Dark Erotic Fiction

Anderson Twins

Dramatis Personae:
Mike
Ingrid
Lilly
James - a teenager from the twin’s school.
Nick Anderson - husband, father.
Sharon and Allison Anderson - twin daughters of Nick.

Mike answers the phone “Hello, Spellbook Slaves.”

There’s quiet on the other end of the phone.

Mike says, “Hello?”

A short pause - just long enough for Mike to consider hanging up.

A male voice says, “Hello. I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

Mike says, “Slaves to buy, sell, commitment, or volunteer.”

The man says, “Commitment I guess. This is all so bad, but I don’t know any other way.”

Mike thinks, ‘This is going to be ten minutes out of my life I’m going to regret.’

The man says, “Have you ever read Kay Arthur?”

Mike says, “No.”

The man says, with a disquieting mix of conviction and uneasiness, “She writes very good modern interpretations of the bible. She’s very well respected. Anyway, she says the bible says that a husband’s foremost duty is to his wife, and then his family secondly.

Mike says, “You were talking about a slave commitment?”

The man says, “Yes, I’m getting to that. I have two daughters. Well, three. Three daughters. But two, well one daughter really. My wife, I just had her committed again. No, not your kind. A mental hospital. You see, well, last month they spray-painted her face, and other, uh unmentionable parts, while she slept, and well it was the last straw after years of other events, and it finally unnerved her. She’s my second wife. My two oldest daughters were from my first marriage, my late wife, cancer, and well, I’m afraid I didn’t raise them alone well. I was bereaved and didn’t nurture the girls then like I should have then after, anyway they didn’t come through it well. They’re, not proper. They do, things, terrible things, almost every day. The day before yesterday my wife returned home, and yesterday my wife was throwing a party for a dozen of her friends and the girls, they covered the carpets with shit. I don’t know if it was their shit, or if they pooper scoopered it from somewhere, but, anyway I had her committed again. I’ve tried to discipline them. I even threw them out of the house for a while, but nothing works. They do things, to people, I could tell you stories.”

Mike says, “So you want to enslave them.”

The man says, “No, but I was called to the principal’s office for my youngest, she’s 10, from my current marriage, and the principal said that my two oldest girls were corrupting her, and that if things continued that I’d loose all three. I know if my youngest turns out like the older two that I’ll loose my wife for sure, and I can’t let that happen because, well I just can’t. Anyway the principal suggested in the strongest terms that I enslave my two oldest - to save the other two, my youngest and my wife - and try to move on, and I’m thinking about it very hard.”

Mike says, “We can take them off your hands.”

The man says, “They’re a handful.”

Mike says, “Not a problem.”

The man says, “Do you really think so?” he sounded relieved, almost happy. The man continues, “You wouldn’t have to hurt them, and they wouldn’t be killed or something. Would you?”

Mike says, “I’m not going to lie to you, sometimes that happens.”

The man says, “Well, an eye for an eye.”

He took a breath.

The man says, “Do I have to make an appointment?”

Mike says, “We’re open till 5pm today.”

The man says, “I’ll be there, with two girls in tow. ”

Mike says, “You’ll need to bring their birth certificates, and yours and your wife’s social security number. How old are the girls?”

The man says, “seventeen and three quarters.”

Mike says, “And the other one?”

The man says, “They’re twins.”

Mike says, “And you’re their father?”

The man says, “Yes.”

Mike says, “If you give me your name and theirs, I’ll have the paperwork ready for you to sign when you arrive.”

The man says, “My name is Anderson. Nick Anderson. The girls are Allison and Sharon.”

Mike says, “We’ll be waiting.”

Mr. Anderson says, “Thank you” and hang’s up.

A half hour later a young man, over 16 years old, shows up, smiling, looking everywhere in the office. The young man says, “Are the Anderson Twins here yet?”

Lilly says, “The who?”

The young man says, “I was watching TV, and I heard Mr. Anderson talking with Mike saying he was going to bring his daughters down for enslavement.”

Lilly says, “I don’t think there’s anyone here by that name. Mike’s busy, and Ingrid is working on some paperwork in the other room.”

The young man says, “Can I wait here?”

Lilly says, “Do you have business here?”

The young man says, “I have cash.” The wad could have contained a couple thousand dollars, depending on the denominations of the bills in the middle.

Lilly says, “You can wait.”

The young man says, “I’m having a really good week. I got a scholarship to cal tech. My father’s been saving up for years to send me to college, and with the scholarship he’s giving me half of that savings. He says I should use a third of it to give me better school supplies than my peers, another third on clothes and maybe a small car, and the last third on fun educational things to broaden my perspective that will be useful later in life. He suggested a bit of travel. I’m a virgin. The Anderson Twins should take care of that problem very well. They’re really pretty. They’re on the yearbook committee. That’s how we met. They took my picture.”

Lilly says, “Do you want to rent them?”

The young man says, “I want to buy them. I’m not going to get ahead in the corporate empire without a good woman at my side, and no good woman’s going to talk to an inexperienced geek like me. So I’m going to fuck them for a few years and build up experience and take the edge off, and then I’ll dispose of them and go searching for a decent wife when I’m ready to make my fortune. Is it true that sex clears up acne?”

The phone rang, and Lilly answered it.

The young man said, “My name is James.” Lilly wasn’t listening. He sat down.

A while later Mr. Anderson showed up, with a girl’s wrist in either hand, not actually dragging them in, but they were trying to walk backwards as he pulled them inside and endured their verbal abuse.

Mr. Anderson announced, “I’ve got two here for commitment. The name is Anderson.”

He yelled to the twins, “Sit Down!” and half flung them towards two chairs by the wall furthest from the door.

Ingrid appeared, specimen cups in one hand, and enslavement papers in the other. “I need everyone’s photo ID, and their birth certificates, and these need a urine sample from each of them.”

Mr. Anderson pulled the IDs out of his pocket and put them on the counter in front of Ingrid. Then he took the specimen cups and handed them to his daughters. He had spotted the door marked ‘washroom’, and pointed to the door and said, “Get in there and pee in the cup. Not on the floor. Not on the walls. Not anywhere but in the cup. Don’t spill any, and bring it carefully back out here.”

Sharon Anderson said, “You’re not really going to make us slaves are you daddy?”

Allison was looking at the young man James.

Mr. Anderson said, “Get in there.”

Allison said, “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of him, or you either. He’s in my class at school. Well, not any of My classes, but the same year. He skipped a grade, so he’s the youngest. Anyway I know him! His name is James something. He can’t see me naked. I’m a cheerleader and he’s in the chess club for crying out loud! He’d tell people at school! The girls would oust me!”

Mr. Anderson pulled her out of her seat by her arm, and thrust her towards the washroom.

The young man, James, was grinning.

A few minutes later Allison and Sharon returned, set their specimen cups on the counter, and Ingrid did the tests and sealed and set the cups away for later storage.

Ingrid announced, “You two are now slaves. Please write down up to three people that you want me to contact as your first possible buyers. There is no guarantee that they will be your first owners.”

Allison and Sharon looked at each other. Allison spoke first, “How about Christian Ellerbee?”

Sharon said, “Oh yes. He’s dreamy. Put him down. I wouldn’t mind being owned by him.” Allison wrote it down.

Ingrid asked, “Anyone else?”

Allison said, “He’ll do. We want him.”

Sharon said, “He’s nice and dumb. Like some other men I know.”

Sharon turned to her father and stuck her tongue out.

Mr. Anderson said, “I wash my hands of you” and walked out without looking back.

Sharon turned to Ingrid, and said, “I thought he’d never leave. Can we go now?”

Ingrid said, “You’re slaves.”

Mike came in, pursued by a man with a camera, “Stay where you are or you’ll be killed.”

Allison said, “But”

Mike added, “Slaves don’t question orders.”

The two twins looked up at Mike. He seemed serious. They’d both noticed Ingrid’s haughty presence evaporated when Mike walked in.

Ingrid said, “I was just about to phone their first contact.”

Mike said, without taking his glare off the twins, “Do that.”

Ingrid went to the phone and dialed. In moments she was talking to Christian.

Allison was staring at James, staring him down. He just sat there listening contentedly, watching the three women, Allison and Sharon, and Ingrid.

Sharon was trying to convince Mike that she wasn’t a slave. She was quite surprised that he didn’t seem to appreciate her arguments. At one point, when Mike reached for her, she started running around the room, with Mike giving chase. Allison, watching, laughed at the spectacle of the older man chasing the fit young woman around and around.

Ingrid hung up the phone, and said, “Mike? Christian Ellerbee says, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t take those two cunts if you gave me a ten thousand dollar bribe’.”

Mike, having stopped near the only exit door, faced down Sharon at the opposite corner of the room.

Mike said, “Then list them for sale.”

James stood up, and said, “I’ll buy them.” And held up the wad of cash.

Mike turned to James and said, “Sold.”

Allison said, “You can’t sell us to him!”

James handed Mike the cash.

Mike said, “They’re yours.”

James turned to the girls and said, “Strip.”

Allison said, “I’m not taking my clothes off in front of that fucking camera!”

Sharon said, “We’re not going anywhere with you pipsqueak!”

James, standing between and six feet from each girl, raised his fists in their direction, pushed his middle finger into his palm, Spiderman style, and with the sound of a zap both girls stood and shook as if in a grand mal seizure for a moment, with their eyes rolling into the backs of their heads. James released his fingers from his palms and both girls dropped to the floor unconscious.

James yanked the four wires, two from each of his wrists, out, and then pulled the tines out of the girl’s flanks, and coiled and then disposed of the wires in the garbage can.

Mike had a good idea what he had used.

James, proud, undid one of his shirtsleeves to show off his latest purchase.

Strapped to his forearm, from wrist to elbow was a steel curve about an inch thick. A flesh colored elastic came out at the wrist, wrapped around his index finger, stretching a button across his palm. It was a concealed tazer.

James said, “I got these today at the slave shop. According to the instructions, the shock induces short-term memory loss, which means I’ll be able to surprise them again and again with them. Isn’t that cool?”

Mike said, “Don’t depend on those kid. I’ve heard of people shooting themselves in the wrists, and people missing or hitting other targets. And you need line of sight.”

Mike thought, ‘mine have GPS and range and path detection, and I don’t need to keep an eye on the girls 24/7. I can sleep. I wonder if I can get sued for anti-product placement.’

James reset the tazers with two new projectile packs about the size of a ballpoint pen from his back pocket, and did up his sleeve as he walked back towards Allison.

James knelt over Allison’s unconscious body and started undressing her.

James looked up at Mike and said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Mike said, “Go ahead kid.”

James said, “Thanks.”

Mike thought, ‘A sale in five minutes work. And I got a little exercise.’Mike set the garbage pail beside Allison’s hip, and left into the back room.

James stripped her, throwing her clothes into the garbage pail, and then stripped Sharon.

Then James picked up Allison, fireman carry, and carried her outside and dumped her into the back seat of his father’s car. He wasn’t a large lad, but the girls were smaller than he was. He returned a moment later for Sharon, carrying her in the same way.

James knew that no one at school would believe him. He’d have to call Chris. Chris was editor of the school newspaper. Pictures were easy enough, but a couple hundred color prints, one for every student who had ever met the twins, yes Chris could do that. They’d never be published in the school paper of course, due to teacher oversight. Just handouts.

He drove off, for home, for his bedroom. It was less than a five-minute drive. There was a good possibility that by the time they woke up, he’d already have lost his virginity.

Twice

I had a quick shower after the men left and washed the filth from my hair. It was nearly lunchtime and I expected to see Mr. West appear for it, but he remained absent and didn’t appear until much later in the afternoon, not long before Tracey and I had to leave for the sorority orgy.

The men had delivered a number of video cameras mounted on tripods, which they had set in the big room adjacent to the kitchen as well as several smaller hand-held ones. Mr. West placed a hand-held cameras into the duffle bag I was to take to the party, along with several strap-on dildos and a variety of vibrators and other toys. He zipped up the bag and then punched a few numbers into his remote for our snuff collars.

“There!” he said. “I’m not going to tell you how long you have, but you might like to be home by eight. “You can take the ‘Beamer’”, Mr. West said.

I clumsily caught the BMW keys he tossed over to me and together, Tracey and I headed off for the orgy.

Tracey spent most of the drive across town chattering about girls she knew at the college and of some of the staff who, she said, would likely be there as well.

When we arrived on campus, I followed signs that had been set up quite obviously for us to follow. ‘Spellbook Sluts this way!’ the sign said, and I drove through the narrow streets until we came to the building signed ‘Delta Delta Beta’.

There was a welcoming committee of sorts; half a dozen or so young girls all dressed in see-through lace teddies and an older woman who appeared to be their chaperone or teacher. Inside the building we were led to a large, open room at the back that had mirrored walls like a ballet studio, but a floor covered entirely with black vinyl padded flooring. I glanced around at the sea of fresh, young faces of the college girls all eagerly expecting our arrival. They sat in a large circle on the padded floor, mostly in pairs but some in groups of three or four.

The older woman running things introduced Tracey, although it was clear quite a few girls in the room already knew her. She made some passing comment about my presence, but most of her attention and that of everybody else was on Tracey. I retrieved a camera from the duffle bag, fumbled with the controls for a bit, and then began filming.

I framed Tracey in the viewfinder and watched as the woman circled around her, eying her from every angle as she explained to the assembled group the ’surprise’ that had been arranged for the former student.

“You remember Monique?” the woman asked Tracey.

A curvaceous young brunette girl walked into scene. She was naked except for a pair of short, leather pants. A large dildo sculptured from black latex in the realistic shape of a cock jutted up from her crotch. Tracey’s eyes stared at it without blinking and became noticeably agitated when Monique smooched up close to her. The student, Tracey’s former roommate according to the woman directing the scene, then clamped Tracey’s nipples with miniature metal vice clips, screwing the jaws down tight until the young girl yelped.

“On your knees, bitch,” Monique said once Tracey was clamped.

Tracey reluctantly dropped to her knees at Monique’s feet. Monique then had Tracey suck the dildo, demanding she suck it like a real cock. I filmed everything and even zoomed in a little to capture a close-up of Tracey’s mouth swallowing deeply on the latex cock. The older woman disappeared out of camera-shot, leaving Tracey alone and on her knees sucking the faux cock. When she returned, she had two ropes and she used them to bind Tracey’s wrists to her ankles - her left to her left and right wrist to right ankle.

Monique slowly lowered herself, first into a kneeling position and then sitting with her legs widely spread on the padded floor. Tracey’s mouth remained clamped on the latex cock; her body bent over as if in a bizarre prayer position with her ass thrust provocatively in the air.

“Your turn,” the older woman’s voice was suddenly beside me.

She took the camera from me and passed it to another girl who aimed it back at me.

“Over here and knee down,” the woman said.

She ushered me to a position close behind Tracey’s upturned ass.

“You are going to fuck Tracey’s ass,” she began explaining. “Using one of these.”

I stared nervously at two tangled leather strap-on harnesses; one, a smallish dildo not much larger than a finger, and the other much larger both in length and thickness.

“It’s your choice which you use,” the woman said. “However, I should tell you I’m going to fuck your ass with the other. Which is it to be? Are you going to fuck poor, little Tracey’s ass with that big one?”

I had a real soft spot in my heart for Tracey and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her, so I chose the smaller of the two cocks, knowing the woman would fuck my own ass with the larger one, and that it would surely hurt. Hands grappled between my legs to secure the strap-on harness and I was handed some lube to prepare its cock and Tracey’s tender, pink ass hole. After handing back the lube, I carefully positioned the tip of the small rubber cock right at the puckered entrance to Tracey’s ass and rocked a little forward on my knees.

The sight of the tip of the cock disappearing into Tracey’s ass was strangely fascinating. I could hear her moaning as she continued to suck Monique’s strap-on - an anguished little moan as my dildo penetrated her ass. Behind me, I could feel the older woman positioning the tip of the much larger dildo up between my ass cheeks. The sensations of the thick, cold and greased head of the dildo separating my cheeks was not completely unfamiliar to me, but it still took away my breath.

“Tie her as well,” the older woman said to somebody behind me. She then told me to start fucking Tracey’s ass.

I tried to be as gentle as I could and eased my dildo slowly into Tracey’s ass. Each time she moaned loudly from the pain, I’d pause and allow her a chance to catch her breath. Meanwhile, I noticed two young girls kneel beside me. They had ropes in their hands and they bound be hand to foot the same as I’d seen Tracey tied. I also became more and more conscious of the pressure of the tip of the dildo pressing against my anus. I resisted as best I could, but it was unrelenting and soon broke past the seal of my anal sphincter muscle.

The sudden and searing pain as my ass hole was stretched caused me to buck my hips forward, thus driving the full length of my dildo into Tracey’s ass. I lost my balance for a moment and fell forward, forcing Tracey’s mouth deep onto the rubber cock. Monique pushed Tracey back by her shoulders, sending me like a domino falling backwards and impaling my own ass deep on the older woman’s dildo.

“Fuck her ass!” the older woman was saying behind me as she began thrusting the rubber cock in my own ass.

I tried to obey, but each time I rocked backwards to withdraw a little of the rubber cock in Tracey’s ass, my own ass was speared deeply with the fat, long cock of the other dildo. The rhythm of that cock became steady and hard; its enormous dimensions unforgiving and feeling as if it might split my pelvis in two.

A small crowd of students gathered close around, not just to watch. They began to grope Tracey and me with their hands and mouths. I watched helplessly as two girls leaned in close to suck my nipples; a third had her hand up between my legs as was fingering my pussy. Another girl reached down and grabbed Tracey’s hips. She laughed as she roughly forced Tracey’s ass to be fucked hard by my dildo.

The torture felt like it would never end. My ass ached and burned so intensely I couldn’t stop from screaming. Tracey too was by now screaming, much to the perverse delight of her ex-friends. Our anguished sobs and moans seemed to have the effect of arousing everybody and girls soon began falling to the mat around us, writhing and moaning as they pleasured each other. The orgy ensued.

Monique eventually pulled Tracey’s head off the dildo and pushed her down onto her side on the mat. My dildo popped noisily out of her ass which, I could see, was inflamed with an obvious soreness from being fucked there. The dildo in my ass was also roughly removed and I was pushed to the mat and left hogtied there while the older woman joined in the orgy with the young college girls.

I’m not sure how long it lasted, but after many of the girls withdrew into pairs and small groups again, where they could be seen affectionately kissing and cuddling each other, Tracey and I were untied and allowed to leave.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 46 - Second Shower For The Day

I was thankful for a bit of time alone in the office and made sure I had all the paper work ready for the new slaves Mr. West said would be arriving sometime this morning. I’d no sooner gotten the folders and forms laid out on the desk when I heard a truck outside backing up into the driveway. A moment later the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.

“I’m Hugh Jorgan,” a business suited man stood in the doorway smiling at me. “From TTC … I have a delivery for Mr. West?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been expecting it … them,” I corrected myself when I noticed six girls being marched from the back of a large van.

“Good,” the man said. “Well?”

I was momentarily confused but then realized he was expecting me to bring Mr. West to the door. “Mr. West is busy with something right now,” I said. “He has instructed me to process them. This way, please.”

The business man followed me and the six girls, each paired on leashes and led by three large, muscled men, followed Mr. Jorgan. I led them into the office and invited Mr. Jorgan to sit opposite while I busied myself with the paperwork. I called each girl in turn; three redheads named Lucy, Cathy and Angie; two brunettes (Maria and Marcie, who looked like twins but weren’t) and a blonde girl who looked like the embodiment of a Barbie doll whose name, ironically, was Barbie. “She had to have made that up,” I thought to myself as I wrote her name in the space provided on the form.

After all the necessary paperwork was complete, I handed each girl a small, plastic specimen jar with the instruction to pee into them. All seemed comfortable with the idea and, judging by the business-like manner in which they went about filling their jars, had experience of the routine. After returning their specimens to me, I labeled them with stickers I had prepared while they were peeing and then told the girls to place their jars in the ‘black fridge’ against the wall on the other side of the room.

It wasn’t necessary to have the girls undress as they had arrived naked and barefoot, but I did collar each with one of the black snuff devices after which the men handling them released them into my care and I escorted them into the new slave room. There, I chained the ankles of each and left them to return to finish the receipting business with Mr. Jorgan.

Mr. Jorgan was standing in the middle of the office when I returned and he smiled at my entrance.

“There’s some cameras as well,” he said, and I’ll leave the boys here to set them up after I leave.

I nodded absently and signed a receipt docket for Mr. Jorgan. He folded it an put it into the breast pocket of his suit and then gave me a weird look.

“Well?” he asked.

“Um, well?” I responded. I tried to think if there was anything I had forgotten.

“It’s customary for secretaries acting on behalf of their owners to finish business transactions with me by sucking my cock.”

He already had unzipped and now waved his erect cock for me to see.

I was unsure of whether or not this was some trick designed to get me into trouble with Mr. West, but I dared not disturb him and whatever he was doing with Sonya so I obediently kneeled at Mr. Jorgan’s feet and took his stiff cock deep into my mouth.

“Don’t use your hands,” he said sternly. “Put them behind your back.”

I did as I was told and then watched as the man slowly masturbated himself while I held the tip of his cock in my mouth. The other three men stood to one side and they all had their cocks out in their hands as they watched.

Mr. Jorgan’s hand rapidly went to work on his cock. “I’ve had my eye on you,” he mumbled. “I’ve seen you,” he said in a knowing kind of way.

I blushed and just stared up at him, aware that his cock would cum in my mouth at any moment.

“That’s it, slut. Get that tongue of yours busy on my cock!”

I had to suck hard just to stop his cock slipping out of my mouth. The distinctive and salty taste of his pre-cum was already on my taste buds. The other three men who delivered Mr. West’s new slaves were now standing in a semi-circle around me and masturbating as furiously as Mr. Jorgan.

“Smile for the camera!” Mr. Jorgan said, drawing my attention to the camera in the ceiling directly above.

I raised my eyes up and stared into it. His cock spurted a large glob of his spunk to the back of my throat, and I swallowed before a second, third and fourth burst of ejaculate came in quick succession. I glanced at one of the other cocks hovering near, just in time to see a blinding flash of something - his cum, shot forth in a jet of goo that covered my forehead and side of my face. The other cocks also began erupting and showering my face and head with cum until I was drenched in the warm muck.

Mr. Jorgan then withdrew his cock and wiped it in my hair before returning it to his trousers. He said he’d let himself out and told me to remain kneeing and covered in their jism until after I heard them leave the house.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 45 - Clean-up Time

“Right. I’ve got work to do,” Mr. West said. He stood from the table and started to leave the room. “Oh, before I forget. Ingrid, I want you to phone Dr. Sullivan this morning and make an appointment for Sonya.”

“Is she sick?” I asked. The sight of her bruised and battered body that was returned by the frat boys remained disturbingly clear in my mind.

“Dr. Sullivan is a dentist, Ingrid, and I want him to do a little cosmetic work on Sonya’s mouth.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t recall Sonya having anything at all wrong with her teeth, although I also couldn’t recall having seen her smile at all since she arrived either. Whatever the case, it seemed an odd request from Mr. West but I agreed to make the appointment without further question.

“Make the appointment for Saturday, Ingrid. In the morning some time, if he’s free. And tell him not to forget the BBQ at the club on Saturday afternoon. OK?”

“Yes, Mr. West. Dentist appointment for Sonya, Saturday morning; remind Dr. Sullivan, BBQ Saturday afternoon at club; check.”

I noticed Jen visibly tense up each time the BBQ was mentioned, but I didn’t immediately make the connection between this and her ’snuffing’ that Mr. West had mentioned a couple of times in passing. Mr. West left the breakfast table leaving Jen, Belinda and Tracey to help me clean the kitchen.

“That’s me he was talking about,” Jen whispered in my ear as we stood shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen sink.

“Hmm?”

“On Saturday, at the club. They’re going to spit-roast me,” Jen said between interruptions of Tracey dropping dirty plates into the sink in front of us.

“You’re kidding, right?” An uneasy laugh popped out of my mouth.

“No. It’s what I want.”

My hands went through the motions of washing plates while I tried to mentally digest Jen’s bizarre confession. Surely she wasn’t being serious? “But, why?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jen said flatly.

There was a long silence between us.

“Joan of Arc was burned at the stake,” I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but it was the only rational explanation I could think of that might make me sound like I did understand her motivation. Perhaps, she had a romantic notion about becoming some kind of martyr? Maybe, it was her way of protesting the perversity of the White Slave Act and women like us who were enslaved by it? I really didn’t know and, truth be told, I didn’t want to know.

“Is there anything else you want us to do, Ingrid?” Belinda asked.

“Um, no,” I replied after looking around and seeing the kitchen benches were all clean and the breakfast table was cleared.

“I’ll finish this,” Jen said, referring to the washing up.

I wanted to stay and talk some more with her but I sensed she just wanted to be left alone. “OK then. I better get showered and ready for the day.”

When I went to the bathroom I found Belinda and Tracey already in the shower. They were giggling and lathering each other with soapy suds.

“Come and join us!” Tracey squealed excitedly.

“Yes, come on, Ingrid,” Belinda added after noticing my reticence. She grinned at me and called me with her finger. I felt really awkward about accepting their invitation but my feet, as if possessed by a mind of their own, walked me over to the shower stall.

I stepped in and stood in the space Belinda and Tracey made for me. Belinda was behind me, and Tracey in front. Both girls were already well lathered and they pressed their soapy bodies against me and began rubbing their breasts against me. Belinda’s hands reached around me and her slippery fingers started to pinch and stimulate my nipples. Tracey’s arms wrapped around my waist and she held me tight while she gyrated and squirmed her breasts against my stomach.

“Are you looking forward to the sorority party?” Tracey asked. Her large, brown eyes sparked up at me.

I hesitated giving any answer, and the longer I thought about how to respond, the lower Tracey stooped as she rubbed her breasts against me.

“Well?” Tracey asked when her face was finally down close to my pussy.

I could feel her hands gently separating my thighs.

“Don’t be shy,” Belinda whispered against the back of my neck.

My feet slipped apart on the slippery tiles until my legs were widely spread. I had to reach out and press both hands against the walls of the shower stall.

Tracey’s mouth immediately clamped over the front of my pussy and her tongue, as it had done once before, jabbed and licked my swollen clitoris with an enthusiasm that stole my breath.

“She’s good at that, isn’t she?” Belinda clearly knew the effect of Tracey’s tongue and my whimpered moan of pleasure left her in no doubt of my answer. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes!” I panted and felt my hips jerk involuntarily to thrust my clit harder against Tracey’s tongue.

“And tonight, all those college girls and their teachers are going to see how much you like it as well, aren’t they?” Belinda cooed in my ear.

I shivered all over and could feel the sudden rush of perverse delight. I moaned loudly.

“Stop!” I suddenly called out and giggled. “That’s too much! I can’t take any more!”

Tracey continued trying to lash my clitoris with her tongue, but the orgasm that had just climaxed within me made my clit so sensitive, it was like torture to be licked any more.

“Say ‘thank-you’ to Tracey,” Belinda said. She moved her hands to my shoulders and slowly pushed me to my knees while Tracey stood with her legs spread in front of me.

The thought of putting my mouth anywhere near Tracey’s pussy disturbed me, but with the shower water still cascading down over us, there wasn’t really anything to smell or taste beyond the tiniest taste of saltiness. I tentatively probed the folds of shaved skin, not really knowing what I was supposed to be doing but using the memory of her tongue fucking of me as a guide. I had to tilt my head onto an awkward angle back in order to reach her clit properly with my tongue, and breathing was difficult because the shower kept raining down on my nose and I could only breath through my mouth. I let my tongue explore the smoothness of the young girl’s clitoris; the tiny hard bubble of it feeling peculiar and unfamiliar against the underside of my tongue. I sucked a little until I felt it slip between my lips, just as Tracey had done to me, and was rewarded with small sighs of pleasure from her.

I sucked and licked Tracey’s pussy for a long while, until my neck started to cramp from the uncomfortable position my head was tilted. She was close to cumming; I could sense that from the way she grinded her pussy hard against my mouth and chin. When she finally passed that point of no return, she grabbed large handfuls of my hair and energetically rutted her pussy hard against my face. Had it not been for the shower water, I felt certain she would have covered my face with her juices.

“My turn,” Belinda said after Tracey had finished fucking her pussy on my face.

I thought I’d have to lick Belinda’s pussy in the shower but instead she pushed me from the stall and had me lie on my back on the hard, cold bathroom tiles. She then kneeled over my breasts and pushed my arms up so she could pin them to the floor above my head while she crawled up to bring her pussy close to my mouth. I couldn’t see Tracey anymore, but I felt her hands on my ankles. She bent my legs up until I felt like my ass was totally exposed and vulnerable. Once Belinda was in position, she released her grip on my wrists and hooked her arms behind my knees, thus effectively trapping me beneath her.

“Better make sure you’re clean on the inside too,” Belinda smirked down at me.

I wasn’t sure at first what she meant but then I felt something cold and hard pressing against my anus. It was impossible to call out any protest as Belinda had already pressed her moist, wet pussy over my mouth. Whatever it was Tracey stuck in my ass, it was pencil thin, smooth and hard. I moaned loudly as she fucked my ass gently for a moment and then felt thoroughly panicked as I felt a warmness flooding in my ass.

“Relax,” Belinda said, when I started to struggle frantically. “It’s just a little enema. I’ll let you up to release it again … after you make me cum.”

Within a minute, I could feel the liquid starting to cramp my stomach but Belinda had me totally immobilized, bent over on my shoulders on the bathroom floor and with her pussy leaking all over my mouth and chin. I sucked long and hard on her clit, moaning loudly and desperate for her to now cum quickly. I could see her face and she looked contented but nowhere near cumming.

“Fill her up some more, Tracey,” Belinda said.

I could feel my stomach bloat as more liquid entered my ass. The cramps were becoming unbearable and the sensations of needing to evacuate the liquid became urgent.

“Oh my god!” I thought as I felt Tracey’s mouth pressed down on my clit. Had it been for the horrible feeling of liquid sloshing around in my ass, I might have orgasmed instantly, but I had to control myself for fear of disgracing myself totally.

Belinda soon started to squirm her hips and mash her pussy against my probing tongue. I sucked and licked feverishly, moaning loud encouragement for her to cum quickly so I could relieve myself of the agonizing feeling that cramped my stomach.

“Shit! Yes! Suck my cunt, you slut!” Belinda began cursing loudly.

My screams were muffled between her thighs; my mouth gagged with a large mouthful of her clit and surrounding pussy flesh.

“Yeah!” Belinda finally said. Her body shuddered briefly above he and my mouth filled with the pungent taste of her juices. I held my tongue stiff and pressed it deep into her pussy like a small cock and she rode my face for a short while longer before finally rolling off me and collapsing by my side.

I immediately took the opportunity to roll over onto my stomach and I carefully removed the metal spigot from between my ass cheeks and rushed to sit on the toilet seat. The sound of the evacuation was loud and disgusting, but I didn’t care. It was such a relief just to feel the cramps in my stomach being flushed with it. I sat for a long while with my elbows on my knees and my deeply embarrassed face in my hands. Tracey and Belinda were laughing as they dried themselves, eventually leaving me alone to wipe and quickly wash myself again under the shower.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 44 - Thursday Breakfast

“Oh, good, you’re moving,” Mr. West said on finding me busy in the kitchen. “Make breakfast for five … no, six. Jen gets double rations. Have something in forty-five or so. I’m going to take her back so the girls can put bug bite stuff on her tits.”

I glanced up at Jen and the horrible red bite marks that covered her breasts. She didn’t acknowledge me at all or, in fact, seem to be fully aware of anything at all going on around her. Mr. West then tugged her leash and led her off to find Tracey and Belinda.

Shortly after they left the kitchen, the doorbell rang. I quickly went to see who was calling at such an early hour and, when I opened the door, I saw three of the college boys from yesterday and Sonya. She looked barely conscious and had to be supported by two of the boys.

“Here’s your slut back again,” one of the boys said. He and his friend dragged Sonya across the threshold of the doorway and dropped her heavily onto the floor.

“The bitch tried to bite off my cock,” another said.

I didn’t feel the slightest remorse for him.

“But we fucked her still. Fucked her good,” the third said.

Sonya moaned softly as if reminded of something awful. I kneeled down beside her to see if she was OK.

I’m not sure whether I felt the shock first or heard the fire alarm back in the kitchen going off. Either way, I was jolted to attention and I quickly pushed the three boys out of the door so I could close it and return to the kitchen. The electrical shocks from my collar weren’t too severe, but they still made running difficult.

When I arrived back in the kitchen I panicked at the sight and smell of smoke pouring out of the toaster. Four slices of bread, blackened to cinders, sat smouldering; a pall of dark grey smoke hanging like a cloud on the ceiling. Mr. West came running too and I assured him no damage had been done as I threw the four bits of charcoal into the kitchen sink and soaked them in water from the faucet. The smoke quickly dispersed after I opened a window and the smoke detector alarm stopped jolting me with electrical shocks.

“See, it was just a few bits of burned toast,” I said.

Mr. West gave me a curious look as if to say he thought I was a total klutz in the kitchen. He was right, of course, but I didn’t want him to know that.

I mentioned Sonya’s return and Mr. West disappeared from the kitchen again, leaving me alone to finish preparing breakfast. Aside from the toast, the only other things that required any cooking at all were the muffins. Thankfully, I didn’t have to bake them from scratch and all that needed to be done was warm them in the oven.

Mr. West, when he eventually seated himself for breakfast, seemed unimpressed with what I had prepared.

“Cornflakes?” he asked as I poured milk over his bowl of cereal.

“There’s muffins and toast as well,” I replied.

“And?”

“And … some raspberry sauce and whipped cream.”

“Outstanding,” he said. Mr. West sounded under-whelmed, but he started eating his Cornflakes anyway.

Tracey and Belinda sat giggling at the table like a couple of schoolgirls. Jen sat on the other side of the table not saying anything, although the swollen bit marks on her breasts appeared to be noticeably reduced under a sheen of a gel-like balm.

“I’m expecting a delivery from TTC some time this morning,” Mr. West said. “Six girls, Ingrid, and I want to make sure you get all the paperwork done correctly for them. OK?”

“Yes, Mr. West,” I said. The memory of being punished for getting it wrong was still fresh in my thoughts.

“Tracey,” he said, interrupting her whispered giggling with Belinda. “Ingrid will take you to a sorority party over at the Eastlake College later this afternoon.”

“I will?” I asked. Mr. West continued talking to Tracey and ignored my interruption.

“Those Delta Delta Beta girls want you to take part in a little lesbian orgy they’ve planned to entertain their teachers. You’ll get the chance to show all your friends what a good little slave-slut you’ve become.”

Tracey went completely silent.

“Ingrid, TTC will also be delivering some new cameras today. I want you to take two of them with you - one for you and one for Tracey - so you can film each other performing. Oh, and make sure you take a few extra strap-ons as well. Some of those horny college bitches will undoubtedly want to fuck the two of you while you fuck each other.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face at the thought.

Mr. West continued munching his Cornflakes. After he’d finished, he pushed his empty bowl into the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair.

“Ingrid, get up on the table please,” he said.

I felt suddenly suspicious but did as I was told. Mr. West directed me to squat over his bowl and pee into it - a humiliating task not least of all because I didn’t feel at all like peeing and I had to squat in position for a long while before I could summon any from my bladder. Once the flow started, I released it in very short spurts so as not to make too much of a splash. I felt dreadfully embarrassed, especially with Mr. West sitting right in front of me and everybody watching as I filled his bowl with pee.

Once I had finished, I feared what he might want me to do next. However, he asked me to get down off the table again and he then spoke to Belinda.

“Belinda, I think Sonya might like a little drink - something to re-hydrate her and get her salts back up.”

Belinda wasted no time carefully picking up the bowl of my warm pee. She balanced it between her hands and walked off with it.

“These muffins are very tasty,” Tracey mumbled.

The timid, non-squituer way in which she said it even made Jen laugh a little bit. Mr. West laughed to himself as well, but I had the sneaky feeling he was laughing at something else entirely.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 43 - A Wicked Awakening

I was already awake when my alarm went off Thursday morning at 5:10 am. The lingering pleasant memory of Mr. West’s cock fucking my pussy had been vivid in my dreams and so by morning, the desire to have his cock in me again was strong.

He appeared to be sleeping soundly when I crawled up onto his bed, although his cock wasn’t entirely flaccid and it only took a few minutes of feather-light kisses and strokes to rise it to a semi-rigid state. I held its shaft upright and softly took the tip into my mouth and sucked it affectionately. As I sucked, I crawled into a 69 position over him and I continued until his cock felt solidly erect in my mouth and hands.

I gripped my hand around the base of Mr. West’s cock and held it firmly aimed straight up while I crawled my knees alongside his slumbering body. My pussy was by now leaking in anticipation of receiving his cock and when it penetrated me, I was able to slide down easily to be fully seated, delightfully impaled on his cock.

It took a conscious effort not to bounce or move in any way that might suddenly awaken Mr. West. I leaned forward slightly and lightly rested my hands just above his knees. The position made it feel like his cock was pressed right up deep inside me with the pressure of its tip hard against my g-spot. It caused a series of involuntary contractions of my pussy around his cock and juices to literally flow and lubricate his cock with a velvety slipperiness. I squirmed gently, savoring the feeling.

The first sign of Mr. West waking was an almost imperceptible wriggling beneath me. I was encouraged by it to slowly fuck myself on his cock, rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. The early morning silence in his room began to fill with the sounds of my wetness around his cock and be punctuated with soft moans that escaped from my open mouth every time his cock bumped deep up inside me.

I whimpered at the approaching orgasm I could feel rapidly approaching. Mr. West’s hips now bucked to the rhythm of my bouncing and I could tell from the sound of his breathing, he was close to cumming too. A little voice in my head warned me I should change position and blow his cock, as was my daily morning duty, but he felt so good inside me I couldn’t bring myself to get off his cock. A moment later I felt the familiar and delicious sensations of a hot flood of wetness in my pussy. I gripped Mr. West’s knees tightly with my hands and wriggled my ass so his cock was as deep as I could get it in my pussy. The moans of pleasure I had tried to keep silent now resounded loudly in the room as wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure swept through me.

“That’s enough!” Mr. West suddenly said.

My pussy continued to twitch and spasm after Mr. West pushed me off his cock. I immediately rushed to grab his cock and get it into my mouth, sucking in a vain attempt to make him cum again. He pushed my head away and told me to stand up.

“I hope your cunt isn’t spilling cum all over my clean carpet,” he said.

I pressed my hands between my legs to catch the large globs of his spent cock. The sensations of the slippery mess collecting in my hands made me shiver. It didn’t go unnoticed by Mr. West either, and he told me to lick my hands clean while I waited for him to get out of bed. His cum tasted slightly cold and extra salty after having been exposed to the air, but I gingerly slurped and swallowed everything until my hands were as clean as I could make them.

Mr. West ordered me out of his bedroom and into the large, open room adjoining the kitchen and breakfast room. He then told me to stand facing the fireplace and lean with my hands on the mantelpiece. Once in position, he moved to stand behind me.

“What was that?” he asked.

Mr. West sounded mad but I was unsure of exactly what I had done wrong. “What was … what?”

“Did I give you permission to fuck me today?”

Before I had a chance to answer, he whipped my ass really hard with a small, nasty flogger.

“Owwwww! No!”

“Well then, what made you think you could fuck me without my permission?”

“I don’t know - Owwwwwwwwww!”

The second strike landed right on the first and the tips of the narrow, leather fronds stung like a swarm of wasps.

Mr. West then proceeded to spell out my morning duties and emphasized each word with a vicious lash of the flogger.

“Repeat after me; I. Must. Wake. Up. Mr. West. With. A. Blow. Job.”

My fingers gripped the mantelpiece tighter and tighter with each savage touch of the flogger and by the last stroke, I could barely stand at all. Tears streamed from my eyes and I sobbed apologies.

“Turn around,” Mr. West said.

I turned slowly to face him; my hands behind my back trying to soothe the burning welts I could feel left in the wake of the cruel whipping.

“Spread your legs,” he said.

“Please, Mr. West, I won’t do it again,” I whimpered.

“Now!” he barked and whipped my breasts with a force that made me scream.

I couldn’t stop crying and I begged him not to whip my pussy, but he showed no mercy at all. My feet inched apart on the floor.

“Wider,” he said.

I reluctantly obeyed and reached back to hold the mantelpiece for support. Fearing the blow I knew was about to come, I closed my teary eyes and held my breath.

“Are you going to fuck me without permission again?” he asked.

I’d barely got the word ‘no’ out of my mouth when he swung the flogger hard up between my legs and struck my unprotected pussy with a lash so fierce, I crumpled to the floor in a screaming heap. I curled up into a fetal position and pressed my hands between my thighs and cried and cried well after Mr. West had left the room. Eventually, the tears ceased to flow and my crying ebbed to a self-pitying sob.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 42 - Tortured And Tantalized

When I returned inside, Mr. West had a serious look on his face. He told me to stand in front of him with my hands behind my back while he pointed out the trouble I could have gotten him into by restraining Sandy in shackles before all the paperwork for her enslavement was complete. I mumbled an apology or two, but Mr. West said he wasn’t interested in hearing them. Instead, he said he would make me study all of the enslavement regulations until I knew them by heart, and that he would test my knowledge of them at a later date. But for now, he said I was going to be punished and for that he took me into the mini torture chamber in the fourth bedroom of the house - the room where Sandy had been chained a short time earlier.

There was a small wooden pedestal against one wall and Mr. West told me to move it into the middle of the room. It was heavy for its size (a padded top about 15″ square, maybe 3′ high and standing securely on a 6″ plinth) but I managed to drag it into position as directed. Before he had me lie over it, Mr. West removed my tunic and tossed it aside.

“On you get,” he said. “Lie over that.”

I climbed into the padded top and wriggled into a position where I felt balanced on my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. West rummaging through one of the closets in the room. When he returned, he had leather cuffs from my wrists and ankles and he secured them in place before attaching them to eyebolts in the four corners of the broad plinth.

His hands then gathered my hair up into a short ponytail and he tied it with a length of thin cord that was then pulled tight until my head was forced back uncomfortably. I could feel his fingers manipulating the other end of the cord, pressing between my ass cheeks to tie it off around the base of the butt plug. He had more lengths of cord that he attached to the metal clamp tweezers on my nipples. I moaned softly as he tugged the cords gently, pulling each taut back around the pedestal and then tying the ends to my big toes. The tension on the cords pulling my nipples increased if I moved my toes even slightly, as did the stretching sensations in my ass if I let my head fall forward at all. Mr. West had two more thin lengths of cord and he tied one to each of my thumbs.

I wasn’t sure what he intended doing with these until I felt his fingers pulling back the fleshy hood protecting my clitoris. His breath then became hot and close to my pussy; his tongue making short, teasing flicks against my clit. My toes immediately stretched and curled at his touch, giving short, pleasant tugs on my nipples. I squirmed and moaned again as my clit tingled with a tantalizing little tickle of delight. He touched it with something smooth and cold and then licked again. After alternating a few times between his tongue and the cold metal, I felt my clit suddenly clamped and clamped with a hard, unyielding pressure that made me moan out loud. I could feel my thumbs being pulled back and the clamp on my clit pull tight as the cords were tied to it.

The effect of all the cords now was to torture my nipples and clit and ass if I made the slightest movement at all. I might have been able to remain still, but Mr. West began whipping my back and ass with a flogger; whipping me hard and mercilessly as he chastised me for my incompetence in processing the volunteer slave girl.

Every now and then he’d stop flogging me and walk around to face me. He was now naked and his cock danced obscenely up out of his loins.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, waving his cock right under my nose.

“Yes,” I mumbled, trying to bob my head forward and get the tip of it into my mouth without torturing my ass too much.

“You do?” he asked. He could clearly tell my struggles to get his cock into my mouth were torturing my nipples and clit.

“Yes!” I gasped.

Then, without any warning at all, he lunged forward with his hips and drove his cock right to the back of my throat. The unexpected assault caused me to struggle frantically, and my thumbs and toes violently tugged the cords attached to the clamps on my nipples and clit. I thought for a minute I was going to choke on his cock, and I sucked it hard trying to get breath past it.

The flogging resumed and he slowly fucked my face to the rhythm of his lashes on my back. Eventually, my struggles subsided, but the dull throbbing ache in my nipples and clit remained.

“Do you want me to cum in your mouth?” he asked nonchalantly.

I moaned my approval.

“Or maybe I should fuck your cunt again and cum there?”

I moaned again, louder and more agreeably.

Mr. West removed his cock from my mouth and moved around behind me. I could feel its tip pressed between my pussy lips and it then slipped effortlessly deep inside me until I could feel his balls lightly bump against my exposed, clamped clit. He proceeded to fuck me with hard, steady thrusts, not touching me at all with his hands of any other part of his body, except his cock. A moan of profoundly satisfying delight escaped my lips, and I gently wriggled my thumbs and toes to stimulate my clit and nipples while he fucked my pussy. The embarrassing noise of my wetness filled the room and I pointed my toes toward the floor to apply the maximum amount of stretching pressure on my nipples. I gently pulled my thumbs against the tension on the cords and saw sparks of bright light as my clit stretched painfully.

I could feel his fingers starting to grip the base of the butt plug and then a horrible, sucking sensation in the pit of my stomach as he pulled on it. My anus, having become comfortable with the narrowness of the stem of the butt plug, stretched savagely and felt like it would be sucked inside-out as the large ball was unceremoniously removed. I screamed loudly and my head dropped forward.

“Oh god! Oh shit!” I gasped, partly in pain and partly in the throes of a number of smaller orgasms that caused my whole body to spasm and jerk violently.

I could feel my pussy flooding with the warmth of his cum, but still my own climax remained illusive. The agonizing grip of the clamp on my clit refused to be ignored, even when I could manage to keep my thumbs from moving. Mr. West’s cock pounded my pussy for a long minute; its thrusts plunging right down to bump painfully against my cervix and force his fresh cum to spill down the insides of my thighs.

After he finally withdrew from me, he walked around to face me again.

“Did you learn you lesson?” he asked. He grabbed a handful of my hair and turned my face to look into his eyes.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Good. Now you can clean my cock and we can get back to work.

I didn’t have the strength to protest as he thrust his cock, still slick with milky bubbles of my own juices and his cum, deep into my mouth. I sucked and swallowed and could feel his cock growing soft in my mouth as I cleaned every drop of cum and pussy juice from it. It was such a disgusting thing to do, I thought, but the more I punished myself in my thoughts for being so depraved, the more enthusiastically I sucked until eventually, Mr. West whipped his clean cock from my mouth and left me lying there, mouth open and gawping like a fish and feeling thoroughly ashamed with myself.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 40 - Stupid Is, As Stupid Does

It was extremely difficult to concentrate on anything for a long while after Mr. West left the house. At first, I had my left hand pressed lightly against my pussy more to soothe its soreness than anything else, but the heat that radiated into the palm of my hand; the moisture that continued to seep onto my fingers; I soon found myself unable to resist the lure of pleasuring myself.

My thoughts drifted back to the other day, when Mr. West had whipped my breasts and then bent me over a footstool so he could fuck my pussy. The memory became clear and fresh in my mind until I could almost physically feel the heat of his body on my back and the stimulating feeling of his cock, large and rigid, pounding into me. It was such an impersonal fuck with Mr. West just using me, like a fuck-toy for his own sexual gratification. I remembered the way I remained passive for him too, except for my pelvic floor muscles that tensed and tightened and massaged his cock as it penetrated me. I had so wanted him to cum inside me; to fill me with his hot, thick cum, but instead he had fed Tracey with it. The memory pinged a nerve that made it feel raw with a kind of jealousy.

I was in the midst of a most dreamy reverie and reveling in the sensations of my fingers, slick with my own juices, pinching and twisting my swollen clitoris. It felt so good, especially the combination of this and the awareness of the large plug in my ass that bumped like a doorknocker in my ass if I bounced and wriggled in my seat. My daydream thoughts began to swirl as I imagined myself Mr. West’s lying naked on the floor; me sitting on his cock and sensuously fucking him while he teased and tormented my clit until it was fully exposed and vulnerable to his touch.

Or maybe it was my old boyfriend Bernard Turner, naked on his back? The blurred images in my mind’s eye quickly shifted from one to the other and back again. I could see Mr. West’s figure on the periphery of my thoughts; the visitor who approaches without warning when I’m feeling my weakest and most defenseless. I collapse forward on Bernard’s chest and hug him tightly; his mouth close to my ear and his voice hot and wet as he calls to the visitor to fuck my ass while his cock bucks up into my pussy. I am curled up on his prostrate body with my knees hugging his hips and my arms around his neck. From the corner of my eye I see Mr. West approach and move behind my upturned ass. I’m sandwiched between their cocks, whimpering as they fuck my ass and pussy with irregular, painful thrusts. It’s a torture, but the pleasure I feel radiating from my clitoris seems to override all else. Mr. West’s body envelops my back and is like a blanket of orgasmic mist that saturates my senses. I can feel the climax, so close…

The interruption of the doorbell shatters my deliriously wonderful moment.

It’s a young girl with long, straight blonde hair in jeans and a sweater. She has one of those awful voices, grating and high-pitched and with a rising tone at the end of every thing she says that makes her sound like every statement she makes is a question.

“This is the slaver’s residence? Where girls volunteer to be slaves? I want to be a slave? I’m here to volunteer?”

“Gah!” I silently curse he imbecilic interruption to my afternoon delight.

“Yes, that’s right,” I manage to say in a flat, business-like tone of voice.

She’s able to pass through the invisible fence and enter the house.

I take her out to the study, ignoring her idiotic ramblings about how ‘nice’ everything in Mr. West’s house is.

“Oh, that’s a nice television? That’s a nice vase? That’s a nice…”

I wanted to throttle her with my own hands.

“You’ll need to fill out this,” I said, pushing the paperwork across the office desk to her.

“I’m Sandy?” she prattled, pushing her hand across the table as if she expected me to shake it.

“Ladies don’t shake hands,” I said, totally ignoring her extended arm. She gave me a strange kind of look like I’d suddenly grown a second head, and her hand remained hanging in the space between un until she realized I had no intention of shaking it.

“I fill this out?”

“Yes.” I rolled my eyes to myself.

“It’s a very long form? Do I have to read it all!”

I should have been impressed that she could say ’something’ without making it sound like a question, except it really was a question she asked.

“Just sign your name at the bottom,” I said. “You can write, can’t you, or should I get an ink pad so you can just stamp it with your thumbprint?”

The girl’s face was totally blank and expressionless, like a puppet waiting to be animated by a hand up the back of its shirt. And then she started giggling and cackling as if it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. I couldn’t wait to get her out of the office and into the darkened room where Sonya had been taken when she first arrived.

“You’ll need to be chained,” I said to her, directing her to a corner where shackles lay on the floor.

“Ok!” she bubbled.

“That’s not too tight, is it?” I asked as I shut an iron manacle around her left ankle.

“A little,” she replied.

I discreetly tightened it one more notch and locked it in place.

“There,” I said. You’re all ready to meet Mr. West.

“Mr. West?” she asked, clearly unfamiliar with his name. I ignored her question.

“You might like to watch a little television while you wait,” I said. I aimed a remote at the screen on the wall and it flashed to life with images from The Torture Channel. Sandy, or whatever her name was, continued to bombard me with inane questions, which I studiously ignored.

“Do you ever shut up?” a voice in my head asked the girl silently; rhetorically.

“You might enjoy this other channel,” I said, speaking out loud now. And with that, I zapped the screen with the remote and switched the television over to The Snuff Network. Sandy, thankfully, fell instantly silent, and I couldn’t help giving a little smirk to myself as I left her alone in the darkened room with the gruesome images of stupid, young air heads like her being dispatched and shuffled off this mortal coil.

Once back in the office, I felt kind of flat and worn out, although the dull ache of the butt plug still in my ass at least provided some distraction while I made myself busy with the office work. I looked at the clock on the wall: 3:30pm. Plenty of time, I thought, to get a large number of the files in front of me sorted and in order.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 39 - If The Plug Fits, Wear It

“Well, what are you waiting for? Bend over the desk, unless you want it implanted with out any lube,” Mr. West said.

I nervously stood from my chair and leaned forward over the office desk until I was lying face down on the desktop. The nozzle of the lube pressed up between my ass cheeks felt cold against the warmness of my sensitive anus and the sensations of him squeezing a substantial amount of the jelly there made me squirm a little and feel apprehensive. There was an anxious wait while he prepared the ball of the plug and then I felt him pressing that between my ass cheeks.

The ball felt much larger even than it looked; certainly much larger than any cock tip that had penetrated my ass in the past, and it was hard and unforgiving of my reflex resistance. My hands balled into tight fists beside my head and the increasing pressure against my ass had be gasp large mouthfuls of breath without exhaling. Because the ball was so large and rounded, its push against my anus felt blunt and not at all like something that might gradually force past my taut anal sphincter muscles. When it did finally stretch to accommodate the ball, the ball (as large as a billiard ball) was suddenly sucked deep into my ass as my sphincter, slippery with lube, rushed to seal itself against the invader. Every nerve ending then sent tiny shocks of panic through me to alert me my ass hadn’t fully closed and I was left with the perverse and irritating sensation of the narrow stem of the plug suck in my ass. Any flexing of my ass muscles made me acutely aware of the flared base, holding spread my cheeks. Breathing remained difficult and my face and neck burned hotly with a flush of embarrassment.

“Ok Ingrid, stand up now, and turn and face me,” Mr. West said.

It was the most peculiar feeling to stand straight and feel the sensations of the large ball in my ass and my ass cheeks held spread by the base of the plug. I was indeed quite heavy and I could feel its weight hard against the inside of my anus. It was like being ass fucked by a disembodied cock and it took every bit of mental fortitude to concentrate on Mr. West’s words.

“I checked the system, you let the phone ring 9 times. That’s roughly 7 times more than you should, so I think you need to be punished for that. What do you say to 21 lashes? That’s 3 for each ring of error you made.”

The thought of being punished while wearing the plug disturbed me in the way it sent a tingle of tantalizing delight to my clit.

“Ah, what?”

“I said how do you feel about 21 lashes?”

“You want me to say it’s OK?”

“Not really, just if you have something else you would rather me do, I’m willing to listen.”

“No, I’m sure this will be fine.”

I wasn’t sure at all, but my pussy was already beginning to leak.

“OK, where do you want them? On your ass, your back, on your tits or on your cunt?”

I recoiled a little at the word ‘cunt’. It sounded so coarse and demeaning, I couldn’t bring myself to repeat it, and I wanted to correct Mr. West and tell him I preferred he called it my pussy.

“Say that again, please”

“Pussy!” I blushed more deeply when I said it.

“OK lay back on the desk with your legs spread. Count each one as it hit you.”

“Oh no!” I thought to myself. I didn’t mean I wanted him to whip my pussy!
In order to lie back on the desktop, I first had to sit on it. This caused the hard surface to press up on the base of the plug, which in turn drove it deeper up into my ass. I felt the painful sensations of its movement crease my face with lines of tortured anguish, especially when I wriggled back a bit on my ass so I could lie back with my heels spread on the edge of the desktop. I reached back above my head with my hands and gripped the edge of the other side of the desk, aware that I was providing Mr. West with a clear and unprotected shot at my vulnerable pussy.

While I waited for him to select a whip, I looked up at the domed Perspex of the Torture Channel camera watching directly above. In my mind I tried to imagine the view and how many people might be silently watching. What would they see? Me, of course, but it was something more than that. They’d see me, completely naked with my ass plugged; my pussy thrust provocative and ready to receive twenty-one lashes from Mr. West; openly spread and ready as if inviting Mr. West to punish my tender pussy. Would they be able to see its pink wetness revealing my dark and secret pleasure at the thought? I let my head roll to one side and rested my blushing face against the inside of my upper arm.

(Swish - SMACK)

“Oh god! That hurt!” a voice in my head screamed as the first lash of the whip hit me squarely on my clit.

“ONE!” I called out.

(Swish - SMACK)

The pain was instant and blinding.

“TWO!”

My sensitive clit throbbed, as if stung by a bee. I kept my heels spread widely and securely in place, but my knees trembled and desperately wanted to come together to protect my defenseless pussy. The tempo of the flogging quickened.

(SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!)

“THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!” I yelped and was squealing loudly by the time I got to ‘nine’.

The next three blows struck savagely. So savagely, in fact, that the searing pain stole so much breath it was impossible to even scream.

“TEN! ELEVEN! (AAARRRRRGGG) TWELVE!”

The remainder of the lashes came in quick succession and I yelped out each count in a high-pitched, almost unintelligible shriek.

“…TWENTY!”

“Oh god!” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. I almost wanted Mr. West to quickly get it over with, but he bent over and retrieved another whip from the drawer of the desk. I noticed him starting to raise his hand with the tawse high above his head. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the excruciating pain I knew was about to hit.
“AAHHHHHHH — TWENTY ONE!! - AAAAHHHH” I sobbed.

“OK, I think we are clear here. Answer the phone when it rings, not when you get tired of hearing it ring.”

“Yes, Mister West!” I sobbed breathlessly.

“Have a seat, I have something I need to get.”

I could barely move after the savage whipping of my pussy. I writhed on my back for a while and pressed my hands between my thighs to soothe the horrible throbbing, burning after-effects of the cat and tawse. I’m just managing to crawl from the desk and sit on the chair when he returns. The pain in my pussy makes me almost oblivious to the ass fucking sensations of the butt plug.

Mr. West returns with some clips that he attaches to my tender nipples. I watch him hands through tear-filled eyes and am surprised to note my nipples are stiff and fully erect with visible signs of my aroused state. After clamping the buds of my nipples, he drops a cotton smock in my hands; a tunic with a hole cut to go over my head, and no sides to it. There’s a rope to tie like a sash around my waist.

“Put this on, I’ve got to go to a meeting. I want you to answer the phones and such like. I don’t get much walk in traffic, but if I do, well, right now we are out of stock. Any thing else should be covered in the office manuals I’ve printed off.”

He hands me a key.

“If you need to get into the safe, this will open it. It will also give you a 3 second half power jolt, once every 30 seconds as long as the safe is open. If the safe is open for longer than 20 minutes all the collars go off. Try not to do that. If a volunteer comes in you don’t have to do any thing but the paperwork. If it’s a sell, check it out as per the manuals. As the seller what they want for the slave, if it’s approved. If it’s less than $500, pay them. If it’s over 500, tell them that you can pay up to 500, but if they want to come back later after I have returned, they might be able to get the balance from me. I’ll be back around 5:30 tonight”

I nod and slowly my breathing resumes a normal, if shallow rhythm. The plug in my ass causes my anus to throb and tingle now, almost in sympathy with the continued throbbing in my clit.

“Oh, I just set the collars for 100 feet. Don’t go to far into the back yard. See you in a bit. Make sure you leave your plug in and the clips on until I get back, or nine this evening, which ever comes first. Don’t forget we have tapes, so I will know if you cheat. You will not like what happens to slaves that cheat.”
I dared not think about it because doing so had the immediate effect of almost making me cum all over the chair.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 38 - The Gift

Mr. West’s explanation left me none the wiser. Throughout, I nodded in that ‘yes, this impenetrable cloud of numbers and statistics makes a lot of sense’ kind of way and then changed the subject to something less mentally taxing.

“Do you know Bernard Turner down at the Walgreen?” I asked. I already knew that he did, but I was curious to learn exactly how well Mr. West knew my ex-boyfriend of many years ago.

“Yes, why do you ask?” Mr. West replied.

“Oh, no reason. He game me this to give you,” I said as I handed him the glossy catalog of sex toys and BDSM paraphernalia. “And this…”

Mr. West flipped through a few pages of the catalog and then turned his attention to the tow-ball shaped butt-plug I placed on the desk.

“Bernie gave you that?” Mr. West asked.

“Yes.”

“That was very generous of him. Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled and shrugged.

Mr. West picked up the butt-plug and studied it for a moment.

“It’s quite heavy for its size,” he said. “And not much chance of it slipping out either.”

I tried not to stare as Mr. West toyed with the largish sized ball of the plug and the short, narrow stem that connected it to its base.

“Ingrid, in the bottom drawer of the desk you should find a tube of KY jelly. Can you get it and pass it to me?”

My hands trembled as I opened the drawer and retrieved the lubricant. I was in no doubt as to what he intended doing and my thoughts turned to the hidden camera above.