A whore!" he spat. The words stung more than her ears, sluicing through the fogged stoniness of her brain. A whore. It's true, she'd been hired to be ... prostitute. All that jive about speaking French and Spanish... all of it was a set up.She tried to struggle away, but his hand lashed out at her shoulder; she snapped away just as his finger snared the thin fabric of her blouse, ripping it down the middle as if it were paper. The garment fell away in tow tattered halves, exposing the white. He had something wrapped around his hand.Joan reached up to discover her fate. She felt the choker. A relief swept through her. Looking at Bill, she smiled. Moisture built between her legs.Bill reached up toward her neck. Joan heard an audible click. A cord dropped from his hand onto her chest. One end stayed firmly in his hand. She was on a leash."Let's go home." Bill's tone was direct.Joan asked a simple question. "Can I put on something?"Bill stopped. "All my other concubines had to stay. More

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