Dark Erotic Fiction

(Following on from “The Whipping“, we return to George Page’s PoV)

I chatted briefly with Cov and Hun and didn’t rise to their semi-snide comparisons of the way we treated our respective Wheaton Heights Wives.

With Claire Winters looking on, I complimented them on the event so far, and thanked them for introducing me to Monsieur Avignon.

I let them go as they went over to Ernestine to join the camera crew for a more intimate interview.

All the while I’d ignored, as much as possible, the slave that I’d ordered to lick the ‘basting’ paste from my hand.   I’d noticed her movements slowing down, and an increasing warmth in my fingers, but I’d been determined to show the women that I could be as callous as they could.

I may have done better than I’d known, because as soon as they were out of earshot, two slaves hurried over to us.

“Master,” the first one to reach us said urgently, “That paste is mildly acidic, ah, it contains some chemicals that break down the skin to further tenderise the meat.   Ah, it can cause permanent damage if we don’t get it cleaned off quickly.”

I quickly held out my hand for her to wipe down with a wet towel, while the other one hovered nervously. If they were so concerned about my hand … Fuck!

“Can you neutralize it?   For her?”   I nodded at the slave who’d been licking my fingers.

“In the clinic, Master, can we?”   They looked over to the back corner of the courtyard, where one of the arms joined the cross at the kitchen.

“Lead on” I ordered, helping my slave to her feet. I nodded as one of the others had her rinse her mouth out before taking a long drink of water.

The ‘Clinic’ they lead me to was a well set up little facility in the back corner of the complex, almost a mini-hospital, with several treatment rooms as well as a couple of small ‘recovery’ type wards.

The thickness of the doors on the ‘treatment’ rooms should have been my first clue, but it wasn’t until I saw a slave - well, a presumed slave - strapped to the table in the last room, with what looked like a dozen surgical clamps attached to her breasts that I realised that this was as much of a torture facility as the courtyard or the dungeon I’d looked into.

Some of it may have been psychological, but by the time we reached the sluice area, my hand - my dominant left hand, of course - was beginning to sting quite badly.   I didn’t want to think about how the slave’s mouth and throat felt.

I very quickly had the paste washed off, and a cooling anesthetic (and antiseptic?) gel smeared over it.   When it was offered, I accepted a thin gauze glove as well.

Looking at my victim, I watched as she was made to rinse her mouth some more and then gargle a sharp smelling liquid.

“You’re both medics?” I asked as her attendant shone the expected device down her throat, looking for damage.

The one who treated me snorted.   “I’m an MD, and Kate’s a registered nurse, or she was.”

“Ah.   This place would keep you fairy busy, then.”   Another snort.

“How is she?” I went on as she didn’t offer any more information.

“Tongue and lips are the worst,” the other one - Kate - answered, “But then you’d expect that.   Throat’s inflamed, but I don’t think it’s too bad.   I doubt she swallowed very much.”

“Good.” I knelt next to my victim and took her hands.

“I’m sorry I did this to you,” I told her, very much to her surprise, I imagine.   “I didn’t mean to, but that’s my fault for leaping before I knew what I was putting my hand into.”   She nodded when I finished. “Is there anything I can do?”

“She’ll get points for this,” the MD said.   “Not many, because there wasn’t all that much damage, but I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone eat the paste before.   And her obedience was perfect, too.”

I pulled a card from my shirt pocket and handed it to her.   “If there’s ever anything, give me a call.”

***

Jesus, I thought as I wandered back out to the courtyard.   I’d thought that I was riding the rough edge of my personality when I beat on my Debbie, but half the things I’d seen here were giving my ideas.   I amble past some of the displays that had been set up while the queue basted poor Earnie.

Most of it was low key stuff - girls in whipping posts, or getting fucked in pillories, that sort of thing.   But there were a couple that stood out.   They were winding up before the main event, so I couldn’t watch them for too long.

One was a ‘human dartboard’:   A slave was strapped to a wheel like an old knife thrower’s assistant and the wheel was spun while the ‘players’ threw oversized darts.   When the board spun to a stop, I was surprised to see the slave wearing a hard plastic mask over her fast and throat.   I would have expected her to have to take her chances with getting a dart in the eye, but it soon occurred to me that it was Cov and Hun who weren’t taking any chances:   It wouldn’t do to have some mere slave upstage their show by dying by accident.

That explained some of the urgency of the two medics, as well, I supposed.

The other interesting exhibit was more complicated.   This time the slave was suspended by her feet from a gantry that extended out from the rooftree.   With her hair just sweeping the ground, the swing arm must have been something like twenty feet.   That part of it alone, I could see possibilities for - thank you Foucault - but it didn’t stop there:   on each swing, she swung between two large metal domes.   As she did so, fat, juicy sparks leapt out from the Van der Graff generators.

She must have been well gagged, or very well trained, because I didn’t hear anything over the Hummm-Zap! of the generators.

Like the dartboard, though, this one was also coming to an end.   The swinger was slowed till she hung still, directly between the domes!   The discharge rate went up dramatically until they were turned off.   She was left hanging, but the machines were quieted so as not to distract from the main event.

While I’d been away, Ernestine had been moved from her upright frame to the ‘kneeling supplicant’ restraints of a Jessica 3000, her neck and spine held rigidly in place, her arms stretched out in front of her.

I worked my way to the front of the onlookers, up by her head, almost despite myself.   I was damned sure I wasn’t going to enjoy this anywhere near as much as I’d thought I would.

There was absolutely no expression in Earnestine’s eyes as the tip of the shaft, the spit, was seated in her anus, and I wondered if I had hurt her more than I’d helped when I’d brought her back - if I’d brought her back - earlier.   If she’d found some place inside herself, I’d probably not done her a favour.

Still, I was hardly the demon of this piece.   The spit may have been ready, but Cov & Hun weren’t ready to let their Earnie go quite yet. They stepped up to where her hands were splayed against the metal frame of the Jessica and rapped the machine hard with bulb-headed metal rods.

Earnie blinked at the sudden noise, but that was it:   she didn’t track her tormenters the way I’d seen her do the night before, or even as recently as her whipping.   From the look of it, if they wanted a live spit roast, they’d better get on with it.

I was wrong.   Earnestine focused and started tracking again the instant Hun brought her baton down to smash one of her fingers.   Then it was Cov’s turn, and they alternated until her hands must have been shattered.

I could understand why they did it - it was like Winters had said earlier, there was no point tormenting someone who wasn’t aware of it - but there was something beyond callous in the way they did it.

Finally, they were done, and with a flourish, Cov pressed the button that started the machine.   Earnie didn’t react much for the first several inches, but I wasn’t surprised given they way she’d been reamed out the night before, starting with myself and graduating up to Cov’s fist. God only knew what they’d got up to after Tia and I left.

I could tell when it hit the first serious resistance by the way her eyes widened and the slight pause in the shaft before the sharpened point pushed through whatever membrane or intestinal wall it had hung up on and continued its remorseless inch-per-second progress.

Her breathing changed as it punctured her diaphragm, and then she spasmed - despite the rigid restraint - as the spit forced its way into her esophagus.

I watched her throat bulge at the end, just before it appeared between her teeth.

The shaft continued to come out until a full yard had passed completely through her before stopping.   Earnestine’s ragged heartbeat thumped out over the PA system as the MD slave I’d spoken with earlier held a microphone to her chest before bowing deeply to Cov and Hun and announcing solemnly “She is alive, Mistresses.”

The two Hosts grinned hugely as the whole compound burst into applause.   Bowing themselves, they reached forward and pressed the next button on the Jessica, causing the gutting blades to sweep out and disembowel their slave - their meal, now - in a gout of blood.

They walked hand in hand the length of the machine until they reached the offal tray at the end.   Hun reached in and picked up something - I figured that it was probably the liver - and cut a long slice.   She seared it quickly on a prepared hotplate and offered one end to Cov.   Taking the other end between her own teeth, they embraced and nibbled down the virtually raw slice of meat.

I could barely hold down my gorge as they met in the middle and sank into a deep soul-kiss to renewed applause and a couple of cat calls.

That was it, for me, I had had enough.   ‘Friend of Jamis’ I might have called myself, but at least Paul Atreides never had to watch the deathstill in action.

Earnestine Royal had expired, at last.   I reached out and closed her eyes, only to look up into the smirk on the face of Claire Winters.

“Staying for Dinner?” she asked.

(Carrying on from ‘The Whipping‘, Earnestine’s Owners have a message to pass on)

Cov and Hun: Faded Lotus Events (Fade Out Films Transcripts)

Eleanor:   Fade Out Films is producing “Earnestine”s Last Supper” here at Faded Lotus Dolcett Village in Stepford.   This is a DVD bonus section, an interview with Mistress Covington.   I”m Eleanor, your host and a GVVN person of limited rights.   Mistress Covington has a statement for the Wheaton Heights ladies.

Cov & Hun image 1

Cov: (blows cigarette smoke in Eleanor”s face—Eleanor coughs) They are bitches—snooty, bitchy, whiney, cunts that never worked hard in their worthless lives.   (Cov puffs on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground, lights another).   This is how to make dinner, bitching cunts.   Start with one stupid snooty socialite.   Broaden her horizons—and as the man says, other orifices.   Beat well.   Run her until she collapses.   It doesn”t take much.   Earnie baby was so lazy that shopping was hard for her.   Next, we whip the shit out of her.   We fix her to the grill and spice her up.   The moment of truth is when we let Earnie in on the joke.   She”s the joke!

Eleanor: I see that you have her trussed up already.

Cov: Now Hun is going to inject the special flavoring into Earnie”s brain.   It will make her feel every little thing magnified a thousand times.   She has only a few hours to live—and she will be very grateful when the pain stops.   Taking away her oxygen won”t kill her.   The stuff breaks down at 140 degrees so it is safe to eat her brains.   We will.   This DVD is to put all those spoiled rich bitches of Wheaton Heights on notice. (takes a last drag on her clove cigarette and drops it on the ground) Earnie was a Royal pain in our ass from Day One.   When Hun and I worked at the Bargain Hunter Supermarket, her complaints got us fired.   Every day she showed up was a day the manager got a complaint about me or Hun or both of us.   We were rude to her, she said.   We reeked of tobacco smoke. (lights up another clove cigarette, puffs on it) Finally, after being put on probation without pay for a week, we were told to never return.

Hun: Yes, Earnie is ready now.   It”s payback for the restaurant when Earnie dumped that soup all over me. (dumps a bowl of red paste on Earnestine and spreads it around with her gloved hand) This would really burn if I didn”t have gloves.   See?   Earnie here is trying to get away from the burn.   The flavor enhancer is working its magic.   Earnie can”t make a squeak anymore.   She”s dead.   She is just stuck in her body for our amusement until the flavor enhancer burns out of her system over the coals.   About that restaurant—there was a little waviness in her wine glass.   Earnie bitched so much about that little blemish that we didn”t get any tips from either table that night.   We got fired again because Miss Perfect here said that we had put pubic hair in her food.

Cov & Hun image 2

Cov: Rich Bitch kept showing up wherever we worked and caused us trouble.   We lost a pet grooming business we started because she and her friends boycotted us.   We finally had to leave for our current location, Fort Jones, Arkansas, because we kept getting harassed by Earnie and her brunch bunch.   I bet she regretted that.   We were out of state when WSA 2000 was passed or Earnie might have gotten us enslaved.   Her bad!   We left our problems behind and started a dude ranch.

Hun: Yeah.   (Finished with Earnestine Royal, removes gloves) When we saw Governor Rush roast his daughters, it was Hello!   Why not start a live roast dude ranch?   We knew food.   I was a butcher in the Bargain Hunter Meat Department.   Cov knew the spices.   Cov, may I have a cigarette?

Cov: Sure, Hun. (lights two and passes one to Hun).   Don”t forget Earnie”s anti-smoking crusade.   She got us tossed out of our trailer court for smoking too much!

Hun: As if she would know.   (long drag and exhales) She and the other Wheaton Heights bitches never knew.   We are going to be buying other Wheaton Heights bitches and even roasting them in their own homes.   Isn”t that right, George?   You bought three of them and you want to be part of this scene.

Cov: That bitch Bethany is forted up in that Eastlake University Castleman thing—but she won”t be there forever.   We”re waiting.   Sharon is on our list, so is Alex.   And don”t think your spoiled brats are safe, either!   Tiffany had better watch her back.   She could be sent out on a fake slave pick-up and wind up here.   We have been bugging Ben about what a slut his daughter has been!   It doesn”t matter if Tiffy slut is really a good girl or not—what matters is that lovey dovey daddy loses it and slaves Tiffy bitch so that we can roast her too.

Cov & Hun image 3

Hun: The only thing is that we regret is that Earnie cunt won”t see that.   We have an option to buy Sandra next.   There is supposed to be a two-girl roast in Wheaton Heights next week.

Cov: Anyway, Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is the premier dining experience in Stepford, just 90 minutes away from lovely Wheaton Heights.   Look us up on the World Wide Web. (finishes her cigarette in a long drag)   Look out, rich bitches!   We will have our vengeance.

Eleanor: Whew! (Fans herself) Mistress Covington!   That was quite the message!

Cov: What do you mean by that?

Eleanor: You made it clear that you have been wronged, Mistress Covington.   You have put the ladies of Wheaton Heights on notice.   At least the free women of Wheaton Heights.   They will never know if they are going to lunch or going to be lunch.

Cov: That”s right!

Cov & Hun image 4

(Continuing Straight on from ‘The Running‘)

I got back to the courtyard as the end of the maze nearest the pool had been cleared and the MC’s little podium had been moved to the side, near the row of whipping posts.   Earnestine - and her owners - were nowhere to be seen, but the crowd was gathering again near that end of the courtyard.

I wasn’t paying too much attention as I wondered along with them.   Noreen’s reaction to the first event was troubling.   As far as I could remember it was the first time she’d actually asked me for anything, and gone so far as to impose on the supposed debt of a promised reward.   Sending her home was the right decision, I thought, along with the implicit promise that I wouldn’t partake of the meal.   The question was, whether I had gone far enough?

The MC broke me out of my revere as he cracked a whip over our heads.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!   While we give Earnestine a brief respite - in order to catch her breath - it is my very great pleasure to introduce to you our master leatherman, our artiste with the crop, Henri Avignon!”

A tallish man came out of the end of the building at the far side of the pool, trailed by five slaves.   He was dressed in the same smart casual as the MC and some of the other staff members.   The slaves, nude save for their collars and scars, were each carrying a different style of whip or flogger.   They were all relatively well marked, although I didn’t recognise either of the two who’d taken part in the first event.

They followed Avignon in a procession across the courtyard, one stopping at each of the five whipping posts, where they placed their implement on the ground, and were locked into shackles hanging from the top of the post.

“Mesdames et Monsieur’s,” he started in a moderately strong French accent.   “For this brief interlude, I shall demonstrate the proper - ze artistic - use of some of the minor tools here. Oui, oui, I know most of you already know how to use them, but we have some new friends here, and even the best of you can learn some new tricks, no?   Frankly, Madam Winters, your technique has gotten stale.   I should add you to my dolls here, to remind you what a good whipping is.   But No!   We shall save that for another time.”

He paused to allow the light laughter to die out, while a tall blonde in a dress suit waggled her finger at him.

“Zis is Sophia,” he said as he stepped to the first of his ‘dolls’, who was facing us, “And zis is a riding crop.” as he bent down to pick up the implement.   “It is ze basic tool of the slave owner, used both for guidance, and for correction.   It is painful, oui, but does little serious damage.   As such, it can be used with impunity on the sensitive parts of a slave, such as the nipples and the clitoris.”   He struck her strongly on each nipple to emphasise the point and then waited as she lifted her right leg in a standing split.   She managed to catch her heel behind her wrist just as he unloaded on her clitoris.   She gasped, but managed to hold the position until he motioned her down.   “It is also light enough that you can make ze amusing patterns with it.   Turn around my cherie.”   He laid down a rapid flurry of strokes on her back, and then stood aside to reveal a stylised, but recognisable Fleur de Lys.

He bowed slightly to the applause, then waved it down and moved along the line of posts.   “Now we come to Mercy, and her leather strap.”   The strap he picked up looked to be about six inches wide and half an inch thick.   “This tool, also is painful for ze recipient, and does not do too much damage to the skin.   It is wide enough to spread the impact out, you see.   It is much heavier, of course, and so, it can leave deep bruising that will take days to fade.   Ze trick is to overlap your blows, so that the damage compounds.”   He looked at the strap.   “With a fifteen centimetre strap like this one a skilled user can get fifteen strokes in side the mark of the first.”

“How many have you done?” someone heckled from the audience.

Avignon gave a very Gallic shrug.   “Thirty-two.   Ah Rachel, Cherie.   I do hope you let me help in your Grand Finale.”

“Like fuck!” called a voice from the back.   “If I’m going to spend that long letting you paddle my ass, I want to be around afterward to appreciate it.”   Rachel, the Doll who’d helped chase Earnie came through the crowd to kiss the Frenchman on the cheek.   “I literally couldn’t sit for a week.”

He shrugged again as everyone chuckled.   “So crass.   You can see why she needed to be ‘paddled’, as she says, no?   One last thing about this strap.   It can damage the soft tissues, so it is safest not to use it on the stomach, or around the kidneys.   Unless you wish to cause such damage, of course. Now cherie, you will help me with young Mercy here, oui?   Count my strokes, and make sure that I stay within the first mark.”

He laid his first stroke across the top of her ass, and then proceeded to lay eleven further strips before Rachel announced that he’s gone outside the first.   Mercy yelled and jiggled in place with each one, but didn’t break her basic position

He shook his head sadly.   “A poor effort.   You have upset me, cherie.   Shall we try again?”   Everyone laughed at Mercy’s groan.   “Non,” he said smiling.   “Mercy is her name, and mercy she shall have.   Let us move on.”

I watched rapt as he went on to describe the characteristics of the cane, the full sized maritime cat’o'nine tails and the single-tailed stock whip.   I’d started on my own torture slave with the crop and the cane and had picked up some of the technique from my reading, but this was a master at work, enjoying his work.

Once he was finished he announced that there would be a brief opportunity for members of the audience to try out the tools he’s demonstrated.

I quickly stepped to the queue for the strap.   So far I’d focused on causing my Traci - my Debbie, rather - intense pain, rather than anything long lasting.   I’d obviously not been completely aware of the possibilities short of permanent injury.

When my turn came, I took the strap from the previous guest and hefted it gently.

“Ah, le sinistre.”   I jumped to find Avignon standing beside me.   “Bien, it will do her good to have some balance.”

I looked from the strap to Mercy’s backside and back.   Given that the strap was a foot and a half long, I couldn’t see any sign that one side had received any less punishment than the other.

“Monsieur Avignon,” I started, wondering, “What would be the effect if I were to, say, whip only one thigh with this strap?”

“Ah?   You like the asymmetry?   Like ze Picasso abstracts, oui?   This is not really the position - it is best if you isolate the target you want.   Hmmm.   If you do it well, the bruising is like a pulled muscle, yes?   It restricts movement, and she cannot put the weight on it when she sits.   She will lean, to put her weight on the other side.   Mercy, turn around, and give the master your left foot.   If you would hold it level, monsieur, at about waist height.”

With me holding her leg out straight, he struck her evenly down the thigh about ten times, with a little bit of overlap each time.   They weren’t gentle blows - as well as feeling the weight through her foot, I watched her knee lock up each time.

“Like that, two or three times.   Better if you hit the muscle down the back directly.   Watch her this afternoon, but it might be the knee rather than the thigh.”   With that he handed me the strap and headed off to the next post.

Likewise, I handed the strap over to the next person in line and went in the other direction; to watch the tall blonde - Mistress Winters - offer advice to another woman on the use of the crop.

A little while later, the MC rapped sharply on his microphone.   “If I could have your attention, please!”

When he had all eyes - and staff members were letting the Dolls down from their posts - he continued: “It is now time to welcome Earnestine back to Center stage.   For this part of the festivities, we like to prepare our stars for their final showing.   After tenderisation, we need to season our star.   Henri will assist us in that process by applying his delicate touch to her skin, and then our hosts will baste her in our own special blend of herbs and spices, and letting them soak in.”

As he spoke, Earnestine was wheeled out to the area of the whipping posts.   She was stretched tightly between the corners of a vertical frame that was cleverly designed so as to be able to rotate in both the vertical and horizontal axes:   Earnie could be spun backward, forward and even upside down.   From what I’d seen of Henri’s work he wouldn’t bother.   He would just make the tip of any whip he chose curl around and hit whatever part of her he wanted.

Cov and Hun escorted her out, and greeted Avignon surprisingly formally, both bowing as they presented their slave to him.

The Doll Rachel brought out a wooden case, and some of the audience members sighed reverently as he opened it and withdrew a long single tailed whip.

“For those of you who haven’t seen her before,” the MC ‘whispered’ over the public address system, “that is an eighteen foot bullwhip that Henri has named Marie, after both the French noblewoman Marie Antoinette, and the first woman he ever killed with it.   It has a reputation here at the Faded Lotus of being capable of the most exquisite pain, and the most stunning artwork.   Many of the Dolls here today have had their major patterns created by Marie.”

Henri finished shaking the whip out and swung it gently a couple of times to make sure he had room.   He bowed briefly to the Hosts and then began.

It was a virtuoso performance.

He started at the extremities: Clever bindings presented both her palms and the soles of her feet and he hit all four with the first four blows, leaving bleeding welts.   The fifth, he placed around her right side, just below the ribs, the popping tip leaving a gash under her left breast.

Earnestine shrieked with each blow, and gasped between.   Cov and Hun looked satisfied as they watched, expressions very like those I’d seen the night before as they tormented their slave.

Back to the outside, now, and Henri laid three welts around the bound woman’s calves and forearms before stopping.

One of the staff members ran up to Earnie during the pause and quickly checked her pulse and responses before injecting a hypodermic of something into a shunt taped to the side of her neck.

I was surprised - I would have thought that this place wouldn’t ’shoot up’ its meat, that they’d insist on her stewing purely in her own juices - Organic Slave Meat, so to speak.

I mush have been obvious in my surprise because a quiet voice beside me said “It’s a mixture of adrenaline, stimulants, some other anti-shock compounds and a nasty little nerve toxin.”

I looked and saw the tall blonde I’d noticed earlier, one of the obvious regulars.   I nodded for her to go on.

“Generally, it keeps you awake, alert and responsive.   There’s little point in whipping a woman who has passed out, after all,” She explained.   “The nerve toxin is an added extra.   I’m told it increases the sensitivity of the pain receptors.   Greatly.”

“Ah,” I said, intelligently.   “George Page,” I added, holding my hand out.

“Claire Winters.   That was your slave with the runners, wasn’t it?”

“Noreen. yes.   I’m afraid that was a bit much for her though, so I sent her home.”

The eyebrow she raised made me feel about two inches tall, because I couldn’t manage my slaves.   “She’s new,” I added defensively, “and I didn’t want to make a scene.”

Winters nodded knowingly and looked back toward where Avignon was getting ready to continue.

He started with a shot at her thigh that clearly wrapped right around, causing Earnie to howl piteously.   This time he went around in a circle, slowly spiraling inward toward her body.   Earnestine never really got a chance to catch her breath, each new mark would cause her breath to hitch and then she’d howl again.

I though back over what little I knew of biochemistry.   It wasn’t enough, but that shit they’d shot her up with must be something really awful.

Another pause, and another hypodermic, and Henri went on to the body, laying a cris-cross pattern across her back - the first time he’d crossed his strokes - that bled at every intersection.   Left to heal, I was sure that they would leave terrible scars - scars much like those on the various ‘Dolls’ that were watching, and moving through the guests.

After the back, he added half a dozen or so rings around her waist, and then he got fancy.

With a combination of backhand and forehand strokes, he snapped the tip of the whip around Earnestine’s front to the applauded approval of the people watching on that side.   I looked, later, and he’d laid those strokes blind, right up and down the valley of her cleavage, without touching her breasts proper.

The last three strokes were the most skillful.   One choked off her howls as it wrapped itself around her neck, incidentally tearing out the shunt, and the others laid open the skin of her face, across the cheekbones and just touching her nose.

Everyone applauded, and Avignon bowed as he coiled his ‘Marie’ and placed her reverently bank in her case.

When he was finished, and two of the Dolls ceremoniously carried the case back into the building, the MC returned to his stand.

“Now that she has been prepared, it is time to baste our star, and once again, our Hosts have graciously allowed us to share that with you.   Please, form a queue, so that everyone who wants one gets a chance to help apply our special blend.”

I managed to get into the line near the front, so I was able to get to Earnestine before she was too splattered with the strong smelling paste.   Heavy on both the spices and the garlic, I decided.   I felt eyes on the back of my neck, and looked over to see Mistress Winters whispering to Cov, while the two hosts watched me.

On impulse, and to show that cow Winters something, I forewent the brushes everyone else was using and scooped up a small handful of the mess. and rubbed it into the side of her neck and jaw.   She flinched away from me and whimpered, an animal look of hurt in her eyes.

I was surprised how level we were.   I’m not an overly tall man, but even stretched in the frame our heads were at the same height.   That made it easy to cup her chin and cheek and murmur ‘Tina’ before I had to move on.   I fancied saw a glimpse of awareness return, just as I turned away.

“I, too, was a friend of Jamis,” I whispered as I approached the slaves holding towels.   Aware that Winters and co were still watching, I waved away the towel and beckoned to one of the slaves instead.

“Come with me and lick this clean,” I ordered as I wandered over toward the hosts.

(This is a the continuing story of Easnestine Royal and follows on from George’s First meeting with her. It is also the first part of Earnie’s demise at the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village)

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Mesdames et Monseurs. On behalf of today’s Hosts, the Mistresses Cov and Hun, the Faded Lotus Dolcett Village is both happy and proud to welcome you the last night of Earnestine Royal!

“As you will have seen in your programme, we have a busy schedule ahead of us, designed in part by our hosts. In approximately six hours time, we look forward to offering you a most succulent roast, well stressed, tenderised and seasoned with the Fades Lotus’s own patented blend of spices and flavour enhancers.

“As a reminder, at the request of the Hosts, today’s festivities are being covered by a crew from Fade Out Films. If you do not wish to be recognised on that film, please stay behind the yellow floor markings in all areas. Hoods and Masques are, of course, available for those wishing a closer, but still discrete, view.

“And now, I present to you the star of today’s entertainment. Earnestine Royal!”

The Master of Ceremonies waved a flourish at the curtained alcove at the back of the stage, which opened to reveal the soon to be late Mrs. Royal nude and gagged, bound only by her hands above her head to a mobile frame.

Two attendant slaves escorted it out on a circuit through the audience as the MC continued his introduction.

“Earnestine Royal, formerly the wife of Mister Edward Royal, was one of a group of slaves recently sold by the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol. That’s quite all right Sir; handle the merchandise by all means. We just ask that at this point you not cause any damage to either Earnestine or her attendants. There will be plenty of time for that later.

“Until very recently a staid and very vanilla housefrau, Earnestine has had her horizons, and other orifices broadened considerably, and has been delivered into our hands to provide the highest form of entertainment in her final hours. Her sores from the reputable F&S Testers were a dismal 50 for vaginal intercourse, a workable 85 for oral - I can confirm, folks, that she does give a mean blowjob - and the default ten for anal virginity. No, Mistress Winters, I’m afraid that that has already been taken care of. We have kept a couple out the back that you can help us with later, if you like.”

The platform wound its way through past the tables while the MC continued his patter and Earnestine was poked, prodded, slapped, groped and pinched to a variety of muttered comments. It was obviously a well practiced performance and he wound down as the platform made its way back to the stage.

He leaned forward as she disappeared behind the curtain again and the audience quieted. “In a few minutes, we’ll adjourn to the courtyard for the first event, something we like to call ‘The Running’. Everyone knows that the meat is at its most tender after being exercised. I’m sure you’ve all heard the farm kids boast about chasing the spring lamb around the field before it was butchered for dinner. This is our version of that.”

He waved a slave over from the wings. She was fitted out with a number of metal cuffs, heavy looking nipple clamps and a heavy chastity belt, and handed him a chain with a number of remotes.

“Earnestine is backstage right now being kitted out exactly like Sarah here, with ten separately controlled shock devices. Ten? you ask. Yes indeed. You can see most of them already, but let me demonstrate.”

He started triggering the remotes seemingly at random, and the slave flinched as she was shocked at both ankles, both wrists, her neck, and both breasts in quick succession.

“That’s only seven you say? Of course, I saved the best for last. Number eight is a butt plug - ” the slave grunted as he activated that one. - ” Number nine is a dildo” - another grunt, and the slave bent forward - “and the last one arcs straight across her clitoris.” The slave struggled to maintain her balance as the last one went off, but managed and stood straight, with her hands behind her head as the crowd murmured appreciatively.

“Our hosts have kept some of these for themselves, but they have kindly offered five - chosen at random, I might add - to us here at the Faded Lotus to auction off for the benefit of the Sierra Club.”

* * *

“Come on,” I told Noreen as the auction started. She was kneeling on a cushion beside me and I helped her up as I stood. “You’ve got a role to play here.”

She followed me quietly as I headed toward the courtyard where they were nearly finished setting up the electrified maze that poor Earnie was going to have to navigate while total strangers zapped her most sensitive places.

“One of the chasers,” I told the attendant, who nodded and waved us toward the starting position. On the way, I maneuvered her over to the wall and pressed her into it, reaching around to fondle her breasts.

“You’re doing very well,” I whispered over her shoulder. And she was. This was the most public outing I’d yet taken any of them on and I’d tried to impress on her the importance of remaining in control and, putting it bluntly, not embarrassing me in front of my new peers. I’d picked Noreen for this because I figured that she was the most stable of my three ‘house’ slaves. The ‘basement slave’, Debbie, didn’t count, of course, except as an object lesson.

I felt her relax a little under me and let her go and led her over to the starting gate.

There were two slaves already there, doing stretching exercises as we arrived, although they leapt to attention and made short bows as they noticed me. “One of the Chasers,” I said, nodding for them to carry on, as I took a step back and compared them with my own slave.

There was a significant contrast. The two slavers were much younger than Noreen, for starters, and they were obviously extremely fit. There were two differences that really stood out, though, and those were their attitudes and their skins. Noreen was slightly hunched, still apparently overwhelmed by everything, if less so than before, while these other two stood tall and straight, proudly displaying their marked and scarred skin. Watching them gather Noreen in and examine her, I saw that they both wore patterns of scars from floggings that were almost artistic, and must have been excruciatingly painful when inflicted. One of them even had her hair styled to reveal rope scars up the side of her neck. They must be two of the “Dolcett Dolls” that Hun had been talking about.

I left them to it and wandered around the courtyard taking in the facilities. For starters, it was larger than I’d imagined, nearly a hundred feet square. The main hall where we’d stated took up one side, and there was in industrial-strength kitchen on another near the currently covered barbeque pits. Larger apparatus had obviously been pushed aside, and while I could recognise some of it - like the gallows, and two Jessica 3000 auto-spitting machines - some of the other pieces were more mysterious.

The third wall looked like storage sheds, but even they were adorned with bondage and torture equipment, even knife throwing wheels.

The fourth side of the courtyard was open, and led past several pillories whipping posts to a large pool. Given the rest of the decor, I suspected that that, too, had ominous and sinister uses. And, apparently, a very serene Tea Garden. For ‘Capital T’ Tea, according to Hun, with appropriately trained servitors.

The maze itself took up most of the open space in the courtyard. There were a couple of covered spaces where there must have been other pits, and several more whipping posts have been incorporated into the structure. The walls were only a little over waist high - enough so that bouncing into them wouldn’t tip you over, but low enough not to obstruct the view. They were made of panels of regular looking chain link fence, though the bundle of cables running along the base was only the first clue that they were electrified.

The pattern of the maze was simple: long stretches that ran along three sides like a “U” before twisting inside itself, getting tighter and tighter before popping out in the middle of the same side as the entry. Hmmm, I thought. A clever slave could -

A familiar yelping screech brought my attention back to the start of the maze, where Noreen stood rubbing her ass where she’d obviously just been shocked with the cattle prod in the hands of the Doll behind her. The other one pointed at her own breast and barked “DO IT, BITCH, or we’ll run you before the meat gets here!”

Just inside its range, I used my remote to set up a slight tickle in Noreen’s collar, just to remind her that I was around. She looked around wildly, and when she saw me, I increased the power, shutting it off when she nodded and bent down to pick up the prod she’d dropped when she was zapped.

She reached out tentatively toward the other woman and jerked as the second one grabbed her hand and triggered the prod. The first Doll barely flinched and then pointed insistently at her other breast. Even with he second still holding her hand from behind, I could tell by the way she screwed up her face that Noreen triggered the second shot herself. A quick shove-and-grab and Noreen had been spun around to repeat the process on the second Doll, who then zapped her again in return.

They did this several times before stopping to refresh themselves from the drinks table provided. The first Doll, somewhat to my surprise, even brought Noreen a cup of water, laughing - but not unkindly, from what I could tell - when Noreen half-raised her prod defensively.

People had been trickling into the courtyard over the last few minutes, but the flow suddenly increased, just as Cov and Hun came out of a side entrance leading a kitted out Earnestine.

I headed for a prime spot between the two exits of the maze, where more fence segments stood ready to loop them together and was quickly surrounded when the Master of Ceremonies began again.

“Welcome to ‘The Running’,” He announced.

“We like to consider this event a mere appetizer, something to whet your appetites for later activities. The concept is simple. Earnestine will run through the maze you set up before you, being careful to avoid the walls.” He threw something into the middle of the maze, causing one of the fences to arc. “For the obvious reasons.”

“To encourage her, we have three ‘chasers’ who will pursue her through the maze, menacing her with their cattle prods. And lastly, we have those remote controls. None of them are powerful enough to do much more than distract the runner, but two or three such ‘distractions’ at the wrong time, should provide all sorts of fun.”

“The overall aim is to get all of those delicious ‘fight or flight’ hormones running through her system, tenderising her and adding that piquant flavour we’ve become so famous for here at the Faded Lotus. Given her age and general fitness level, we’re going to aim for two complete circuits of the maze. If she makes it, she gets a rest before the next stage while we devise a … creative penalty for our chasers. If she doesn’t, the chasers get the reward.”

I was close enough to hear one of the Dolls hiss to Noreen, “You don’t want to this lot getting creative, understand?”

“I think we’re ready to start. Chasers, are you ready?” The two Dolcett Dolls, followed quickly by Noreen, raised their prods to ’salute’ and the tips crackled. “Very good. Masters and Mistresses, if you could test your remotes please.” Earnie jerked and shuddered as all of her various attachments fired. “Excellent!”

He turned and addressed Earnestine for the first time. “Earnestine, when I say ‘Go’ you will have a ten second head start on the Chasers -”

“You better run, Bitch. As bad as today’s going to be for you, we can always make it worse!”

The MC frowned slightly at the interruption from Cov. “Yes, indeed. Earnestine. Your run begins in Three … Two … One … GO!”

Earnestine Ran.

Ten seconds later, the MC nodded at the chasers. One of them thumped Noreen on the shoulder and pointed her down the start channel. “After her!”, while the other headed straight for the exit channel.

Earnie fell twice in the first straight as her ‘equipment’ was triggered, but she still got to the first corner before Noreen caught up with her. Just as she got in reach and swung her prod, someone dropped Earnie again, and caused the two of them to fall in a tumble.

With my attention fixed on my own slave, I almost missed what was happening virtually right in front of me as the Doll who’d pointed Noreen into the maze took a very short run-up and vaulted the fence into the next loop. The fence arced as she used one hand for balance, and she shook it out when she landed, like a bad case on pins & needles. Picking up her cattle prod, she started walking back through the maze, toward where Earnie would be coming toward her.

I recalled my earlier thoughts. Yes, a clever slave indeed.

Meanwhile, Noreen and Earnie had untangled themselves, and Noreen was helping the other woman to her feet. Earnie leaned on her former friend for a moment, before she was pushed away. Noreen waved the prod at her and hissed something before slapping her on the ass and firing the prod a couple of times. Earnie started to shuffle onward, until Noreen yelled “RUN!” and zapped her in the back with the prod. She picked up the pace, with Noreen trotting along behind and helping her up every time she was zapped from the audience.

At the ‘top’ of the next loop, the Dolcett Doll was waiting.

She, too, menaced Earnie with the cattle prod, but didn’t zap her, merely falling in behind them and exhorting both to greater speed.

The MC picked up the commentary, although thankfully low key, not like someone commentating a horse race. “Joining Earnestine in the second loop is one of our own Dolcett Dolls, Rachel. Rachel is one of our senior Dolls, and the current record holder for The Running, both in terms of speed for a single circuit, and number of circuits completed. Neither of which look to be at risk here today.”

Between the two chasers, they managed to keep Earnie moving at something above a trot until the very end of the circuit where the last Chaser was waiting.

All three chasers zapped at her same time as she cleared the exit and headed around to the start again, dropping her to her knees. Cov once again shouted from the sidelines, threatening dire consequences if she didn’t complete the course.

The chasers picked up the pace again, and it was as if it was two chasers and two runners, because Noreen caught almost as many jabs of the prod as Earnie did. Or, at least, she did until she remembered her own prod, and swung it back and zapped one of the Dolls, to the amusement of everyone.

By this time, Noreen was starting to flag, and with the pressure taken off, slipped behind the Dolls. One of them, Rachel, Looked back at her and took mercy, sending her back to the start/finish area, where she took up a guard position at the start of the final straight.

With her out of the way, the Dolls sped up again, really pushing Earnie, who was suffering badly enough from the Run, and the frequent zapping of her attachments, let alone the prods of the chasers. She eventually collapsed about three quarters of the way through the second circuit, and multiple shocks couldn’t motivate her to get up again.

“I believe that’s the end of The Running,” the MC announce formally. “Earnestine has been well run, but she didn’t make it to the end, so our Chasers have earned their reward. To our guest chaser, your Master is well pleased, and will reward you when you get home. To our Dolcett Dolls, your usual award awaits you. In fact, yes, Rachel has qualified Terminus. I’ll need to discuss it with our Hosts, but you are now on the Short List. Congratulations!”

The Regulars and staff burst into applause and Rachel’s companion Doll hugged her fiercely. I was somewhat confused as to what was going on, but put it aside as a bone weary looking Noreen plopped to ground at my feet. I crouched down beside her and hugged her tight. “I am well pleased. You have done me proud,” I whispered in her ear. She turned her head into me and started weeping. I lifted her to her feet and moved out of the crowd as the staff started to disassemble the maze. Soothing her, I guided her down the length of the courtyard toward the pool area, and sat down on one of the benched by the wall.

“Hush,” I told her as I settled her in my lap and wiped at her tears. “It’s over now.”

She looked at me and said with utter conviction. “They’re going to kill her, and it’s just a game to them.”

I nodded. “I know. But your part is over now; you don’t have to help them.”

“I don’t want to watch, either. Master, my reward?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go home now? I’ll cook, and then we can play, just the four of us.”

Damn, I thought. I really wanted to stay, but if I made her stay, god knows what damage it would do. I brought her along to this, just like I’d taken Tia to last night’s ‘Private Party’ where Cov and Hun had enacted a brutal orgy of humiliation and sexual degradation upon their slave. My plan had been to strongly imprint upon my slaves that whatever I might do to them, there was always a worse option. It might have backfired, I thought, and it definitely would if I pushed too much now.

“No,” I said, and felt her go rigid. “I will send you home, but I’m going to stay until the end.”

She nodded ad pulled away, using the wall for balance as she stood. “Thank you, Master.” she murmured.

I stood, and together we walked back to the reception area, where I had the staff member call a taxi. Noreen stood further away from me than usual and stood with her head down, refusing to look at the art on the walls, or to meet my gaze.

As I ushered her into the cab, I made another decision.

“Noreen. Cook a good dinner for all of us. Tracey as well. It will have been a long time since lunch.”

George and his Slaves - Keeping them occupied.

Driving my rental car back from Cov”s - Earnie”s Mistress - I glanced frequently at
Hillary in the seat next to me. She was nude, but I”d left her wrists unbound, instead of
cuffed behind the headrest like they”d been on the trip out. She”d been subdued the
whole day, since I accepted the group decision that she would be the one to accompany
me. She”d been compliant - that was the best word - in giving me some background on
her former friend, and then taking the part I”d instructed in the event itself.

She”d turned downright pensive afterwards, when she”d knelt beside me while I
discussed Earnie”s future with her owners, Cov and Hun. Earnie”s _short_ future.

“Talk to me,” I said, about halfway home. “What”s bothering you?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was flat, and she stared straight forward.

I checked the mirrors - I”d been doing so even more regularly than I”d been looking at
my slave: Driving on the wrong side of the road was going to take some getting used to -
for traffic before looking at her again. “Oh?”

“Nothing, _Master_” stressing the title.

I braced myself against the wheel and slammed on the brakes, throwing her forward into
her seatbelt, and then sped up again, throwing her back.

“Lying to me is bad,” I said as I steadied the car again. “I”ll punish you worse if I catch
you in a lie than if you say something I don”t like. Now what”s bothering you?”

“You”re going to eat her?” She still didn”t look at me, but at least her voice had some
emotion in it.

“Yes, a slice or two. Just to see what it”s like.”

“But that”s cannibalism,”

“Only technically. Legally, I suspect I”d cause more offence eating roast beef in a Hindu
temple.”

She was quiet for another couple of miles. But it was a different quiet to earlier.

“It”s real, isn”t it? You could to exactly the same to one of us,” she whispered very
quietly.

“Yes it is, and yes I could.”

***

Arriving home, I set Hillary to preparing dinner, and quickly padded down to the
basement to see how my other two slaves were getting on.

The basement of my new home was very much a product of the last seven or so years.
There were attachment points all over the place, and a movable pulley system like a
mechanic”s chain hoist on tracks from the ceiling. There was also a heavy diagonal
cross - a Saint Andrew”s, I think it”s called - built into the wall

Most of the fittings had been stripped by the previous owner, but the most permanent
installations had been left in place. I”d taken a couple of photos on our shopping trip the
day before, in order to get some advice in refitting everything, and the manager of the
local slave outfitters had recognised it instantly - he”d done most of the original
installation work.

With his help, I”d brought most of what I”d needed to bring my dungeon back up to
scratch, and had orders in for the rest. It was certainly enough to provide Noreen and Tia
with sufficient “entertainment” while I was out.

Tia was strapped tightly into the cross, cuffed ankles and wrists pulled out with ropes
threaded through pulleys at the tip of each arm. Most of her weight was being supported
by wide leather straps around her thighs and waist. Her breasts were squashed flat
between two balsawood boards. Not tightly, but enough so that she would feel it s
something tugged on them.

That something was a rope that passed down between he legs, behind the cross, up
through a series of guides to the ceiling, along to the hoist and down. To Noreen”s wrists.

Noreen was positioned in the middle of the room, her feet spread wide in a set of “ankle
stocks” and bent over at the hip because her arms were bound together behind her back
and lifted away from her in a classic strappado.

It was a nicely tuned little system. To avoid pulling on Tia”s breasts, Noreen had to lift
her arms above a point that she could hold for very long. Conversely, Tia could pull on
her wrist ropes and cause the cleverly built cross to sink on springs and create just enough
slack to give Noreen a respite. The tension in the springs could be adjusted, and I”d set it
- after some trial and error - so that she should hold it about the same length of time as
Noreen could raise her arms.

At neither extreme should the bondage seriously damage either woman, although I
expected Tia”s chest to be tender for a while.

To mix things up a little, both women wore ring gags and had electronic dildos inserted
that randomly varied from pain to pleasure.

As a last, and probably cruel, touch, I”d had them bring one of the new televisions
downstairs and it was looping a DVD that I”d quickly put together the previous night
from the promotional videos for some of the goods I”d brought from the slave outfitters
and some training movies.

As I arrived, the programme was just finishing “Basic Passive Sodomy” and beginning
the promotional spiel for the various lethal collars offered by the supplier. There were a
surprising number of ways to die from a collar around your neck and the video showed
all of them.

Everyone was familiar with the “greater” explosive collars that blew a slave”s head right
off, but there were also the “lesser” explosive collars that used a much smaller charge to
blow out the throat or spine. There were collars that used a fine wire to garrotte the
victim, and ones that used a broader metal band to choke them to death. Overcharged
electric shock collars could do the job, too, and there were poisons, venoms and even
acids for the more exotically inclined.

I”d had one of the store slaves explain them all in detail to my slaves, and they paled
when I chose one of the exotics. Tetrodotoxin - Puffer fish poison - was one of the more
painful and messy ways to go, the store slave explained, with the victim often remaining
conscious through increasing gastric distress and then paralysis over the course of four to
six hours. The promo showed a strongly sanitised version of this, but I had a full length
movie record from exposure to expiry that I was saving for a penultimate warning.

I checked my watch and decided that this was the third time they would have seen this, so
I reached for the remote that I”d left by the door.

The movement attracted Tia”s attention, and she called out an obvious, if
incomprehensible, plea to be let down.

That caught Noreen”s notice and she twisted to see who was there, which, of course
pulled on the rope. I laughed and slipped out of my clothes as Tia yelped and Noreen
groaned in frustration.

Naked, I wandered slowly across the room, paused for a rope-jerking slap on Noreen”s
ass and stopped in front of Tia. A quick examination reassured me that there didn”t seem
to be any significant damage and I unclipped the rope from the boards, letting it fall to the
ground.

“Nearly done,” I told her as I reached down between her legs to flip switch on the dildo
from random to pleasure. She shuddered as the toy began its gentle stimulation.

Noreen felt the tension release as the rope fell and was beginning to straighten up when I
picked up the rope and pulled it painfully taut again. “Not quite yet,” I called out to her.
“Hold position for a couple of minutes.”

I picked up the claw/hook that I”d used to thread the rope through the ceiling pulleys and
unthreaded it again, back to the last pulley above Noreen. I flipped her dildo to pleasure,
then grabbed to rope and pulled her wrists far enough up to force her to bend till her head
was at the level of my crotch.

My intent when I stepped in front of her was obvious, and she went to work immediately,
wiggling the opening of the ring gag to get it over the head of my penis, then laving her
tongue liberally over everything it could reach.

It was unfair, I suppose: Earnestine had left me drained. Still, I managed a stand, so I
pulled out and, stripping the rope down through the last pulley, undid the ankle stocks
and led her over and used it to secure her to one of the padded horses.

Out of perverse whim, I left the dildo in place as I lubed up her sphincter and forced my
way past. Yeesss, much more comfortable than the virginally tight Earnie.

I could feel the bulk of the toy filling her other orifice, but not its more subtle electrical
effects, as I started o saw in and out to the rhythm of Noreen”s grunts. Unless that was a
slight tingle, just at the sensitive spot on the underside of my cock?

Wow! I DID feel it when the dildo started vibrating! I started pounding harder and faster
and then lost all control when Noreen orgasmed and squeezed her asshole tight. I came
hard and shot what little semen I”d been able to regenerate into her colon.

“_That_, I liked,” I whispered in her ear as I undid all of her bondage and helped her
upright, and then made her squirm by running my tongue into her ear.

Releasing her with a playful slap on the butt, we proceeded to release her fellow slave.

“Si, thank you patron,” were her first words as I removed the gag. I waited until her
dildo brought her to another orgasm and then released the boards on her breasts at its
peak. Her moan started to turn into a gasp, but reverted to a moan as I licked, and then
gently sucked her right nipple. Motioning Noreen to join me, we spent a couple of
minutes soothing her abused flesh before continuing.

Bracing myself in front of her, I had Noreen undo the waist belt, and then release the arm
ropes so that she flopped down onto me, wrapping me in a tight embrace while Noreen
freed her legs. Tia leaned her whole weight on me briefly before getting her feet under
her. I used the opportunity to give her a good hug as I let her go.

“So, my pretties, did you learn anything?”

They both nodded and Noreen added “But you tied me down too tightly to try anything.”

“You”ll get another chance, but it”s Tia”s turn tonight. You”re in the pussy eating
hogtie.”

Earnestine Royal

“Nice,” I thought as the house save led me into the room where his afternoon’s entertainment was waiting.

As I’d discussed with her new owner at the auction she was bent over the narrow end of a standard office desk, facing away from him with her legs spread wide. Three inch heels and stockings completed her attire. Except for the restraints, of course. Nice and simple: Spreader bar holding her ankles apart just about to the legs of the desk, a short chain linking the middle of it to the desk. Wrists cuffed and stretched toward the far corners. A nice, clean bent spread-eagle with a little bit of play in the stretch, so her breasts weren’t mashed down. Lastly was the collar - a standard brushed aluminum radio collar, by the look of it.

I stepped closer, approaching her for the first time since the auction, and shifted her hair, so I could examine the markings on the collar, near the latch. Yup, same brand as mine - rather, the ones my three new slaves were wearing - but the modality symbols were different. Earnestine’s only had the lightning bolt that symbolized an electric shock collar.

She’d tensed up as I approached, so I ran my fingertips lightly down the length of her spine. She jerked a little and pulled tight at the first touch but then relaxed as I chuckled.

“Good afternoon, Earnie,” I said, calling her by the nickname that until now - or so I’d been told by my slaves - only her husband had ever called her. Wheaton Heights was at the pretentious end of middle class: She was Earnestine to everyone but the closest female friends, who called her Tina.

“You may greet me,” I told her when she didn’t reply, only to get a muffled ” ‘ud affnn maffer”

I walked right around and saw the problem: the collar remote was jammed in her mouth.

Pulling it out, I stood back and raised an eyebrow.

“Good Afternoon Mast-eeeEEE!” I chuckled as I released the switch, letting her slump down.

While she gasped, I waved my own slave over and she began caressing Earnie’s ass, again causing the bound slave to start.

“Good afternoon, Earnie,” Hillary said in her furry contralto.

Earnie tried to whip her head around but locked in spasm as I triggered the collar again.

“Face me, Ernie,” I said as I crouched down to meet her eyes. “That’s right, look at me. I’m here to rape your virgin asshole. Keep looking at me while Hillary gets you ready. That’s right - keep looking at me, stay calm. Now, please, Hillary.”

I watched Earnie’s face as my slave intensified her caressing of her buttocks, kneading them before stretching them apart and running her finger down the crease. Earnie’s eyes widened at the first touch on her rosebud, and then more as Hilary inserted the narrow nozzle of the bottle of lubricant. The chilled lube made her gasp as Hillary squeezed the bottle and then she moaned as my slave inserted first one, and then two fingers up her ass.

“She’s ready, Master,” my slave reported.

“Good - come around head and undress me.”

Earnie watch as a nude Hillary removed my t-shirt and jeans, then leaned forward and licked up my already hard cock. She blushed and shuddered as I smiled and told her ‘Any time now.”

Hillary’s well greased hand caressed my cock, coating it with now warmed lube, as we walked back down to the business end of the table.

Stepping up behind the bound woman, I pulled her ass cheeks apart and placed the head of my cock right on her asshole. A quick prod revealed a slick give, and then she screamed as a hard thrust forced her ass wide open around my crown before she clamped down again, hard.

Good god, she was tight.

We acted in counterpoint - I’d thrust and she’d scream - until I was finally buried to the hilt. I pulled back for a couple of short thrusts and then slapped her on the ass. “How do you like that?”

“It hurts,” she sobbed.

“You should have had this done years ago, what was your husband thinking?” I asked as I pulled out completely.

I cut her reply off with a quick zap of the collar. “It was rhetorical. More Lube.”

Hillary complied quickly, firing another squeeze up Earnie, then running a drizzle down my length and massaging it in.

Stepping up, one long scream accompanied thrust buried me completely. “Much better. God, you’re tight, woman.”

I grabbed her hips and set up a rhythm of short strokes followed by long ones as she whimpered and screeched, but it didn’t take long. Between her tightness, the screams and the excitement of popping an anal cherry, it was only a few minutes before I filled her rectum with semen.

Pulling out one last time, I gave her a light slap. “I’m going to have to arrange more visits with your owned,” I told her. “I want to see how you improve.”

As Hillary wiped me off with a cloth, there was a click/thump from the table as the ropes holding her wrists released, and so did the chain holding the spreader bar to the table.

“Thank him, slave,” A voice ordered from the doorway. Earnie’s owner stood here holding a duplicate collar control, which she triggered when the slave didn’t move.

Earnie groaned when the current stopped, and pushed herself backwards off the table until she was kneeling with her ankles still spread by the bar and the mixture of lube and cum starting to run down her thigh. She knee-walked awkwardly over to me and bowed, touching her forehead to the floor. “Thank you master, for raping my asshole. May I show my appreciation by sucking your cock?”

How could I refuse? I nodded and she leaned forward to lick the head, but quickly proceeded to deep throat me in a single pass. Wow!.

“She’s got a Fuck&Suck rating of 85 for her oral skills,” her owner told me, although I have to admit that I wasn’t paying a huge amount of attention. “She’s really quite good.”

Was she ever! It took a little longer than my first orgasm, but I was soon pumping another load down her throat.

Yep, I’d definitely be seeing whether I could come back for another round.

THE AUCTION

“SOLD!” Tiffany’s voice penetrated my cocoon. “Ernestine Royal is sold to the woman in the gray jacket!”
It hit me suddenly. I had been in denial. This was all just a nightmare, I told myself. I will wake up and tell my husband about this dream and we will share a laugh together. Someone took me by the hand and led me to the edge of the stage. There my shoes were pulled off and the few pieces of jewelry removed. The last of my old life was left on the stage. I caught a glimpse of my new owner.
I didn’t know her. I knew everybody, so she must have been from out of town. She was a bit shorter than me, with gray hair and about thirty extra pounds. Her cloth coat was gray—something like a trench coat. I thought I saw tan boots on her feet. I did see brown pant leg between boot and coat hem. No fashion sense at all—was my new owner trailer trash? I reminded myself to never say anything that would give my owner an excuse. Slaves have no rights. I could be beaten, snuffed and eaten for any reason or no reason at all. Our eyes met—hers were brown.
“Silence,” she hissed as she tugged on my arm. I barely felt the pavement beneath my feet. She led me to a large unmarked white motor home. The side door was open. “Climb in!”
Inside there was a table with straps. Someone up front started the engine. I was pushed inside. The door slammed. We were in motion! While I processed this, my new owner applied pressure to my arm and spun me around. Before I was able to do anything I was flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. I felt my ankles get strapped in position, and then my wrists were secured at my sides. I lifted my head to look at my owner and something was buckled around my neck.
“Remain quiet,” she commanded. “This is a training collar. If you talk you will be shocked like this.”
The initial shock was unexpected. I yelped and was shocked again. That caused me to yelp again. Shock. Yelp! Shock! The shocks were getting more powerful. I was sobbing when my owner took pity on me and shut my collar off.
“Shut up, slave!”
“Y-yes, Mistress,” I gasped. I couldn’t stop shaking. It hadn’t been ten minutes and already my owner was torturing me.
“Get control of yourself. I’m turning your collar back on. Don’t fight me and you won’t be shocked. There are worse things than the collar.”
Worse? I had a very bad feeling as the woman moved around and busied herself out of my line of sight. A sudden pop made me flinch against my bonds—the buzz sounded like a saw mill. My owner grabbed my head and pushed something cold and vibrating against my scalp. It hurt! Oh, it hurt as she sheared my hair from my head. I only barely managed to stifle my screaming—just some moaning. No shocks, thank God. In a few seconds I could tell that my head was bald. Without turning off the clippers, she released my head and moved between my legs. There wasn’t as much hair down there. It felt as if it were being yanked out instead of sheered off. I saw some stubble left behind—and angry red welts. The clippers went silent and the woman moved back to my head. Things slid. I heard snapping, smelled rubber. The next smell was something like really bad eggs.
“Keep your eyes closed or you will go blind,” my owner snarled. “Tighter!”
She smoothed on some harsh depilatory. It tingled at first, and then the tingle became a burn. After covering most of my head, I felt her coat my legs and crotch. She then worked some of that horrid burning stuff into my arms, on my chest, and my armpits. I was crying and moaning—a tingle at my collar warned me not to scream. I heard her moving around, water running. A moment later, she was chatting with another person while bald me became balder. I didn’t understand what they said as they giggled and gabbed. The minutes dragged on and my skin felt like it was being burned off! My bonds held me fast as I squirmed in growing discomfort. I began to wonder if the collar would knock me out—I was this close to screaming because the burning was getting worse than the shocks. Cold water and a rough rag removed the pasty lotion—the burn lessened, but I was tender all over. A few minutes later the woman wiped my face with something cooling. She rapidly covered my skin, replacing burn with cool.
“You can open your eyes now, slave,” she told me. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at my new mistress. The driver remained unseen by me. If he or she had a mirror, I’m sure that they could simply glance in the mirror and see my tonsils through my private parts. My thighs were open and my head was pointed back of the vehicle. I tried to raise my head, but somehow the collar held me down. My owner came around and I felt myself blush. “I am going to let you ask a few questions in two minutes. Keep your voice low or you will be shocked and I will stop answering questions. We are both free women and we expect you to respect us. Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes, Mistress,” I whispered.
“Good. Two minutes. I will not tell you where we are going or what we will do with you. You don’t need to know our names—we are all ‘Mistress’ to you. Your name is slave. Think about your questions, slave. Your life depends on them.”

THE TRIP TO MY NEW HOME

Questions? I had lots of questions. That two minute time limit was a cruel joke. I couldn’t ask who my new owners were or where they were taking me. They weren’t going to tell me what they were going to do to me.
Tiffany Mullen had given us wives a limited amount of slave training prior to the auction. Thank you, Mistress Tiffany. It was painful, but may have saved my life.
“Mistress,” I began—I was supposed to be on my knees with my eyes cast down out of respect—impossible when strapped supine to a table,” slave requests to know if being bald is permanent—and how a bald slave may better serve Mistresses.”
The woman regarded me for a moment.
“Time’s up, slave. Looks as if you don’t get your questions answered. Does that bother you, slave? Too bad! Slave has no rights. If I want, I can snuff you just by pushing a button.” I felt a tingle through my collar - I couldn’t help moaning. “Ah, our first stop. Don’t go anywhere!”
Two women giggled as they exited the van. The noises of the gas station were familiar. Soon, someone got back into the van. The engine started and the van drove around for a while, and then stopped. The engine turned off again. Someone made the van bounce as she moved around. A few minutes later I was released from the table. My owner made me sit up. She fastened my hands behind my back with plastic ties and made me sit in one of the chairs. My owner wore a brown pants suit—she had shucked her gray coat. Tiffany’s lessons came back: do not make eye contact with your owner or any free person or they will hurt you for your insolence. I began to tremble.
“Are you cold, slave?”
“No, Mistress,” I shook my head as I spoke. I could have kicked myself! “I’m just nervous, Mistress.”
“Good,” my owner chortled. “I wasn’t going to let you wear anything even if you were freezing to death. It is good that you are nervous. You should be nervous. Remember that you have no power. Your future depends upon my good graces.”
The van was silent for a while. I risked a glance at Mistress. She was leaning back in her captain’s chair on the passenger side of the van. She was watching the front of the store—one of those club stores or discount warehouses. I never would shop at those places. That was for trailer trash—not Wheaton Heights residents! My owners were trailer trash? Tears filled my eyes, ran down the outside of my nose and dripped off, splashing against my thighs. I couldn’t help myself. I started sobbing.
A lightening bolt coursed through my body.
“Stop that! I forbid crying, slave,” I glanced at Mistress in surprise, received another jolt. “Don’t look at me, bitch! I am a free woman and you are a slave! Never forget that! Oh, you used to be so high and mighty. Now you are in my power. I never forget. You are going to pay for what you did to me and Cov.”
I couldn’t help myself. She shocked me and I bawled. She kept shocking me and I kept crying. After a while the door to the van opened up and several cloth bags were tossed into the van. These bags were white. I didn’t see any markings. When the door shut, the smell built up. It was horrid—it smelled like burned leaves soaked in gas.
“I’m driving, Cov,” my owner said. “Got my cigarettes?”
“Here. Ready to head out, Hun?” Cov asked.
“Yes. Did you get enough charcoal?”
“That’s why I needed help from a store slave. I sent her back to get whipped for being uppity.”
“Good for you! Do you want to whip slave?”
“No–just give me that goddamned remote.” Both Mistresses cackled in glee. “What goes around comes around!”
It was a long, painful trip. Mistress smoked those awful clove cigarettes. Between the awful smell of the charcoal, the stench of cloves and the electric shocks I lost my breakfast all over the back of the car. That brought retribution. After a while, it didn’t matter any more.
How long did I travel? I can’t say. I didn’t even know that the van had stopped until the door swung open and I was unbuckled from the chair. Cov dragged me out and hosed me down with cold water. She made me rinse out my mouth and drink from the hose. She didn’t shock me any more—just slapped my butt. Presently, I was marched into the house.
“Slave,” Cov snapped as she pointed to the floor, “kneel.”
For the next hour or so I was given painful instructions on what my owners expected from me. They would snap an order and punish me. If I got it right, they would sneer that I was finally making progress. Mostly they hit me and screamed that I was a worthless cunt. I couldn’t help crying. They were so mean!
Then I was chained to a chair. Hun gave me a spiral-bound notebook and a pen.
“Write what just happened. Leave nothing out. You will be punished if you don’t tell the truth.”
That’s why I’m writing this journal. I don’t dare leave anything out—even if they are insulting to my Mistresses.

NIGHT AND DAY
Mistresses gave me an hour to write in this journal last night and another hour this evening. Picking up where I left off last evening, Mistresses fed me some oatmeal. I can’t decide if oatmeal or slave chow are worse. It was just oatmeal—cold, glue-like slime. Amazing how much taste there is in food when only bland stuff is available! Breakfast—I was given table scraps and half a cup of cold coffee. I got some bread and water for lunch. I haven’t had dinner yet—right now that oatmeal doesn’t seem so yucky.
Mistresses played sex games with me most of the night. They fucked me with strap-ons. I was amazed to find that Mistresses didn’t have any hair—that they were as bald as me! I wasn’t into lesbian sex before I was enslaved. Now my life depends on it. Thank you, Neville Champion and thank you Queenie for your lessons in how to pleasure women. It seems that Mistresses call each other ‘Cov’ and ‘Hun.’ I am called ’slave.’ That means something bad, I think, not having a name. Neville and Tiffany taught me that I needed to establish a bond with my owners as quickly as possible. The only tools left to a slave are instant and complete obedience. Neville and Queenie didn’t have much time to teach me to use my other tool, sex, but they said that the Wheaton Heights Community Patrol planned to use me and that would be an opportunity to practice pleasuring a man. Tiffany ordered us enslaved wives to practice pleasuring each other—just in case a woman bought us. Last night I did my best. I was beaten and denied orgasms and left tied up. In the morning during and after breakfast I did my best to pleasure Hun. Cov seems to get pleasure only from beating me. I am sore, but I think that I will just try harder. Mistresses spent the day training me. Note to other slaves: it is nice to kneel unmolested beside Mistresses while they watch television. It is good to be caged and tied up—because I’m not being whipped. I pray that my groveling isn’t inciting them to punish me more!
Right now I am sitting comfortably at a desk and writing this journal. In a few minutes, Mistresses will lock it up again. I’m not sure why they are having me keep a journal, but it beats being beaten!

THE NEXT DAY
Mistress Hun let me sleep on a pad in the cage last night. They seemed satisfied with my performance and allowed me to finish their Chinese take-out dinners. It was the best meal that I’ve had in a week! The next morning I was puppy-dog eager to please them with my tongue and fingers and anything else. They fed me part of an omelet and some pastries. The coffee was warm—oddly salty, too. If Mistresses tell me that they’ve peed in the coffee before they gave it to me, I will kiss their feet. Coffee is coffee. I’ve had worse.
I was locked in the cage outside during lunch. Mistresses were cruel, eating and telling me that I wasn’t to be fed.
“You will be motivated to provide better sex, slave.” It was Cov who told me that.
After they had eaten lunch I was taken to a room that was bare except for a plain metal desk, something an office worker would use. On the desk was a plastic bag with the Tri-Shop logo, the store we stopped at. Cov pulled out a pair of seamed stockings and and some nylon dog collars. I was perched on the edge of the desk and the stockings were rolled up my legs. Cov didn’t bother with garters—the elastic tops fit snugly. A pair of shoes—cheap old black pumps with three-inch heels, a bit too big for me—were slipped on my feet. Cove fastened the dog collars around my ankles and then clipped a short black bar to the collar’s rings. She spun me around and forced me to bend over. I panicked and was shocked.
“I don’t have time for your shit, bitch!” Cov snarled. “Mr. Page will be here at any time and you will be ready or I will shock you until you piss all over yourself again! Now bend over and don’t move!”
I held as still as I could. A chain rattled between my feet—Cov clipped something to the bar on my legs. Some straps were put on my wrists.
“Hold this in your mouth. Don’t let it fall or you’ll be sorry!”
It was a plastic box—my remote? I heard a snap and felt the plastic tie fall off. Cov forced my hand to the end of the desk and clipped a chain on the band. She grabbed my other hand and did the same on the other corner of the desk. She jammed a wig on my head to finish off my ‘costume.’ My new owners—hadn’t they heard of a wig cap? It is a stocking thingie that goes over the scalp and anchors the wig. Now my head itched.
“What do you think, Hun? Is there time to whip her?” I shuddered to realize a little itching was the least of my worries.
“Let’s wait until after Mr. Page finished with our slut. We have the rest of her life once he finishes with her. You know how these rich bitches are. Mr. Royal told me that his bitch didn’t putout. Stupid bitch here cheated him of his husbandly rights. Those days are over for her. She’s going to do everything we tell her to.”
“Or else, Hun?”
“No ‘or else,’ Cov. We’ll just whip her for the hell of it.”
The doorbell rang. I could hear voices. One was male and sounded British, only not quite. I heard Hillary Vandyne, my old neighbor, sold with me. She was Slave Number One and I was Slave Number Six. Neville had paired us up with each other and his slave-wife Queenie taught us how to please men and women. I hate to admit it, but Neville and Queenie were the best sex I ever had. I knew Hillary’s body well. Tiffany made a point of putting two or three of us in the same slave cage so that we could get used to girl-on-girl sex. It kept us warm, too—we were given only one ratty old sleeping bag. When the bag was unzipped, it covered two of us. We had a thin foam pad to lay on. We could stay warm when we huddled together—the garage was cold! I never thought that I’d look back on that horrid garage with longing.
I didn’t hear them come in. He was just there, with a naked Hillary standing in front of me. I tensed up, butterflies in my stomach. He played with my hair. When he touched my back I jerked—the surprise was that I had a small orgasm! I sagged in defeat.
“Good afternoon, Earnie.” A pause. “You may greet me.”
My mouth was full of remote. I could only manage ” ‘ud affnn maffer”