saying indecipherable things, and then zoomed out of her visual range.
She started to feel as if she had no control over her body, first all floaty, then as if her arms and legs were operating on their own, independent of any conscious will or effort on her part.
"Let's get her up to the room before we have to carry her," she heard a disembodied voice say, and two sets of strong hands hoisted her out of her seat and forced her to walk on wobbling legs toward the elevator.
Is something bad is happening to me? she thought to herself. Whatever was going to happen, she was powerless to stop it. She had been rendered completely vulnerable rom the Ruffie that Neff had slipped her; her body was doing things which she wasn't able to prevent.
As two pairs of strong arms led her into the suite, her hazy perception allowed her to realize she was at a masquerade party, as most of the guests had on bizarre masks with grotesque faces, feathers and strange hats. People were dressed oddly, some in various stages of undress. A shirtless masked man in a silk top hat and cape loomed into her blurred field of vision. "So this is Savannah... ahhh, delicious—she is all you said she would be," with a lascivious smile. A woman walked up to her wearing a jumpsuit made entirely of thin, black leather straps, with big enough spaces between them to reveal every part of her anatomy. The woman lifted up Savannah's dress and put her palm over her crotch and squeezed. "Yes, a big woman. I like them big," and leaned in to kiss Savannah on the lips.
Her limbs felt incredibly rubbery, and if not for being held up, she would have crumpled to the floor. What is happening? Where is Neff? she thought desperately. Who are these people and what am I doing here?
The next thing she was aware of, someone had removed her dress, and tucked down her lace bra cups below her breasts, so that the bra was now acting as a cupless bustier, causing her breasts to thrust upward and forcing them into an enticing display of white flesh and pink nipples. Her slip was around her waist, her panties had been removed, but her thigh-high black stockings and high heels were left on.
As someone held her arms over her head, her wrists were tied loosely with thick velvet cord—not that she was in any condition to protest. Lying on her back, she was actually perched on top of a huge man who held her around her waist on top of his stomach. The others' hands were all over her body, stroking and touching, tickling, slapping, squeezing—mouths on her nipples, licking, sucking, biting—then slowly she realized that the man underneath her was pumping away, bumping the tip of his cock up against her asshole. Another of the masked tormentors—was that Neff?—got on his knees in front of her with a tube of lubrication and squeezed some on the head of the man's cock underneath her, helping her anal attacker to successfully wedge his dick into her ass. It hurt, but there was so much going on at once that Savannah was barely able to think about it. Using the same lube on his fingers, the masked man expertly started massaging her clitoris, then worked his fingers into her now moist and well-lubricated, pink cunt, searching out and finding her G-spot. Deftly starting to massage the special area with his curled fingers, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes to see a cruel expression on Neff's face.
"Neff... why?" she managed to utter, but just then, another reveler leaned in over her face, forcing his semi-hard dick into her mouth, dipping into her again and again, forcing her to suck it, effectively cutting off any more questions.
Oh my God, this can't be really happening, she thought. She fought to remain conscious through the haze of the Rohypnol coursing through her body, but started to drift away into the darkness.
