The Debt Collector

Their money problems had been spiralling out of control for months now. They had never been very good with cash, struggling to keep their expenditure below their income, always falling a bit short at the end of the month. But they had always been able to manage… until Tony had been made redundant, that was. The first month hadn't been too bad - they still had his final salary to work with, and he was confident that he would find another job quickly - but positions in the IT industry weren't as easy to come by after the crash of the hi-tech market. The second month was difficult, but they had their savings to fall back on; the third month was really hard and, with credit cards close to their limits, they were starting to worry about how to pay their debts. Natasha still didn't know how they'd made it this far, but things were getting desperate now. If he didn't find work soon, they would have to declare bankruptcy and who knew what would happen then?

The trouble was that the more rejections Tony received from employers, the less he tried to find a new job. He had recently taken to sitting in the house all day, drinking whisky and watching "Trisha." The burden of responsibility now rested firmly on her shoulders and she didn't know how much longer she could support them both.

Arriving home after another hard day at work, she was disappointed - but not surprised - to find him lying half-asleep on the sofa, half-full bottle of whisky and empty glass by his side, TV blaring. A pile of unopened bills sat on the table; she didn't even bother looking at them as she knew they couldn't be paid. Looking around at the dirty living room - the un-swept floor, the piles of dishes by the sofa, the newspapers scattered across the table - she suddenly felt a wave of hopelessness flood over her. Picking up her husband's empty glass, she poured herself two fingers of whisky and downed them, coughing as the sharp liquid caught her throat. Without even waiting for a result, she poured another glass and necked this too. Warmth began to spread through her body; she sat down on an armchair and cradled a third glass of spirits, taking this one slower. The problems began to fade from her mind as the alcohol took over: no wonder her husband spent his days like this.

She didn't hear the bell at first, only being aware of a ringing noise on the edge of her consciousness. Jolting herself, she realised that there was somebody at the door. She pulled herself back to her feet and manoeuvred herself past the piles of magazines and general clutter in order to reach the front entrance. Opening the door, she saw three large, burly men standing in her porch.

"Can I help you," she asked, trying to keep her voice level in order to disguise the fact that she had been drinking.

"We're here to see your husband," said one man. He wore a jacket and trousers and had a scar on his right cheek. The other men also wore smart clothes, but all looked pretty rough, like nightclub bouncers.

"I'm afraid he's not available at the moment. He's not very well." She smiled apologetically. "Can I give him a message for you?"

The first man pushed against the door and shoved her aside, forcing his way into her hallway. Afraid, she tried again to shut the door but the other two men followed, brushing her aside as if she were no obstacle at all. Quickly closing the door after them, she stumbled through to the living room.

Her husband was awake now. The scar-faced man had his arm twisted up behind his back where he lay, and was snarling at him. "No!" cried Natasha. "Don't hurt him, please! What do you want?!"

"We want our money," said the man.

"Money?" She looked quizzically at him. "What money? Who are you? Why do you want money from my husband?"

The man rose slowly, leaving her husband whimpering on the couch, cradling his arm. It was his turn to look quizzical. "Do you mean he hasn't told you then? "

"Told me what?" she cried. "Tony, what's happening?" She faced her husband, questioning him, but he just hung his head in shame. It was up to his assailant to provide her with answers.

"Your husband is in a lot of trouble, Mrs Peters. He borrowed a sum of money from our boss a few weeks back, and we haven't seen hide nor hair of the repayments yet."

Natasha was furious: more debt problems! What was he thinking of? And to borrow money from people like this too! She supposed that it would be up to her to sort this out…as usual.

"I see. Well, gentlemen, can't we sort this out in a civilised way, without resorting to violence? I'm sure I can settle up with whatever we owe you…" She opened her bag and produced her purse. Looking up, she saw that the two side-kicks were laughing; 'scar-face' wore an amused look. "What's so funny?" she demanded, annoyed at the cheek of these men to barge into her home and make fun of her.

"Do you carry ten grand around in that little purse?" asked 'scar-face'. His mates laughed some more. She froze. Ten thousand pounds? Her husband wouldn't have borrowed that much money: he knew that they would never be able to pay it back. She looked at him again, her eyes pleading for an explanation, but he just turned his head away.

"It's the interest, you stupid bitch." snarled 'scar-face'. "When you miss a payment, it really starts to build up. And your lovely husband here's missed quite a few…"

She sank to the seat, her legs suddenly feeling like jelly. What could she do then? They had barely a couple of hundred pounds left in the bank and all their assets were tied to other, legitimate debts. Where in God's name would she ever get ten thousand pounds?

"That's not the worst of it either. The interest's still mounting." 'Scar-face' grinned. "You've been a very silly boy, haven't you Tony? And you know what we've got to do now…" One of the other men reached into his pocket and pulled out a rectangular, silver object. He passed it to 'scar-face', who opened it out to reveal a large, serrated blade. He stepped towards Tony and grabbed his hand. "Remember the deal? One finger for every week. That makes three little piggies going to market today." He sniggered at his own joke; his mates joined in. Tony's face turned deathly white and he withdrew as far as he could into the couch. He couldn't release his hand, though, and 'scar-face' moved the blade to Tony's little finger. "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe… where shall I start? With this little piggy?" He pressed the blade into Tony's flesh and a trickle of blood started to run down his hand and drip onto the wooden floor. Tony looked faint; Natasha began to sob uncontrollably at the thought of what was about to happen.

For the first time, Tony spoke. Cried, actually. "Please," he whimpered, "I'll do anything. Please don't do this Karl. Take whatever you want…the furniture, the TV, anything. I'll pay you back, I swear, just take them in the meantime. But don't do this. I won't be able to work. Please." The tears poured down his face and his body shook, racked with sobs.

Karl looked around at his fellow goons and raised an eyebrow. He'd seen this all before. Usually they took whatever was offered: jewellery, electrical goods, a car, sometimes something better…. This man didn't seem to have anything material worth taking, so…

He glanced over at Tony's wife. She was weeping on the chair, her arms hugging herself for comfort. Despite her swollen eyes and red cheeks, he could see that she was an attractive woman. She was dressed in a blouse and knee-length skirt and wearing either stockings or tights. She was slim, but her breasts looked full and pert; her legs were shapely and her long, dark hair was starting to fall out of it's clip and onto her shoulders. Yes, she was pretty hot. This could work.

He leant down and moved his mouth close to Tony's ear. He flinched, but Karl only wanted to whisper his idea to him. Natasha saw Tony's face fill with horror. "No!," he cried. "Not that! No!" His head turned towards his wife and he stared at her, pure terror in his eyes.

Karl stood up and pulled Tony's hand towards him again. This time he exerted more pressure with the knife and Tony's finger bled heavily, a stream of red liquid pouring from his hand. Natasha watched as he cracked, his face crumpling and his body bending in defeat and shame as he begged 'scar-face', Karl, to stop. Nursing his bleeding finger in his other hand, he said one more word to Karl: "OK." Then he turned to Natasha and whispered, "Sorry," his voice broken, his eyes dead. Fear gripped her heart.

Karl sent his two goons out of the room then sat down on the end of the couch; Tony curled up his body to keep from touching him. A smirk flickered at the corners of Karl's mouth and Natasha wondered - feared - what words had been exchanged between the two men.

"Do you want to know what your chicken-shit husband just agreed to, Natasha?" She flinched: he knew her name.

"Yes," she sullenly replied.

"He was so afraid of a bit of pain that he agreed to let you repay the interest for him." Karl' s mouth extended into a satisfied smile. Natasha looked from him to Tony in bewilderment. "I can't repay all that," she cried. "I don't have that much money!"

"Oh no," said Karl, leaning towards her until his face was only inches from hers, his hot breath on her face. "You're not going to pay me with cash…" His hand reached out and cupped her left breast. Sickening realisation hit her like a bullet: Tony had offered her to Karl as repayment.

She jumped up and turned towards the door. "You can both fuck off if you think I'm going to agree to that," she shouted, as she started to reach for the handle. Karl grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. He gripped her with both hands and pulled her towards him.

"I don't think you understand, Natasha" he sneered. "You don't have a choice. If you don't repay Tony's debt, we're going to have to use him to teach others a lesson. Now, you don't want to see your husband suffer a slow, painful death, do you?"

Tony cried out again, "Natasha, please, it's the only way!"

She looked at him, every ounce of pity falling away. She was tempted to let him die at their hands. But somewhere deep in her heart she knew that she couldn't let this happen. With fear, disgust, shame, she realised that she had no choice. She would have to agree to Karl's demands. Turning her head to face Karl, she stared into his eyes with every ounce of defiance and pride that she could muster. "If this is the only way that a weasel like you can get his kicks, and if it will save my husband, I'll do what you want. But I won't enjoy one minute of it."

Karl grinned and leant down over Tony, whispering, so that Natasha couldn't hear. "Oh, but she will. She'll enjoy every minute of it. And by the time I'm finished with her, she'll be begging me to fuck her harder."

Tony sobbed louder. He looked pathetic, a broken man covered in blood and tears. Karl was going to enjoy this.

He looked at Natasha. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulled her towards him and kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue forcing her lips apart. She tasted cigarettes and beer from him; he caught a faint taste of whisky from her. She pulled back, trying to escape his grip, but he just held her tighter and grabbed hold of her ass. She could feel his cock straining against his trousers, pressing into her mound. It was a long time since anybody had held her like that: she and Tony had barely touched each other for the past few months and, even before that, their love life had been growing cold. In spite of herself, she felt slightly turned on. Then she snapped back to reality: this man was going to rape her. She felt indignant, repulsed. She struggled harder and managed to connect her knee with his groin. He doubled over in pain and let her go as his hands moved to cradle the injured area. She took her opportunity and ran for the door. Turning the handle, she pushed it open and fled into the hallway. But there was so much clutter on the floor that she caught her foot on a bag and clattered head first to the ground. As she tried to push herself up, she felt a sharp pain in her head. One of Karl's goons gripped her by the hair. He half-dragged her back to the lounge where Karl was waiting, his face flushed with pain and anger. She was thrown down at his feet; he took hold of her hair now and pulled her head up and back so that she faced him. Smack: his palm swished down and slapped her hard across her cheek. "That's for trying to get away" he growled. Smack: her other cheek felt the back of his hand. "And that's for kneeing me in the balls you little cunt."

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes but she refused to let him see her pain. It was bad enough that Tony was still weeping on the couch without her starting too.

Karl kept hold of her hair; she felt one of the other men grab her arms and pull them behind her back. They were bound tightly with a cord. If Karl let go of her head she knew she would fall forwards and smack her chin on the wooden floor. But he held on with one hand; to her horror, though, his other hand moved to his flies and he dropped his trousers.

"It's time to see what you can do bitch" he sneered. His fingers slid under the elastic waist of his boxers and she watched as, almost in slow motion, he manoeuvred them over his groin and down his legs. His cock rose before her, terrifyingly large and wide. It must be at least eight inches long and three inches around, she thought. His balls looked heavy and full, slightly reddened where she had kneed them. It was a monstrous sight.

He grasped his shaft with his free hand and pulled tighter on her hair so that her eyes might his gaze. "You are going to suck my cock now," he said, slowly, deliberately. "And if your teeth so much as touch me, I'll have your fingers off." He nodded; she felt the cold, sharp steel touch her hand as one of the other men held the knife against her. She knew he meant business: she would have to give this monster a blow job.

Karl moved her head towards his groin. "Suck it you whore." She saw his helmet edging towards her face, a drop of pre-cum glistening on the end. She felt sickened as it touched her lips. "Open up," he said, and she felt the knife press harder against her fingers. She parted her lips and he moved himself into her mouth. He tasted salty; his huge cock seemed to push further and further back inside her and she was afraid that she would gag. Surprisingly, she was able to take most of it: he murmured his approval at her 'deep throating'. He held himself there for a moment; she could hear the three men laughing at how hot she looked with her mouth full, how "at least that shut her up." Then he began to push and pull her head back and forwards as he thrust against her, his huge dick pressing against the back of her throat as he fucked her mouth. She formed an 'O' shape with her lips and let him slide in and out, barely putting any effort into what she was doing. But before long she began to feel a wetness between her legs and became aware that she was licking his cock in time with the long strokes. She felt confused: was she actually enjoying this? She was certainly feeling strangely aroused, down on her knees, giving head to a stranger who had complete control over her, in front of an audience of three other men. She opened her eyes: she could see his huge dick sliding in and out of her mouth and this sent a shiver of excitement through her body. Looking to her right, she could see one of the other men had also dropped his trousers and had his dick in his hand, stroking it as he watched her. She suddenly felt really horny. If he wanted a show, she'd give him a show. Her head began to work on its own, sucking in Karl's cock, licking the length of his fat shaft, tonguing the head, drawing his tender balls into her mouth and rolling them around with her tongue. Karl saw that she was getting into it and began to talk: "Oh yeah, that's it. You are a cheap little whore. I knew it when I saw you. I bet you've been dying to have a real man's cock in you. Look at you, eating it like a hungry little bitch. Tony never did it for you, did he? He's nothing but a pathetic worm. You need a good hard fucking, don't you? You're a dirty slut, aren't you?"

To her amazement, his words only served to excite her even more. She could feel her pussy soaking now, and she clenched and relaxed her thigh muscles as she tried to stimulate her clit. Maybe Karl was right? Maybe she was a slut. Who else would enjoy being used like this but a cheap whore? And she was enjoying it. She greedily sucked him and was pleased when she began to feel his muscles tighten and his cock grow harder and fuller, a warning that he was about to cum.

"Yes, that's it now. I'm going to cum deep in your throat and you're going to swallow down every last drop of it. You're a thirsty little bitch; you want it all, don't you? Go on then: drink all my spunk down into your stomach. There'll be plenty more for you later."

His balls hardened and she felt him thrust one final time into her mouth, then the hot, sticky liquid poured down her throat. She swallowed it hungrily, then sucked and licked him clean, not wasting a drop of his salty cum. He carefully lowered her down onto her side and laid her on the floor; she had his spunk all around her mouth and he saw her tongue emerge and try to lick it all up too. He grinned as he looked over at Tony's appalled face. "I told you she would enjoy it" he mouthed at him. Tony turned away in anguish.

Natasha lay on the floor, her hands still bound behind her back, feeling ashamed and yet incredibly hot. She couldn't understand why she was acting like this: her pussy was on fire and desperate to be touched. She tried to rub herself on the floor to satisfy this craving. Karl spotted her and knew what would happen next…

Once again, he sent his goons out of the room. Natasha felt the cold steel press against her hand again and flinched: he was going to cut her up anyway! Relief washed over her as she felt her bonds break: he had cut her cords instead. He helped her to stand up and she was shocked to see that, not only was he now naked, but his cock was hard once again. She couldn't take her eyes of it: it looked even bigger than before! It stood up at an angle away from his body, the head pointing at her, shiny, red and swollen.

Karl's large hands reached up and grabbed her breasts. They were a good size and he felt their firmness through her blouse. Taking the knife, he sliced down through the material and let it fall to the floor. One hand moved behind her and unzipped her skirt; it swiftly followed her blouse. He stepped back and surveyed her: she was wearing a plain black bra and high-leg panties - which showed that she shaved her pubic hair - and a pair of black stay-up stockings covered her legs. He was entranced by the flesh between the stockings and panties: this had always been his weakness. His cock rose even higher.

He brought the knife up to her chest and ran the back of it down her cleavage. The cold metal scared and excited her. Her mind was in turmoil. The knife moved back up and she felt him slice through the front of her bra, exposing her breasts. He then slit each side of her panties and they slid down her legs. Embarrassed, she tried to cover herself, but he dropped the knife, gripped her wrists and held them by her side.

Karl turned her around so he could get a good look at her. Her ass was smooth and tight and her tiny hole confirmed to him that she was still a virgin here at least. Her tits were pert and creamy, with big brown areolas and erect nipples. Her stomach was flat to her hips, which were curvaceous but not too large. And her cunt! She kept it closely shaved, only a little strip of dark hair around the lips and clit. He could see the moisture glistening on her slit and wondered how long it would be before she begged him to fuck her. She was obviously getting aroused.