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The next morning, a holiday Monday, while Ferrari was milking her into his coffee, feeling she had nothing to lose she asked,
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"When are you going to kill me?"
He hesitated a moment, then answered, "Don't know. After next weekend, maybe."
He actually apologized for having to break his word, explaining needlessly, that they could not let her live. But he swore to her that if she served them well, he would do it personally as quickly and painlessly as possible. Otherwise, Lenin was itching to do it one limb per day, making her roast and eat her own flesh.
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The men then fell into a discussion of planning "next weekend". Most of them had to go back to work the next day, but they planned to return the next weekend with as many friends as they could trust. Race alone promised to bring an entire motorcycle club. When they counted up their friends, they guessed she would be servicing over sixty men! They roared at this prospect!
The coach argued that by the next weekend she would be good for shit. Her pussy and face would be scabbed, her tits would be peeling, and her ass would still be one enormous bruise. He convinced them to wait an extra week. It was decided that he, Ferrari and Bill would stay with her, as none had jobs to return to.
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