Horace was last off the helicopter, there in the waste of the desert. There were a zillion stars, but there was no glow in the sky from the lights of Las Vegas; they must be miles from anywhere. The cabin attendant, a sexy blonde who had served drinks, led them across the sand for a hundred yards or so, to what looked like an outcropping of rock. In fact, there was a concealed door, and an elevator.

In the reception lounge, far underground, Horace waited his turn to process in, enjoying another scotch and watching the others - two Japanese businessmen, a woman who might be a bull dyke, a yuppie, and a teen-ager, who confided to Horace that this trip was a graduation present from his divorced father.

Horace was excited. He'd spent every penny he had saved, working hard, for this one chance to live out his secret fantasy. His wife, Rose, had the money, paid the bills, and she made him work for his pocket money. 98,700 was a lot of pocket money. But he had waited a long time, filed papers, supplied dozens of color photos, and he waited until his wife went on her vacation - - they took separate vacations - just so the experience would be close to perfection. Finally, the hostess, totally naked, got to him.

In an alcoholic haze, he signed some more papers. "You understand," she said, "the terms of the contract. You get forty-eight hours with a woman who is surgically altered to your specifications. If she does not meet your specifications, you have five minutes to complain. Otherwise, you have rented her."

"Yeah, I understand."

"You can do anything you want, except permanent injury. If you damage the goods, you will have to pay extra."

"Yeah, yeah," replied Horace, anxious to fulfill his fantasy.

"And we have ways of making you pay."

"Yeah."

She led him past several doors, which she had to unlock, and finally showed him his room, #14.

The room was in two halves. One half was an exact duplicate of his wife's bedroom, same drapes, same wall paper, same four poster bed, same night stand, same little lamp on the stand. Lying on the bed, in a robe just like Rose's favorite, was a woman who looked very much like his wife, the same black hair, the same long nose and thin lips. Only she was different, where it counted. She was an inch shorter than Horace, about five-seven, not a towering six feet. She got up to greet him, slipping out of the robe and saying, "Hello, Horace. I'm Rose, and I'm hot for your body." Rose wouldn't say a thing like that. Actually, the voice didn't even sound right. Where did they get these women, Latin America? But the most important specification was right on. Instead of flat, pendulous breasts, that hung on her chest like empty moneybags, this Rose had gorgeous, high-standing globes, spherical breasts (style "G-16" in the catalog), which met in the middle, forming a vee-shaped cleavage, and bulged out at the sides, half covering her upper arms.

Horace loosened his belt and flopped on the bed. He opened his fly and said, "Suck my cock." Rose, his wife, seldom invited him into her bedroom, and, when she did, they did things her way. She wouldn't even touch, never mind suck, his cock.

This Rose got on her knees between his knees and unzipped his fly. "May I?" she asked, as she began to remove his pants. He raised his hips to let her undress him. She even took off his shirt. Shit, the real Rose wouldn't do that. Then she went down on him.

It was great, but too quick. The thrill of having his "wife" do that for the first time was just so. He came before he got a chance to savor the joy of it. No matter, he still had forty-seven and a half hours to play.

Horace looked at the other half of the room. There was a wet bar, several cabinets, a toilet, etc., and a combination gymnasium and torture chamber. Horace helped himself to another drink, while the woman stood watching. Then he checked out the contents of the cabinets. There was a whole sex shop, everything from leather to lotion, from whips to wipes, cuffs to clamps.

He selected four heavy leather bondage cuffs and buckled them on Rose. She just stood there, looking a little frightened, which made things better. Then Horace suspended her from some of the several available ropes, so that she hung from her upraised arms. He fixed her ankle cuffs to ropes from the floor, and tightened them, spreading her legs until she winced in pain. But she did not complain.

He spent an hour or so, torturing her tits. He put clamps on her nipples - the springs seemed weak. He bound her beautiful globes with ropes, pricked her between the ropes with his pocket knife. Rose bore it all. Jesus, how much of the 98,000 must they pay her, to go through that? Unless, of course, they had kidnapped her somewhere.

Next, he shoved a big vibrator/dildo up her ass - it came with a tube of lubricant, or he'd never have got it in. He let that buzz in her ass while he went to work on her cunt. "Rose," he said, remembering is frigid wife, "here comes the good part." First, he carefully shaved her pussy hairs - razors and shaving creme were provided. He would have liked to yank 'em out, or burn them off, but is objective was to deprive his wife of the bush she was so proud of, without destroying the playpen underneath. When she was completely denuded, her hairless vulva looking like a child's, he parted the outer lips and started to explore with his fingers.

Rose, hanging there, was quiet, as Horace explored with his fingers, reaching in so far he could feel the neck of her womb. He pulled on her inner labia, played with her clitoris. He wanted to make her come and come, and she came, over and over. They must have done something to her, hormone shots, or something, because she was so juicy, so hot, he couldn't believe it. "Oh, Horace," she cooed, carefully rehearsed. "I love it when you do that." With considerable effort, he got most of his hand in her and tried to fist-fuck her, while he teased her clitoris with the other hand. He could feel the contractions in her cunt: she was coming, all right, and she screamed, just as he had specified, "Horace, you're the greatest! Oh, I'm coming. I'm coming! Oh, do it harder, Horace."