A light sheen covered her brow, while her short, dark hair, always slicked back before, showed signs of muss. A ball gagged woman lay in front of her on a wooden rape rack, feet spread high in the air, arms tied down to the rack’s support legs below the shoulders. It took me a moment to recognize her because her blonde hair was darkened with sweat, her eyes bloodshot from constant crying. It was Naomi. Poor, little, innocent Naomi.
Eleanor didn’t see us at first. Her attention was on Naomi, and the woman on the end of a leash, who strained forward like a hungry animal, on bent knees between Naomi’s open legs. The woman’s head bobbed up and down, buried deep in Naomi’s snatch.
“You like her, don’t you?” Eleanor said. “I know she isn’t that other slut you wanted, but I’m sure she tastes ju
