I had received a message requesting a meeting in New York City, as per the missives that Ayhan and I had exchanged a short while back. Again, there was no reason given, but I was fairly certain that the girls I had sent overseas had something to do with it.
That evening, I entered the Cyan Club, highly unimpressed. At least until I got past the security guard. He was actually called the doorman, but there was no doubt in my mind that if I hadn't identified myself I would have been deposited back on the sidewalk posthaste. Once inside, I was reminded once again to never judge a book by it's cover. Any of the usual words would apply here - fancy, exclusive, opulent, whatever. It was just another reminder that, despite my nouveau riche status, I was still a backwoods country boy under the skin. The difference between me and the other guests, was that they ignored their surroundings as something that was an ordinary and deserved part of their life - fish in water, so to speak. On the other hand, I had to keep my eyes forward and my mouth shut to prevent my goggling like a country rube at a state fair.
I was escorted somewhere upstairs, to a small room, obviously set up for business meetings. A waiter appeared from somewhere to ask for my desires for a drink. I ordered something - I don't remember what. Shortly, the door opened and a younger man, about my age, entered. He didn't look like a sheik, or pasha, or what passed for a rich person in the middle east. In fact, he looked just about like all the rest of the thousands of ambitious young men who crowded Wall Street at lunch or evenings.
He crossed the room and held out his hand. "Mr. Tatum? My name is Jameel bin Al-Fulan." That settled that. Almost perfect English, but definitely not native born American.
Shaking hands, I replied, "I am glad to meet you- er- Mr- "
He smiled. "Please call me Jameel. My actual name would take up too much of the night to recite. I think my ancestors used names to fill up the long nights around the fire in the desert."
"Fine. Shall we sit down and get started?"
He hesitated. "Would you mind if we conducted our business outside, say in the park across the street?" I glanced around the room, then at him with a questioning look. He shook his head. "No, this is a legitimate establishment, but, nonetheless, I have been brought up to always assume that all walls have ears."
"Certainly," I agreed and gestured toward the door.
In the elevator, he turned to me and said, "By the way, your friend has asked me to tell you that the peaches and pudding are still excellent." Jameel obviously had no idea of the reference, but it confirmed to me that he wasn't a joker that had been slipped into the pack. That info had to come from Ayhan. Nobody else would have known, especially since they had had different names from the day they entered Ayhan's- uh- service.
We found an empty bench in the park, and relaxed. I noticed that he also had an eye for the parade of female office workers on the sidewalk in front of us. He turned to me and said, "My uncle was very impressed with the merchandise that you sold a few months ago. In fact, he has asked me to inquire if you could possibly supply him with two others of the same quality."
Well, that was exactly what I had guessed. The problem was, I had nothing else to sell. I thought for a moment. "Unfortunately, my supply of- that kind of merchandise is nil at the moment. I would expect to have some more in the future, but as to when, I can't say."
We both watched a pair of beauties stroll past. I don't know what he was thinking, but I already had them measured for bracelets - both would take mediums. He continued, "My uncle is very wealthy. He would meet any price that you chose." He leaned toward me and continued in a low voice. "Of course, as you might expect, my uncle has no problem getting women. He could have a thousand brought to his compound for his selection just with a phone call. But, not upper class educated American females. Those just can't be grabbed and hauled around the world without the chance of a major scandal should anything go wrong."
He leaned back. "The price is no object. You may set it to anything you want."
I looked at him for a moment, trying to decide how to play this. "Money is not my concern. I have far-" He stopped me with a gesture.
"Please do not be offended, but we know all about your circumstances. Before I came here, you were thoroughly investigated. I know that you are what Americans call a self made millionaire, you are a computing expert, you travel extensively, you have never been seen in a gambling establishment. Also, you are not a- what is the word? -playboy, you have no desire to flaunt your riches, and apparently, for some reason, you never bring women to your new fine house on the mountaintop."
Hmmmm. So my attention to security was still paying off, unless he actually knew about my clients, but wanted me to think he didn't. I didn't think so, but I was still not going to let down my guard. To paraphrase a saying - what happens on the mountaintop, stays on the mountaintop.
He went on. "We know that money is not a driver with you. But, my Uncle can pay with just about anything else that can be obtained in the world. And you will gain his friendship, which is good coin in certain parts of the world."
I sat back in thought. Jameel patiently waited. Finally, I said. "I will be happy to do business with your uncle. And a powerful friend is a valuable asset. But, I can make no guarantees at this moment. I will have to see what can be done. Do you live in New York, or-"
He waved his hand. "I come and go, but I am my uncle's representative for the US. Here is my card."
I looked at it for a second. "I will send you a package that will outline some secure ways of communicating. I don't know if my dossier said anything about security, but I am a fanatic about secrecy. In this day and age, any communication can be listened to, including us right now if someone wants to bad enough."
Back from New York, I began to think about the meeting. But first, it was time for some retribution. Several weeks before, I had dollied my new possession into the bondage room and chained her up. Shirley/Carolyn was far too heavy for me to carry. In a few days, Francois and company arrived and off she went.
A few weeks later, she was back, only now sporting a new set of bandages on her throat. Still unconscious from the delivery box, I waited till she woke up, then while still groggy, towed her into the dungeon. Once there, I had the girls strap her to the examination rack and told them to give her the treatment. As they began to set up their electrolysis equipment, Cupcake started to gag the woman, then suddenly screamed and jumped back pointing to the bitch's face. The other three girls had jumped at the scream, confused and not knowing what was the matter or what Cupcake was pointing at.
Wide eyed and still pointing, Cupcake shouted, "She doesn't have a tongue!" Now, also wide-eyed and aghast, the other girls looked at the proof of the punishment meted out in certain parts of the world for the crime of blackmail.
Unfortunately, this new bitch was just a run-of-the-mill female - one like could be found by the millions in this country. Totally unsatisfactory as an item for the new order that I had just received. I wasn't totally unhappy about that. I had a score to settle with her and was looking forward to it.
Eventually, my new bitch was smooth, clean inside and out, wearing only a collar and bracelets, and still defiant but obviously quiet. With her vocal cords and tongue removed, she would never bother anyone with her voice again.
After her depilation session, I unhooked her. She began to resist, until I whipped up the electric prod and nailed her with it for several seconds. While she was recovering, the girls each took a limb and hauled her to a stretch rack and spread eagled her on her back. Then I indicated for Chocolate to start cranking the winch till she was stretched as tight as a bow string. I turned to make more preparations when Coco asked, "Masser, kin Coco use?" pointing to the fat bitch's pussy.
I thought for a moment, the said "Sure, go ahead." Coco reached over the rack, pulled the bitch's pussy lips apart and looked for a few seconds, then inserted a finger to test the path.
Through the moderate pain of being stretched, the woman still protested the violation. Or tried to, her mouth made movements but very little came out. Coco smiled then stuck two fingers up her ass, which really got the silent protest going. The Coco climbed on the rack and straddled the ex-detective. Suddenly the attempts to shout stopped. I saw an incredulous look enter her face as she realized that another woman was going to preform some unknown sex act on her. That changed to confusion as she suddenly saw the equipment that Coco was swinging over the bitch's stomach. Then utter disbelief as her mind couldn't make the connection between the heavy swinging tits and the large dong below them. Finally, a look of horror as she realized that she was about to be fucked by a- what? man? woman? She began thrash around - if thrash is the word to use for a body that could barely move a muscle.
I pointed to my mouth, then to the woman and Pancake picked up and inserted a ball gag, which didn't stop any noise since she couldn't make any, but I didn't want the bitch in her panicky state to bite one of Coco's ears off. Cupcake leaned over and gave Coco a sloppy mouth lube, after which the wet dong was slowly inserted up the bitch's pussy. She was still desperately trying to break loose - obviously to no avail and she was going to have a major set of sore muscles on the morrow. Well, normally she would have. I suspected that her attention would be directed elsewhere on her body by morning.
Unless Coco was in a horny rut, she knew how to stretch out a fuck session for maximum pleasure - starting and stopping, going faster and slower, pausing to pinch or pull nipples - her own or the person on bottom. With her, since she had no testicles to gradually recede into the body, there was never any way to tell just how close she was to coming. Finally she blew her load up the stretched out body and collapsed on top of the big girl.
I pointed to the boy. "You want a piece of this?" Of course I knew the answer. He immediately stepped up and told Coco, "Ok, get off. It's my turn." He had nowhere near the finesse of Coco. No matter when or who he was fucking, he just got on and pumped away. This fat and stretched woman was no different and his stretched nuts banged their metal rings into the woman's ass crack while he pounded into her front slit. In a little while, the stretched out pussy received another load. I had Pancake take the gag out.
As the rest of the harem watched and wondered, I ran a heavy extension cord over to the rack, then set a large electric hotplate on the floor and plugged it in. As it heated, I ran two straps around the bitch's right leg - one right under the crack of her pussy, and the other just above the knee. Then wrapping them around a lower horizontal support member of the rack, I pulled them tight. That had the effect of trying to pull her leg to the side of the table, but since it was under strain from the stretching, it only moved sideways a little. But it effectively immobilized it. To check, I pinched her inner thigh hard. She tried to yelp but the leg didn't move.
By now, the hotplate was turning cherry red. I opened a box and pulled out Mrs. T's branding iron. I held it up before the woman's eyes and said, "See this? This is going to mark you as a slave for the rest of your life."
By now she was babbling silently with fear. Fear from the surprise of waking up in a cage, fear of where she was in chains, fear of what had happened already and fear of the unknown future.
I set the iron upended on the hotplate and told the girls to fix some food. Chop chop. They immediately scattered to the kitchen and started preparing. The branding iron had caught them by surprise also - and probably fear of the possibility of it being used on them was in the back of their minds.
In a half hour, I checked the status of the iron. It was glowing cherry red - not hot enough. The iron was slow to heat and slow to cool. To pass the time, I examined the stretched out bitch. Laying on her back, her large flabby titties were sagging into her armpits. The nipples were ordinary, both in size and color. Her pussy was normal, but the outer lips were plumper than on the normal girl. The love channel was far from virginal and would take three fingers easily. I didn't see any stretch marks on her belly, so I doubt that she had ever given birth. Her asshole was wider than I expected. I could easily grab a handful of flab almost everywhere I tried. She obviously loved to eat. Hmmm, that triggered a thought that I would explore later.
Finally, the iron was glowing a nice orange. I noticed that for once, my harem was busy at work in other parts of the dungeon. They obviously wanted to stay away from branding irons as far as possible. I leaned over the ex-dick and said, "Ok, bitch. This is the second installment of punishment for blackmail."
She wanted to scream, but just air came out. I picked up the iron, and moved around to her left side. At this point, she could see the glowing letters and went absolutely berserk. She jerked her limbs as hard as possible and I could see the edges of the bracelets almost cutting into her skin. But her strapped down leg barely jiggled.
I had practiced the day before on a block of wood several times. I knew that I would only get one chance to make a good mark, so I spaced my hands widely on the handle, then slowly lowered it over the target area, which was her inside upper right thigh, about two inches below her pussy crack. When it was about a half inch away from her skin, I suddenly pressed it into her flesh and began to count to five. In about two seconds she fainted. When I reached a five count, I quickly drew it away leaving a deep and clean brand of S L A V E in cursive letters a little less than an inch high. Of course, it was an ugly black from the absolutely fried surface skin, but that would change into pink in a few weeks.
I reached over and turned off the hot plate and waved to Pancake. She came over with a spray can of antiseptic and a large wrap around bandage. I noticed that she was almost a shade of green - obviously, branding was not something that she ever fantasized about. I sprayed the brand with the antiseptic, and gave orders for it to be repeated every eight hours and the bandage to be replaced every day. Also the woman was to be given an antibiotic on a regular schedule for the next week or so.
I waved at the boy and girls, now watching from the far corners of the dungeon, and they reluctantly came over. I released the woman from the rack and had her carried back to her cage. Her wrists were independently chained to her collar in front and short enough to allow her to eat and drink, but not reach the brand. I didn't want her tearing at it in her pain.
In a few minutes she woke up trying to scream and attempting to reach the brand with her chained hands.
The next morning she was in major pain. She refused to eat, but I didn't force it. I did make her fill up with water and gave her a stiff dose of vicodin.
Stephanie's separation was getting to her. She was morose, rather than happily sarcastic, and didn't want the usual play. Finally, she requested that she just be caged for a week, brought out once a day and whipped, then dumped back in the cage in fetters. I am not psychiatrist by a long shot, but it was obvious that she was trying to punish herself for the failure of her marriage.
I couldn't cage her in my bondage room for that week - I needed it for another client. I finally moved a cage and a few items into the utility basement and used it as her cell. She could look out of the bars at the cement walls of the small windowless room. Or at the furnace, and air conditioner and not much else. I had to decide if I wanted to keep her permanently or not.
She was still fun. I setup a routine where she would throw one six sided die every morning. If it came up six, she was strung up to the ceiling and strapped until she was hanging limp. If it showed a one, she was put in absolute restraint for the day - hog tied with single glove, gag, ear muffs and a tightly stretched head mask, along with pussy and ass penetrators. Any other number just let her sit there all day staring at the room.
She would have been a perfect item to fill part of the standing order that I had received, but there was no way that I wanted to give her up.
She stayed almost a month.
The bitch's brand was still painful, but at least it was now bearable. After some thought, I gave orders that she was to be fed as much as she could hold, and then some at every meal. A fat woman would be fun to play on and a very fat one might be a blast. Besides, when I got tired of her, I would let Tarkan sell her for a scullery maid or cesspool cleaner.
At the end of the month, Stephanie left the mountaintop and virtually disappeared. Months went by without hearing of her. Her divorce went through, but she still didn't contact me.
And, I lost my married client when her husband took a position somewhere else in the country. It wasn't a significant loss for me, except that she was a nice woman, pleasant to talk to and undemanding. I wished her luck on her last visit and assured her of a place if she every rolled back into this part of the world. She would probably be the last married client I would accept.
I spent a couple of weeks overseas, visited Ayhan and Tarkan on my way to my destination - India, which was a place I had never visited. While at Tarkan's, I looked over his merchandise but found nothing that interested me or that I didn't have. He tried to sell me a pair of young girls, but as far as I am concerned, a naked little girl is just a little female with no clothes on. She is of no interest to me at all until she is swinging a mature pair in front. Before leaving, however, I did place an order for something else.
The bitch's brand finally healed. It stood out in stark letters and was instantly visible and readable from afar. I had built a sleeping platform for her, round and about as large as a queen sized bed and she was chained to its location most of the day. In fact, almost all of the time. She was continually fed all day - and not exactly health food. She had already put on about twenty five pounds and that fact was very apparent. Every part of her was bigger, face, tits, stomach, thighs and legs. Only her hands and feet were about the same. She was already past two hundred pounds. Every morning, one girl or the other would clean her out with the enema nozzle.
I have to admit that I got off with using the whip on my new fat girl. Stretched out on her stomach with four chains at maximum tension, she made a target that couldn't be missed. A whack from my crop would make her attempt to rise - her back would arch and she would pull on her arms and legs, but no sound would issue from her mouth. There was no way for her to express her pain and she just had to lie there and take it.
On occasion, I would have her strapped down on her bed platform, face up, and allow both of my swinging dicks to have free rein with her. They would pound on her pussy or asshole while her body jiggled all over. At first she would silently curse the pair as they fucked her, mouth moving but no sound coming out, but finally she just accepted it and lay there while they pumped. I even enjoyed her on occasion. She was like a big warm flabby bed.
As far as the other girls were concerned, she was of only minor interest. There was little pleasure they could obtain from her, since she had no tongue and without it there wasn't much she could do to another woman. Since I hadn't trained her to obey the strict rules of the normal slave, they were far more interested in the boy and Coco and each other.
Besides my new bitch, everything was going great. I was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively. Since most of my investments had always been in gold related stocks and funds, and with the fact that they had doubled and tripled virtually ever year, I was catapulted from well off, to rich, to that favorite liberal catchphrase, obscenely wealthy. In actual fact, I had long ago passed the amount of money that would serve me for life. All the extra since then was, well, just that - extra. Money was not the driver of my lifestyle - that position was held by enjoyment of life.
I had a dungeon full of willing slaves - well, maybe one or two were less than willing - at my disposal, day or night. My house was the envy of any bachelor - or it would have been, if I were the type to display it. I was in solidly with the local officials, from law enforcement to the local political figures. Unless I was caught in the unlikely act of sticking up a bank, or blowing up a bridge, or something of the like, I was immune to investigation of any official agency.
I decided that my life could be made better.
One of the tools that I had developed and had been using ever since the original mess with Cherry Pie, was a program that continually scanned the Internet search engines and major news servers for any reference to any woman connected with me. Since a search engine is easily subpoenable, and the queries concerned names that had and might someday disappear, I ran this program on a remote anonymous server overseas. The results were encrypted and sent to me in a roundabout way.
One morning, I got a popup on my computer that my remote program needed to tell me something. After a few seconds of reading, I was calling the airport charter service. Then a call to my bookie. Three hours later I was at twenty thousand feet and headed west. There had been a short stop to pick up a person that my bookie sent to his local airport.
I relaxed with a non-alcoholic drink and reread the news item on my laptop. It wasn't headline stuff, just a short item in the Los Angeles webpaper about a woman who had been stopped for DUI, who then managed to knock down the female arresting officer. In a way, that was fortunate. Had it been a simple case of drunk driving, she would already be out on bail and hard to find. By bitch slapping the cop, she was probably going to spend the night or nights in jail. Of course, it was Stephanie.
Once we arrived, my pseudo-legal assistant that my bookie had provided was dropped off at the courthouse to find out the details of what was going on. In a few hours he had arranged bail and he escorted her from the steps of the jailhouse to my waiting rental limo. My assistant sat up with the the chauffeur as Stephanie joined me in the back seat. I gave orders to just drive around at random.
The first words out of her mouth were "I need a drink."
"That is probably the last thing you need, but-" I reached into the back seat bar and pulled out a bottle of chilled wine, then poured her a small glass full.
Gulp. It went down in one swallow. Shit - she was definitely on a downhill mental slide. "How the hell did you find me?" she asked and reached for the bottle. I stopped her hand before she picked it up.
"Slow down. If you want to get drunk after while, I'll buy you the alcohol, but for now, I can't talk to a bombed woman." I stabbed the cork into the bottle with the flat of my hand. "As to how I found you, well, the world is my playground, shall we say." I doubted that she wanted a lesson on the ins and outs of search engines and data mining programming.
She rolled the stem of the wineglass in her fingers, then looked at me. "You know, you've come a long way from the computer nerd who used to fuck my niece." Who still fucks your niece, I said to myself. And more lightyears away from that kid than you know.
"Never mind me," I said. "What the fuck are you trying to do? You are wealthy, free to do what you want, and nobody to care. So you feel the need to whack a cop?"
"Free to do what?" she retorted. "I've moved from being a respected member of society, a pillar of the community, just to coin a phrase, to just another divorcee with no life." She slapped my hand away from the bottle and yanked the cork out. A glass and one swallow later she continued. "It isn't your fault, but I should never have started playing games with you."
"Bullpucky," I replied with disdain. "Your marriage was in the shitcan long before you knew I even existed. If it hadn't been me, it would have been some other guy in some other circumstance."
She looked off into the distance at the big Hollywood sign on the side of the hill. "Let's go to Vegas. That's supposed to be a good place to get drunk and forget problems. Hell, that is where most actors and actresses go to get stonkered."
"May I remind you that you are out on bail? You can't leave the city without the court's permission. And, by the way, you don't happen to be a famous actress, although if you keep swinging at cops you might become fam-" My voice tailed off as the synapses in my brain, and a news item that I had read on the plane, suddenly came together in a blindingly audacious flash. If I had been a cartoon character, a light bulb would have suddenly appeared above my head. Maybe the big sign on the hillside was the catalyst. I thought for a few seconds as Stephanie looked at me, puzzled at my sudden withdrawal from the conversation. Suddenly, she had moved from being the entire reason for my being here to a minor annoyance that was interfering with my thought processes.
I shook my head. I couldn't continue to develop the thought while driving around a strange city with a depressed woman. I looked at Stephanie and said, "Tell me what you want to do and I will help. I owe you that much and more. Except, " I continued over my pointing finger, "if you intend to turn into a lush, you are on your own."
"Hell, I don't care. Lets go back to the hotel - your hotel- I mean, the mountaintop. You can beat the hell out of me there if you want - as long as I can drink."
I leaned forward, pushed the intercom and gave some orders. We pulled up at a five star hotel and while the checkin process was being completed, I gave a set of orders to my assistant. Three days later, with the assistance of a high priced law firm and a considerable stack of money, we were on a commercial flight back to the midwest. I managed to keep Stephanie from bitch slapping the flight attendant who had decided that my companion had had enough to drink - quite correctly. At our destination airport, I handed my assistant a fat envelope from a hidden compartment in my car and some sincere thanks for a job well done. Shortly, Stephanie and I were in my car and headed for my home.
Once on the hill top, she went straight for the liquor cabinet, and I let her. By evening, she was wasted and finally flopped onto my bed. I still wasn't sure what to do with her, but now that she was a free woman nobody would notice if she didn't show up somewhere, so my options were open. I stripped her clothes off, set her purse in the library for later carrying into the safety of the basement. Shortly, she was in the utility basement and locked into her cage.
Back down the passageway, I selected Chocolate for a quick release of my built up pressures - I wanted to think, not screw, but my nuts had an agenda of their own. After my episode with her, I called the boy over to my desk, and while standing there with his legs spread, examined the stretch of his ballsac. He was down to about five inches now, with a clear space of about two inches between the top of the top weight and the bottom of his pecker. I decided that it was time for one more ring to be added to the top of his stack- a single one this time, on top of the double weight that in turn was on top of another single ring weight. That would give a pull of about twenty four ounces and, according to my reading, just about optimum for stretching. I had the new ring in my desk, and right then added it to the stack.
Once on, I swung his nuts back and forth. He was definitely swinging a hung set for sure. I pointed to my detective bitch, and walked over to her bed platform. Wow, she was really putting on the flab now. Probably seventy pounds bigger than when she came here a short while ago. "Turn over, bitch, and spread 'em." By now, she knew to do what I said immediately. Extra fat gave no protection against the bite of my whip. I pointed to her and the boy willingly climbed aboard.
I was interested in the action of his balls when he orgasmed. Even with all the weight pulling them down and causing them to slap against the bitch's ass, they began to rise as he progressed. Eventually, they had pulled up to the point where the weights were solidly jammed between his ballooned balls and the bottom of his dong. It definitely didn't affect the intensity of his climax as he pumped out a solid stream of cum up her twat. By now from articles on the 'Net, I knew that the liquid mostly came from the prostate, not the testicles. The weights might have an effect on fertility, but not on volume of ejaculate. Of course, his tubes had been cut from the start, so baby making was not even possible for him anyway.
I waved them all away, then just sat back and stared into the distance. I need to develop an outline of the inspiration that I had gotten out west. First I needed a plan - not one that I would put into action. Just one that I could examine and take apart to see if the concept was even viable.
My bookie - actually, it is what I called him only to myself. By now he was far beyond the bookmaking business he started with. As his business grew, and a lot of it was as the result of my money, he gradually became known as the "Big Fixer" to his clientele. Anything that one could want, assuming that you could pay for it, he could get, fix, arrange, or get rid of. His forte was connecting a client with a- well- specialist in the work that you wanted to get accomplished. I believe he stayed at least nominally out of the violence business, if not entirely on the right side of the law. That is to say, I don't believe that among his many associates that he had any hit men. I didn't know and didn't try to find out. I was satisfied that, for money, he could find someone to do or discover almost anything.
Anyway, if my scheme came to fruition, he would be a major mover. Not that I had a scheme yet.
The next morning, as I took some breakfast down to Stephanie, I found her sitting up, holding onto the bars with both hands and with her head down. She had really tied one on last night. She looked up as I entered, then said, "Oh god, take that away. I don't even want to smell it." Her cage was six feet long, three feet wide and four feet high. In other words, she could stretch out horizontally to sleep, and sit up normally, but not stand. For sleeping, it had a thin mat with a wooden block under one end to make a pillow. A blanket was provided also. There was a flexible plastic tube in reach that lead to a two gallon jug of water sitting on the floor about five feet away. And a waste bucket with a lid. That was all.
There was a two foot wide slit at the bottom of one end that a tray of food could be slid under. I set the tray just at the entrance of the slit - she could pull the tray in later as she got hungry.
"Where are my clothes?", she asked. "Let me out of here. I need a drink."
"Relax," I replied. "The last thing you need right now is more alcohol. We need to talk about your future."
"Goddammit! Just open this fucking cage and let me out! If I need some punk kid to tell me what I am going- AGGGGGGG!!"
I had reached though the bars with both hands, grabbed a handful of boob with each - not gently, then pulled both of them through the bars. Of course, while they came through quite a way, eventually they stopped with her chest and face pressed up to the inside of the cage. Squeezing harder, I said in a no-nonsense voice, "Listen up, bitch. You haven't been gone so long that you can't remember who is in charge here." The sweat was popping out on her face in beads as the pain in her still yanked and squeezed titties registered.
The commanding socialite was suddenly gone, replaced by a cringing slave girl. "Yes, Master. Stephanie is sorry, Master. Please let go of Stephanie's titties, Master. A girl will be good. Really really good."
I let go and she fell back, grabbing her aching breasts with both hands. Suddenly she put one hand over her mouth as her eyes expanded in realization of what was about to happen. She looked around in panic, saw the waste bucket and then tore the lid off and barely got her face over it before she started heaving. She hadn't eaten since yesterday, so not much came up but when it was over she was weak as a kitten and just sagged back on her mat and groaned. I made sure that she had plenty of fresh water, and left her to her misery.
I had to decide what do to with her. For one thing, as long as she was in that cage, I couldn't leave the house for long. Not more than a day or so. But if I hauled her to the dungeon, she was then a captive forever. And if I let her out, there is no telling what she might do in her current state of mind.
Slowly, I developed plans after plans for my fantasy. All were rejected in their whole, but parts were saved and plugged into a loosely developing scheme. At this point it was just that, a fantasy. I doubted that I could ever bring it off, or that I would even try. For one thing, the risks, if not to me, then to the participants, were fairly high - meaning that the cost of the actual labor would be immense. Nevertheless, I had a blast thinking, planning and scheming.
Now, my fat bitch was not only eating massive meals, but during her waking periods between meal times she was sucking on a tube leading to a huge container of whole milk, fortified with cream and butterfat. She was given a certain gallonage to finish each day, on penalty of the lash.
She even had a name now, but one that she got by happenstance. Pancake had come to me with a problem. "Master, we are just about out of milk for Pudgy."
I looked at her and said, "Pudgy?"
Pancake suddenly realized what she had said, and clapped her hand over her mouth. Then, quickly said, "A girl is sorry, Master. A girl meant to say, 'the bitch.'"
I was amused. "Where did you get the name, Pudgy?"
Pancake was worried about the whip enough to drop to her knees before she spoke. "Sometimes the girls call her that, Master. It is just a nickname that just came up once. A girl will give orders for it to never be used again, Master."
Not bad, I thought. What the heck. Why not? "The Master is pleased with the name. Tell the girls that the bitch is now called Pudgy. And inform the bitch of her new name."
I looked over at the new girl. Pudgy was an excellent description, although it would be obsolete fairly soon. Under her forced diet, she was gaining about a pound a day. Her brand was now totally healed and looked like it was a feature that came with her originally.
I had decided to keep Stephanie, but I still didn't want her to know about the cave. I wasn't sure why, but I just had a feeling that she might still have a part to play in the outside world. But I still had the problem of not being able to travel with her in the cage downstairs. Some emails to the other part of the world began the resolution of that problem.
In a week or so, an associate of Francois showed up in yet another vehicle. I wondered, did they steal all those different conveyances, or rent them, or what? Anyway, shortly thereafter, Stephanie was in a box, unconscious after drinking a glass of wine with one of Francois's sleepy pills dissolved in it, and heading down the road in the back of a truck.
I set up a big dry erase board beside my basement desk. On one side was the goal, in the middle were the problems, and on the other side were the tentative plans for each problem. I tried to concentrate on one aspect of the operation at a time. And operation was the word - this would need to go off with military precision, with different possibilities for different reactions. I was reminded of the famous general's saying of "No plan ever survives contact with the enemy." This one needed to be able to be called off at any stage, but further, if it was called off, any evidence that their ever was an operation needed to just evaporate.
So far, it was still just play planning. A fun exercise, no more.
Later in the month, I got ready to head for Europe again. I had been toying with the idea of purchasing my own jetliner. With the size of my fortune now, both the purchase and operational costs would be trivial. But, while the convenience of a private plane would be wonderful, it flew in the face of my desire to remain anonymous. Or at least as anonymous as a millionaire can ever be. The ownership of a plane big enough to fly between continents would put my name firmly on the lists of several dozen government agencies around the world. Besides, I could never use it to fly girls around. That would be far too risky.
I stood outside of what would be called a suite in any other institution. Of course, in Tarkan's establishment, a suite was a matter of degree. In this case, through the small grill, I could see that it was an eight by eight room with an actual bed and bathroom. However, the bed was a wooden platform with a thin mattress filled with straw and the bathroom was a hole in the floor in one corner. I had to admit, compared to some of the holding rooms that I had seen further back in the rear of the building, this was the Presidential suite.
It had a single occupant, naked, and, very unusual for a girl in this place, this one had a collar that was hooked to a ring on the wall with a thick chain. She also had two wrist bracelets connected by a short chain.
I inserted a key in the lock, and opened the door. In this case, the lock was not to keep the girl in - the chain did that - but was to protect the girl from wandering hardons during the night, although I wondered what employee would take the chance of punishment from either of Tarken's bouncers just for a piece of ass.
Stephanie heard the door open, saw me enter and immediately jumped up and threw her arms around my neck. Or tried to - with her chained wrists, she had to lift them over my head to get them behind me. "Oh, god, I knew you would find me," she sobbed. She felt good. I let my hands explore up and down her body, pressed against mine. Interesting - she apparently thought she had been kidnapped from my home.
"How have you been," I asked.
She looked up at me in surprise. "How have I been? Look at this place! I don't even know where I am."
I disengaged her arms from around my neck and pushed her down to sit on her bed. "Well, you are an honored guest at the business of a friend of mine." Her sobbing attitude started to disappear as her temper began to take over.
"Honored guest!?" She waved her chained arms around. "Look at this shithole. The only thing worse is the food. What they bring me is worse than shit."
"I gave orders for them to treat you as a VIP. And you are."
"YOU gave orders?" She was now building a full head of steam. "YOU sent me here?"
"Of course. Where else would I send a slave but to a slave trader?" That made the color fade from her face.
In a much quieter voice, she asked. "You are serious?" Then in a few moments, "No, you can't be. This is the twenty first century - there is no such thing anymore as actual slaves."
For a reply, I selected another key from the ring that I carried, unlocked her collar chain from the ring on the wall, then began to tow her toward the door. She reached up and grabbed hold of the chain, then pulled back on it. "I can't go out there. I'm naked."
"Of course," I replied. "All slave girls in this place are naked." I pulled her out into the hallway despite her resistance. A few minutes and several doors later, we were in the depths of the building, in the area for incoming merchandise. I stopped in front of a door, then looked in through the small barred opening at the ten foot square room. I could see a dozen or so pitiful specimens of refugee women, all naked and mostly sitting on the floor. The smell was absolutely indescribable - a miasma of sweat, piss, shit and unwashed female bodies, cunts and asses.
I slid the large latch bolt to the side and opened the door. The women in the room immediately jumped to their feet and wedged themselves against the back wall in fear of the unknown. I pushed Stephanie into the room, collar chain and all, then closed the door and threw the bolt.
As I retreated down the hall as rapidly as I could to get away from the smell, I heard Stephanie screaming through the opening in the door. It was just the expected entreaties to not be left there. And that she would do anything, and so forth. At the second door, I stopped, leaned back against the wall and just stood there breathing deeply. As air went, even here it was pretty substandard stuff, but compared to the toxic atmosphere that I had just left, this tasted like the cool flower scented breezes on my mountaintop.
I enjoyed the hospitality at Ayhan's for the night, then left for an excursion around the Black Sea.
Two weeks later I was back in the slave pit. I waited in Stephanie's original luxury suite as Acid Face retrieved her from the back of the building. He pushed her into the room, the collar chain still attached and clanking on the floor. I looked her over as I picked up the end and relocked it to the ring on the wall. She was very subdued, dirty and stunk like an outhouse. Her period had come and gone and the remains of dried blood trailed down her thighs. Scratches on her face, arms and tits made me think that possibly she hadn't gotten along with some of her new acquaintances.
I looked at her standing in the center of the small room. "Now do you believe me that you are in the VIP suite?"
For a reply, she immediately threw herself at my feet and sobbed, "Please. Don't leave me here. Take me back to your house. You can beat me, whip me, anything." She gave just about as pitiful a picture of a woman who had no illusions left as I had ever seen. And she wasn't acting, now. "Please. You can have my money. Take it, just take me with you."
I sat down on the hard mattress. "A slave doesn't have any money. How could she give any to me?" And that was a fact. Using the contents of her purse, most of what she got in her divorce was now proceeding overseas to make still more money for me.
I was harder than a rock. She was so disgustingly filthy that I didn't want to lay on her, but my nuts were unconcerned with my fastidiousness. I stood up for a second and dropped my pants, then sat back down. "Give me some mouth action," I ordered. Her desperation was such that there was not a millisecond of hesitation. She scooted across the floor, and immediately clamped her mouth around my dick. A few minutes later she swallowed every drop and looked up in hope that the satisfaction would be rewarded.
I reached down and put my hand under her jaw and pulled her face up to look at me. "You aren't going to be sold as a slave, yet. In fact, I haven't decided just what to do with you. Maybe I will take you back to the good old USA eventually." She started to smile in relief until she realized what I had just said.
"I'm in another country?" she asked, with a look of incredulousness.
I smiled back. "Sweetie, you're on the other side of the world from your cage on the mountain. In a real slave trader's establishment."
"But-" she started.
I stopped her and stood up, rezipping my pants. "For now you are going to stay here and receive some training. When and if I decide what to do with you - well, what will happen is something for the future. Get on the bed, on your back."
Confused, she looked at the bed, then at me. "But-' she started again. I pulled the small crop out of my back pocket and whacked her lightly across the back.
"On the bed, bitch. Now. And spread 'em." She jumped up, lay down and opened her legs for what she assumed was my entry. No chance of that, since I had just blown off a load, and also for the reason that the smell from her crack, and in fact her whole body, was overwhelming. "I'm going to have a friend look after you while you are here." I waited for her expression of gratitude. "I want you to be nice to him in return." With that, I stepped back out into the hall and gestured. A moment later Acid Face re-entered the room, pulled on the rope that passed for a belt, let his pants drop to the floor, then moved toward the now stupefied Stephanie. He not only was a big dude in body, but he was swinging a piece of meat to match his size. I assumed that, since he was a permanent employee in this place, the less than erotic fragrance from Stephanie's body would not be a problem. It obviously wasn't.
He dropped to his knees between Stephanie's, pointed in the direction he wanted to go, and entered in one motion. Stephanie started out with one long "NOOOOOO" that was cut off when his hand whacked across her face. I decided that the couple deserved some privacy, so I left quietly with my last view of her of being rocked back and forth as he pumped her pussy in long strokes.
I stopped by Tarkan's office for a chat, thanked him for the services he was providing to me, and indicated what I wanted done with Stephanie while she was here. Fortunately, he had an employee who spoke fairly good English. When I asked about training, Tarken immediately sat up and said, "Ah- I have a brother-in-law who trains women in the art of courtesans. He is very expensive, but he is sent girls from all over the world to be turned into exquisite property. I you wish, I will contact him for you."
"Thank you, Tarkan. Please do." He immediately picked up the phone and conversed with the other end for a time, then hung up.
"He is waiting for you. With your permission, Osman-" His translator indicated himself. "-will take you over there. It is only about a half hour away."
"You are a friend without price, " I said as I stood up. "Thank you for the all the services." I pulled an envelope out of my pocket, "This is to cover any expenses that I have in the coming year."
"That is fine, my friend, but do not forget to send me some more of your beautiful American women."
A while later, I was sitting in a parlor in a much better part of the city than I had just come from. After going through the obligatory tea acceptance, and exchanging pleasantries, my host, one known as Surhan, asked, "What may I do for the friend of my brother?" He spoke good English, so we could converse directly. I gave him the details on Stephanie, and that I understood that he trained women in the art of courtesanship, if that is a word, and that if he would accept the commission, I wanted her to be trained to the utmost that art - no expense to be spared.
Shortly, we came to an agreement, he gave orders to a minion to arrange for Stephanie to be transferred between establishments, then offered me a tour. I was flabbergasted to see the insides of yet another business that I didn't even know existed until today. The tour was stunning, but is a tale for a later time.
Pudgy was rapidly turning into a lard toy. Between the very high calorie diet and the total lack of exercise, she didn't lay on her platform so much as flow across it. Every part of her was becoming huge. If she was put on her hands and knees, her breasts had almost grown large enough for the nipples to touch the mattress. Soon they would. When either Coco or the boy were allowed to service her, the motion of the pounding would cause ripples to move up and down her body as her flesh responded to the action. I even used her on occasion. She was a soft and pleasant mattress to just lay on and relax, after shooting off into her.
I realized that my grand plans for my fantasy operation were just that, a fantasy. What I had drawn up would have put a Hollywood thriller to shame, required a massive cast, tons of money and a military precision in execution that would have had audiences laughing at the writer.
I erased my efforts to date, and realize that I should have followed the advice given to beginning programmers. KISS - keep it simple, stupid. After a little thought on those lines, I realized that I needed it to be done by no more than two or three people, at most.
A long email came from Ayhan that was interesting, to say the least. He informed me that Tarkan had been unable to fill my previous order, but- What followed was a long explanation of a possible alternate to my needs - and a request for a favor.
Ms B was becoming a real treat. She was no pinup girl, or woman I should say. Ordinary looking, small breasted, nice face, but nothing spectacular. But she enjoyed B&D about as much as any girl I had ever had. She was the type who got off on what was about to happen that she had no power to stop. She feared being put under the whip, or stretched in the rack, but would give instruction for severe whippings or tight stretching without a safe word, knowing that once the session started, that she was helpless to prevent what was coming. She didn't quite rise to the level of Mrs T's desire for pain, but that was no surprise. Mrs T would have given instructions for herself to be broken on the wheel, if she thought I would perform it on her.
We discovered early on that Ms B liked uncertainty, rather than giving specific instructions for her session at the start. Together, we came up with a random method, employing a deck of cards that would determine the type and severity of her bondage. When she showed up for a session, she would shuffle an ordinary deck of cards, then place it in my little Japanese box. First, she would be restrained somehow, usually in the vertical chain X. I would draw the first card off the top of the deck. That would show, in hours, how long she would be restrained before her first punishment. It could be from one - an ace - to thirteen hours - a king. The next card would show what the punishment would be. If a heart, then it would the whip. A spade would be the rack, and so forth. The next card would tell how long the punishment would be for, or how many strokes she would get, whichever matched the punishment that was scheduled. The final card would tell the severity of the punishment. A black suite meant severe strokes, or tight stretching - red would be lesser. A joker would call for a really far out routine, to be select by drawing another card.
Not long after we developed the system, we discovered that the erotic value of the unknown was enhanced if I didn't show her the cards until AFTER the action. That way she had no idea of what was coming, or how long or how severe. I would lay the cards face down in a row on a shelf that she could see, then after the punishment or restraint show her the value so she would know that I hadn't been cheating - that she got exactly the action that she had drawn.
Finally, I designed and printed up a special deck of cards that were tailored to the play. Now she could draw into almost anything, and could specify gags, plugs, clamps, and everything in my inventory. Or sex - pussy, anal, oral, enemas, licking - whatever. If the odds were running against her on that day, the combination of unfortunate card draws could have her in real and severe bondage.
She was going to be a fine addition to someone's harem someday - possibly even mine.
I drove across the state line to visit my booki- The Big Fixer. What the heck. The man was like me, self made, up from a nobody to a multimillionaire. I should give him the credit he deserved. He was a long way from a mere bookie now. Just like I was a long long way from a fifteen dollar an hour salaried programmer.
He looked over my plan and my list of needed support personnel. "Hmmmm," he started. "You're getting kind of ambitious, aren't you." He examined the data sheet on the target of the operation. "I doubt that having a famous name makes a cunt feel any better around your dick when you're poking it."
"I have no doubt of that," I replied, "but this is a trading item, not a warmer for my bed."
"I don't see a problem, except for the crew that does the pickup. If it goes south they're going be looking at a heavy jolt." I assumed that the slang meant a long prison term. "They're going to want some pretty good bread up front."
I shrugged. "Do you want to get a credit report on me before we start?"
He laughed. "Ok, what do you want first?"
I pointed to the first item. "Just the reconnaissance for now. I need all the info I can get before deciding on anything else. Besides, there is a good chance this won't even go down."
Back home, I forgot about the plan until some more info came in as to the viability of whole idea.
Mrs N turned out to be just about what I had pegged her for. By now, I could usually, but not always, predict the path that a new client's desires would take just from the first interview. She liked moderate bondage, and light pain, but always with sex sometime during the session. She was another candidate for sale some day but the problem with her was that she was very prominent in her social circles. If she just up and disappeared, the news would hit the national headlines. Plus, there was the problem that she lived in the same town that two others had vanished from, also. I didn't want to trigger some investigative reporting from a newspaper who connected the dots together.
But that was a problem for the future.
I had my first medical problem on a girl. Cupcake developed an abscessed tooth that I could tell was going to go bad fast. I flew a dentist and his equipment in from a Caribbean island and had him work on her my house. This was the first time that she had been without her collar and bracelets since she was taken into the cave. It was also the first time that she had worn clothes during that time. Actually, it was a two part job. First was the root canal, then the dentist came back a month later to fill the tooth and cap it. An expensive dental bill, but far safer than trying to move her somewhere to have the work done.
The bitch, aka Pudgy was really spreading out on her round platform. By now, her stomach was so big and so used to being filled, that she didn't have to be forced to eat. In fact, if her meal was delayed in any way, or if she ran out of the enriched milk, her stomach complained to the extent that she was in actual pain. She was now getting so heavy, and her muscles had so atrophied from the lack of exercise, or even normal movement, that she had trouble just getting up to squat over her commode. I would have loved to have just strapped her on her back with her arms and legs spread out permanently, except that I knew that that was a medical impossibility, sex stories of it's being done not withstanding. She would have rapidly turned into a mass of bedsores. She would have to be allowed to move around on her bed, if not leave it.
The first item was a female catheter. That was something I would never have tried on my other girls, since I would be afraid of causing real medical problems. But the risk for the bitch was something I could live with. I printed off a considerable amount of info from various sites on the 'Net which I gave to Pancake to study. Once she was comfortable with what to do, we tightly stretched Pudgy out on her back and Pancake began to attempt to insert it. After a several tries, a couple of which made the fat girl jump, she got it inserted properly and the balloon expanded. A soft silicone hose was then inserted into the output of the catheter, and led off the platform to a collection bottle. Right as the catheter exited her peehole, a right angle connection directed the hose through the upper part of her crack, so as not to interfere with the use of her pussy. To prevent it from becoming entangled in her legs as she rolled over or moved around on the platform, the hose was led down one leg and held close with surgical bands. A week later, I had the girls pierce her upper pussy lips in several places just below her clit. Then the hose was pushed into the upper crack and the pussy lips sewed together over it. That kept it in place no matter how she moved around or how much her pussy was pumped.
We watched for a while as the pee slowly dripped into the bottle as it was produced. That took care of one output from the fat girl. The other bottom hole would take some experimentation.
It took several attempts before we made a working catheter, if that is what it is called, for her asshole, but eventually we got one that was leakproof and satisfactory. Once again, the methodology of keeping it simple was what gave success in the end. The use of an inflatable bladder worked temporarily, but I could never find one that would stay inflated. So I settled on a large surgical rubber ball, firm but not hard, through which a half inch hose was inserted. The end of the hose that would go inside her had a normal insertable nozzle connected, like the one that comes on a disposable feminine douche bottle, but with the end opened up. The external part of the hose led down her leg, next to the other one, off the bed and to a double valve. Switched one way would allow water to flow into her rectum - turned the other way would allow the liquid shit to flow into the sewer pipe.
When it came time to install it, the bitch was spread out with all four limbs stretched in chains with her bottom propped up by a big foam cushion under her stomach. Then her hole was temporarily widened over several hours with a series of stretchers - over her silent protests, I might add. Then finally, with a massive application of ass lube, both on the large ball, and in and around her asshole, the ball with the nozzle and hose were slowly pushed up into her.
Since it was the largest ball that I calculated that she could take without ripping something, the insertion was accompanied by massive wiggling that normally would have been accompanied by corresponding screams. But in a few moments it suddenly sucked in as it finally moved past the sphincter muscle. Then, to prevent it from moving further up her anal canal, and to prevent leakage around it, the end of the hose was threaded through a much smaller rubber ball which was then slipped all the way up the hose until it touched the outside of her asshole. As the hose was gently tugged to pull the large internal ball back against the inside of her asshole, the little ball was pushed up firmly against the outside of the hole. Then a single drop of instant glue fixed the small ball in place on the hose. Now the internal ball was constantly pulled back against the inside of the sphincter and her rectum was leakproof. The ball was so big that she would never be able to shit it out. If it needed to be removed, I would have to do it.
I knew she was sore and could feel the internal ball for several days, but eventually the feeling disappeared and she lost any sensation of being plugged up. Now, once a day Pancake would step up to the platform, turn a valve that would allow about a gallon of warm water to flow into the bitch's ass, then flip the valve to the other position which would allow Pudgy to blow out the now liquid shit whenever she wanted.
She was now chained to where she could not leave the platform. She could sit up, roll over and move around but that is about all. Her hands were free, but her wrists were connected to individual neck collar chains that prevented her from reaching much below her belly button. Every few days, one of the girls would give her a sponge bath and change the blanket that covered her mattress. She was eating so often that she was required to use a toothbrush every few hours. I didn't want her teeth to fall out next year from all the sweets she was eating.
On occasion, she would be placed on her back, her arms would be chained out over her head, her legs raised and fastened in stirrups, and then her pussy would be used by one of the swinging dicks in the cave, and on occasion, including me. By now, she was so large that, when on her hands and knees, her tits would not only touch the mattress, but would be firmly resting most of their weight on it. That is how she spent her days, just laying around on the platform converting calories into fat.
One unforeseen problem cropped up. I was suddenly afraid that when the boy was pumping her, that the heavy metal that he was swinging that normally hit her, or any girl, in the ass crack would damage or knock something loose. From then on, when he fucked her, Coco had the job of holding his nuts so that they would not swing into her equipment. I warned Coco that if she tried to play games and hurt him in any way, then she would be strapped down and the boy allowed to plow her rear hole until he tired of it. Since Coco didn't like a dick up her butt any more than the boy did, the warning was sufficient.
I got a written report from my agent in California. I perused it for several days, building then tearing down plan after plan. I thought I saw the way it could be done, so I sent off a message for some specific information.
Coming back early, I caught Coco and Chocolate making the two backed beast without permission - a major fracture of my rules. In my dungeon, all sexual acts were ok'ed by me before they were performed. Normally Pancake would be watchful for that kind of infraction, but she was asleep on her mat.
Both were stretched up in the whipping posts, titty to titty, although Coco resisted and had to be man and woman handled by both Pancake and Cupcake with help from the boy before she was properly trussed up. For the next half hour, the dungeon echoed with screams as Pancake wielded her strap as hard as she could swing it. I let them hang in the chains until bedtime, then they were both deposited in a cage. Pancake then strapped a chastity belt on both, manacled their right hand to the other's left wrist and then the left to the other's right. Then the same thing with their ankles. Both wrists and feet had about a foot of chain from girl to girl. They would stay in there for a month, chaste and joined at the wrists and ankles, eating, sleeping, pissing and shitting together. They were only fed twice a day, morning and night and most of the rest of the time, except for their sleeping period, were gagged.
Cupcake especially enjoyed the sight of either of them trying to piss or shit while chained together and desperately trying not to overturn the bucket onto their sleeping blanket. She could definitely be a little bitch, but she was also careful not to break any rules that would get her into a similar situation.
Mrs B eventually drew the only wild card in her special pack. It was the equivalent of the Joker in a regular deck of cards. What it meant was, that she would now endure one of the special punishments on a list of the wildest things I could think up. In this case, she was led outside and down the back side of the hill a ways, where my store of sand and gravel was kept. I had already dug a hole in the slightly wet sand big enough for her to sit in. At the bottom was square block of foam for her to sit on. It had a small hole in the middle leading to a much larger cavity in the block. After seating her, with her asshole over the hole, and her legs spread, I began to push the sand back in the hole. When it got about level with her tits, I unmanacled her hands, had her stick them down into the sand at about a forty five degree angle and proceeded to fill the hole up. Shortly, only her head was sticking out of the sand and she was entirely immobile. I had a small wooden box built that would fit over her head to protect her from the sun and the unlikely wild animal that might come along. One face of the box was open with screen wire that would allow her to look out. A small hose attached to and leading through the screen from a water bottle made sure that she could stay hydrated. I left her there, immobile and looking out over a grand view of the valley.
My information came back from California, and I made tentative plans to act on it. If my plan didn't work, so be it. I would either try another or drop the project. I had negotiated a fee for several agents - ok, underworld scum, to be realistic - both for just the setup and for the actual initiation of the plan. They were to drive out there since most of them didn't want any part of the security screening that came with flying. None of them knew who was running the show, of course. Everything went though my bookie/fixer.
Late that afternoon I checked on my buried client. She was getting along fine, so I decided that as long as she was bored, I might as well give her something to do. To her surprise, I took off my shorts, then sat down in front of her, legs out in a vee pattern, then scooted up until my dick was in reach of her mouth. "Start sucking, bitch," I ordered. As she hesitated - more from the surprise order than any dislike of the act - I continued, "Or you can be ring gagged and hooded for the night if you would prefer. I lay back on my elbows as she began to work her tongue and mouth up and down my rod. The afternoon was warm and beautiful, and I enjoyed the breeze coming up the hill as I prepared to fill her mouth with cream. Suddenly, I sat up, grabbed her by the ears then began to pump my jism down her throat. She choked, but managed to get most of it down. "Good girl," I said. Reaching into a box I had brought, I fed her some meat and rolls that Cupcake had made. Finally, I unwrapped a candy bar and she gobbled it down. I replaced her box cover and wished her good night. After making sure her water jug was full, I went back indoors.
By morning, her colon would be empty and the hole in the box she was sitting on would be full. The candy bar that I gave her was laced with a chocolate laxative.
The next morning, I towed her back into the house for a shower and the termination of this session. Shortly I was driving her back to the city to get her car. From her babbling about her experiences this time, I could definitely consider her to be hooked for life on hard core B&D.
My crew was equipped with pay-by-the-minute phones, but were told not to turn them on until they got to their destination. I also emphasized that the Fixer was to tell them in no uncertain terms to obey all laws for the time being. It had always been baffling to me at to why, for instance, the driver of a car stuffed to the ceiling with crack, or pot, or cash, or something else that could send them up the river for twenty years, would cruise down an Interstate highway ten or fifteen miles an hour over the speed limit. And usually in a car that had something visibly wrong with it, like missing or expired plates, or broken headlights or such. Apparently drugs actually do make you stupid, even if you don't ingest them. I wanted none of that on my operation.
Once I got to the west coast, I played the part of a tourist, waiting for my crew to arrive. I had no intention of physically assisting in this operation - in fact, no one, including the Fixer, had any idea that I was out here. I was an anonymous kibitzer.
The girl I wanted, who was the reason for this operation, was an actress, twenty eight years of age, currently ranked among the top ten. Like so many, she started as a very young player on TV, then into bit parts in the movies, and finally was Discovered and hit it big in Hollywood - now among the top ten in ratings. Also, like so many, she couldn't handle the success. A series of busts, both for drugs and booze, got her a couple of sessions of rehab and also more parts in pictures. Then a couple of DUIs found her trying to stay out of jail. So far she had, but my wager was that a zebra can't change its stripes, and neither could she. My agent who had been out here investigating, confirmed it. She was a regular patron of the exclusive clubs, and almost always left being supported by whatever hangers-on happened to be with her that night. On occasion, he even saw her driving herself away from the club, an act of total stupidity based on what would happen if she was stopped, or hit someone.
Needless to say, she was beautiful, desirable, and worth a fortune in certain parts of the world. I wanted neither the money nor her pussy.
On Thursday afternoon, my crew had arrived, checked in to the hotel they were sent to, and called their controller - me. I told them to do anything they wanted during the day, but be back at the hotel by eight o'clock in case orders came in. Usually, I would call them before that and tell them that nothing would be happening tonight, and do what they wanted. My other agent, the one who was keeping physical track of my target, would keep me posted during the evening as to the possibility of action.
A week went by without an opportunity. Then part of another. So far, the girl had either stayed home, or gone somewhere unknown.
Sunday night rolled around and she headed to a popular roundup for the rich and famous. Unfortunately, this one would not serve our purpose - it was far too open, in the good part of town, and the parking lot had real security people monitoring it.
Monday night found her in another club. Again, it didn't feel right and I called the operation off.
Wednesday night, she hit another spot. It wasn't perfect, but it was doable. I gave the order to proceed, then drove my rental down to the dive and parked across the street. Just another car in hundreds of cars lining the street. Soon, I got the word that the items had successfully been planted in her car. I had no idea of how a modern automobile was broken into, what with electronic locks and alarms, but I had been assured that it was duck soup for an expert. And I supposedly had a expert who was so good that he hadn't been in jail for car theft for more than seven years.
Not long after the call, I saw another car pull up and into a lot down the street. Nobody got out.
It was a long wait. She was really making it a night. Finally, she came out, unsteadily arm and arm with a girlfriend and headed for the parking garage. I dialed the phone and alerted my crew. Since her car was close to the bottom of a multi story parking garage, the GPS unit attached to her bumper was not registering on my laptop yet. I hoped it had been installed.
Now it all came down to whether or not she, or her friend would bother to question why there was a bottle of excellent wine sitting on the center console - a bottle that already had the cork pulled and barely stuffed back in. Eventually, her car came out the exit, and my laptop beeped as an icon appeared on the map. I spoke one word into my phone, "Rolling." I had previously given the exact description of her car to my crew. Being night, and the fact that her car had heavily tinted windows, made it impossible to see who was driving, or even how many were in the car.
At one thirty on a week night, the traffic was fairly sparse, and got less as she moved up into the hills. I was just another car rolling down the road and I doubt that my crew even noticed it as they passed me to move up behind her at a discrete distance. The only reason I was going along was to keep them on track in the event that they got stuck at a light or traffic and lost her. Actually, I could have done that from my hotel, but I wanted to see this operation as it went down- or south, I told myself.
A half hour later, she was getting close to home and I was about to call off the pursuit when her car just began to slow down. A wheel climbed a curb, and either bounced back or was jerked back on the road. It continued to slow and began creeping across the center of he street toward the other side. I suddenly froze as it appeared that it was going to dead center a car parked at the curb. I was a considerable ways back and my depth of vision was fortunately defective because I saw her car disappear behind the parked auto and stop short in a bush. I pulled over and turned off my lights.
What happened next, happened in a flash. These might have been underworld scum, or two bit crooks for all I knew, but they worked like a well oiled military team. One jumped out of the following car, walked - not ran - up to her stalled car, unlocked and opened the door somehow, and got in. I assumed that what he found were two girls sitting there glassy eyed - spaced out on the GHB that was in the wine. Immediately, the car reversed, then took off at a normal speed down the block, turning right and disappearing. The chase car followed. I just started up, u-turned and headed back toward town. On the laptop I could see the girl's car heading west toward the ocean.
I sat in my hotel parking lot and continued to watch the scrolling map. Eventually the car turned onto a road paralleling the ocean and then into a seaside park. In a few minutes, the GPS signal disappeared.
The next morning, I resumed my tourism. There was a wonderful Shakespeare in the Park performance that I saw that night, followed by a deep sea fishing expedition the next day. Eventually, I checked out of the hotel and caught a flight back home. In the airport, I noticed headlines about some actress who apparently had gotten drunk and fell off a cliff and was assumed to be drowned in the Pacific. I didn't read it. Stuff like that happened all the time out there.
When I got back, both Coco and Chocolate were very unhappy and begging to be let out of the cage. I ignored them. I brought Pancake upstairs that night as my bedwarmer. It had been several days since I had had any tail, and she was a welcome relief. I asked how things had gone during my absence and she had no complaints. Well, there had been some minor squabbles between the two chained girls - neither one had a good control of her temper out of my presence and it was inevitable that they would shortly get on each other nerves, especially when having to live in each others face for days on end. Fortunately, Pancake's whip easily fit between the bars. It didn't help that both were horny bitches and neither one could touch the parts that they needed to manipulate to get relief.
The next morning, I sat down at my computer and did some searching of the news. I was especially interested in articles about a famous actress - one who, alas, had already shown an unfortunate tendency to abuse certain drugs. Apparently, she went to a club in violation of her parole rules, got smashed and drove to a park overlooking the ocean. When a patrol car drove up early the next morning, the driver's door was open just a few feet away from the cliff, at the edge of which were certain gouges. Unfortunately, her companion was still sleeping off the night's revelry and could throw no light on what had happened. Or, for that matter, even remember driving up the coast road. The Coast Guard was still engaged in a search of the waters off the park, but were very pessimistic about any success of finding the missing actress alive.
Hollywood is certainly not a wholesome place to live, I decided. This kind of stuff was always going on out there.
Two days later, my throwaway cellphone rang, and a voice said a single word, "Ok". I broke the phone in half, and as I drove down the road toward town, threw the individual pieces over certain road side cliffs as I passed them. In town, I drove up and into a ratty old warehouse that was owned by me, but through enough phony corporations that even I wasn't sure how to trace the ownership. Inside, among all the boxes of junk, was just another anonymous box that hadn't been there a few days ago. I hammered the side open, picked up the unconscious girl under her arms and strapped her into the passenger seat of my car. Shortly, the auto with the mountaintop millionaire and his latest girlfriend were heading back up the mountain road. It was a beautiful day and I prepared to wave at whichever deputy was standing outside of the station, but on this day no one was.
In an hour or so, my new possession was safely installed in a cage in the dungeon, sans clothes.
I picked up a briefcase, got back in my car and headed over the state line. A couple of hours later, I was knocking back a glass or two and getting the rest of the story from the Fixer. I already knew most of what had happened, even though it was from inference, and not actual data. After driving the car to the cliff side and gouging the edge to look like a fall, they removed the GPS unit and threw both it and the now half empty bottle of wine into the ocean. Then two states away, after injecting her with some additional bye-bye juice, they sealed their cargo into the provided box and passed it on to another courier and drove back to the Fixers to get paid. The original crew had no idea where she went after they passed her on. And the person they delivered her to had no idea what he was delivering.
I authorized the balance of payment to the men for the job, and added a goodly amount as a bonus for a job well done. The Fixer toasted me with the comment, "Man, you are wasting your life by fooling around with pussy. With your skills, you could be the head cheese of an international mob in nothing flat." I assumed he was joking, but I wasn't tempted to change career paths.
By the next day, all of the drugs had passed out of my starlet's system and she had already gone through all the usual acts of emotion. Disbelief, panic, threats, pleading and finally begging. She obviously had already been lasered clean of any hair, so that wasn't needed. I had the girls drag her bodily to a sawhorse rack and strapped her in. By now her voice was failing from the nonstop stream of pleadings and threats that she had been giving out all morning. Those suddenly stopped completely when Pancake stuck a ball gag in her mouth - at least, they weren't understandable after that.
I ran my hands up and down her back. She had a luscious body, but slightly puffy from her constant bingeing. As I reached under to feel of her big tits, she squirmed and fought the chains and shouted around the gag. Pancake looked inquiringly at me, silently offering the use of her crop on the recalcitrant female. I waved her back, and continued my exploring. Her pussy was beautiful, to match the rest of her. I spread the pink little lips and fingered up the channel - warm and wet. Finally, I lubed and stuck my middle finger in her little ass star and wiggled. That set her off again.
I hadn't had plans to use her myself before sending her off, but the pressures that rose from the sight of this young struggling cunt could not be resisted. I nodded at Pancake, and she dropped down on her knees to lube my cock, and I stepped up and began to insert it up the pussy of the now frantic girl. I reached around, grabbed her fat titties, and pumped away. In a few minutes, she was officially raped. The Fixer was right. Except for the psychological erotism of fucking a new girl and famous actress, her cunt felt just about like all the rest that I had ever poked.
I backed away, and looked at the boy, standing there hoping that I was going to allow him a piece of her also. I was feeling generous, and shortly his metal weighted nuts were swinging back and forth hard enough to slap her in her love mound. I had told him to use her pussy only, not the other hole.
When the action was over, I told Pancake to string her up and begin a standard breaking routine. In a while, as I sat at my computer, I heard the shrieks of the new girl as Pancake put the leather to her at the whipping posts.
I stood around the lobby waiting for the huge 747 to unload. I assumed that my visitors would be flying first class, but that was only an assumption. For all I knew they could be in the back of the plane. I was holding up a sign with a single word, hoping that I had copied the strange script correctly. Eventually, a young man and an even younger girl spotted me and changed course to where I was standing.
"Mr. Tatum?" he asked. When I nodded to confirm that he was correct, he continued, "My name is Sirhan bin Demir. My uncle send his most fervent greetings." He pointed to the slight young girl behind him and said, "Her name is Fatimah bint Mahmoud bin Abdulaziz Al-Fulan." I gulped, and my face probably mirrored my confusion. He smiled and said, "You may call her Teema- or anything you want."
I held out my hand and said, "Welcome to America, Mr Demir. Come with me and we'll rescue your luggage."
He shook his head. "It will just be hers. I am continuing on to New York. Here is the information that my uncle asked me to deliver with the woman." He handed be a packet then looked at his watch - a Rolex, I noticed - and said, "I need to get back on the plane." To the girl, he said several sentences in Turkish, then pointed to me. Then he held out his hand, said goodbye and moved back into the boarding area.
"Do you speak English?" I asked the girl.
"Very quietly, and without looking at me, she replied, "Yes, Sir."
Eventually her bag finally appeared on the baggage carousel. Shortly, we were in my car for the five hour drive to the mountaintop.
End of Book 4
Copyright© 2011 by Morlock. All rights reserved.