Dark Erotic Fiction

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 37 - Goods And Chattles

Sleep didn”t come easily Tuesday night. Every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts would flood with the information I had read about Belinda”s mother, Cathy Rogers. The surprise to see she had been enslaved at all might have been enough, but that was just the beginning of the startling revelations I read about her. Cathy Rogers had been one of the first women in Eastlake County after the White Slave Act of 2000 came into effect to be enslaved. In all the years I”d known her, I”d never guessed.

Cathy Rogers was one of those women I could honestly have said had it all: a big house, an expensive car, and all the beads, baubles and bangles that come with marrying Harry Rogers, the richest businessman in Eastlake. She was a regular at the Country Club, and in fact was its Secretary (her husband Harry being its President). She was actively involved on the tennis committee and when she wasn”t playing tennis, she could be found most days swimming in the pool or lounging beside it drinking Gin and tonics. But her file revealed an interesting and checkered past.

She”d been born and raised in Tennessee but moved from there to California in the early 1980s, obviously with a view to becoming a movie star in Hollywood. She even appeared in a couple of B-grade movies but it was her appearances in triple-X videos that caught my interest the most. Cathy Rogers had appeared in more than ten of them, mostly “Gangbang Girl” stories, but she was also in a few BDSM films and even a “bukkake” one. I”d never before even heard the word, bukkake, and the image of Cathy Rogers” face on the cover, her mouth overflowing and face thick with cum, was still vividly etched in my thoughts when I woke Wednesday morning.

I quietly crawled up into Mr. West”s bed and gave him his early morning wake-me-up blowjob. His cock was very slow to rise this morning and I was a little bit worried I might not be able to get him fully erect at all, such was the impassive state he remained in right up to the moment when his cock suddenly gushed cum into my mouth. I swallowed and then asked Mr. West whether or not he”d been happy with that - he said he was, but was curious to know how I had made him cum without waking him. I didn”t have a clue, but I made some flippant remark about a girl having her secrets, and he accepted this with a laugh. He then said I was to meet him in his office in ten minutes time and said “I need to talk to you before we wake the others.”

Why the secrecy? Mr. West wouldn”t say and in normal circumstances our meeting wouldn”t have been different to any business owner discussing his tax arrangements with his secretary. But by the time he”d finished, he”d had me sign over my Social Security number to him and I had become “a company corporate asset”. I suppose I should have felt at least a little bit elated by the news, as it meant Mr. West was now obligated to feed and clothe me and provide medical attention, if ever needed. It also meant he couldn”t just dump me or sell me to just anybody. But instead, it made me feel even more like mere chattels.

“What about the other girls? Why did you want to tell me this before they got up?” I asked.

“I got a call from the Torture Channel dude in charge of the show. They want to keep a core group of slaves around here for at least 6 months or so. Belinda and Stacey are to be made into “rental” slaves, and they would like Sonya and Jen as well. I’ve explained that I don’t think Sonya is safe yet, and that Jen is a special case. They said they would get back to me on that.”

Mr. West dismissed me from his office and I was allowed to have a shower and get ready for the day ahead. After the shower, I was still drying my hair when I heard the phone ring outside the bathroom. I listened to it ring several times and thought Mr. West might have answered it, but he didn”t, so I rushed from the bathroom to attend to the call. The caller, who clearly sounded like a young man or college student, asked for “Mike” and I asked him to wait while I looked for him.

I could see Mr. West in the back yard with Jen and Sonya. He had both girls tied to a wooden table and I watched quietly as he walked up to them, removed his cock from his pants, and peed all over their faces. I was mortified by the site and, especially when it appeared as if Sonya had gotten some of it in her mouth, I choked back a horrible vomit taste that jumped to the back of my throat.

Not wanting to interrupt Mr. West before he finished peeing, I waited and then called his attention to the phone.

I discreetly listened as he spoke with the caller and discussed prices and so on. By the time Mr. West finished speaking, it became clear he intended to rent Sonya to the caller and his friends. A short while later, after Sonya had been dragged into the house and hogtied, three college boys arrived to take her away.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 36 - Price Check Aisle 802120

The trek to Walgreen was long and arduous. The first few hundred yards was along the tree-lined, relatively people-free suburban streets but most of it was alongside a busy road. Many cars driving past tooted their horns at us and some even slowed to a crawl beside us; the driver and passengers all hanging out the window to make crude comments and call us “sluts” or worse. One man even stopped his car and got out. He had his cock out of his pants and he danced around waving it and challenging us to stop and suck it for him. I put my head down and walked as quickly as the searing pain on my pussy lips would allow. The man thought it was all incredibly funny, and for a while he followed along behind Tracey; his hands on her hips like we were a freakish Conga line, and he simulated ass fucking her we walked.

Once we finally got to the mall, and walked the gauntlet of gawking, amused onlookers, I tried to convey the message to Belinda that we had arrived and that I needed to see the shopping list. I might have been thankful for the assistance we received from a Customer Service manager who approached us, except for the fact I recognized him as a guy I had dated many years ago, before I got married.

“Well, well, well!” he grinned at me. “I”ll be damned! If it isn”t Ingrid Moore.”

Bernard Turner addressed me by my maiden name. My face blushed hotly. There was nowhere to run; nowhere to hide.

“Who”s that?” Belinda”s voice asked behind me.

I mumbled for a moment, hoping for a miracle that my high-pitched sounds might be intelligible. Bernard ogled me from head to toe and then walked around eying the two girls chained behind me.

He asked whose slaves we were, and Belinda answered, “Mike West”s”

“Oh.”

It was impossible for me to tell whether Bernard”s “oh” meant this was a good thing, or a bad thing, but he clearly was well acquainted with Mr. West.

“He sent you here with a list, I assume?” Bernard asked.

“Yes. Here it is. And his card too,” Belinda said. She held them out for him to take.

After quickly reading through the list, Bernard told me to follow him and he led us to the department store.

I noticed a number of other naked, collared women casually shopping for things but it didn”t make me feel any less conspicuous as we moved around the aisles following my ex-boyfriend, Bernard.

After collecting all the things on the list and placing them into shopping baskets he”d given to Tracey and Belinda, he led us to the back of the store and a section that sold various sex toys and BDSM paraphernalia.

“Here”s the latest catalog,” Bernard said. He dropped a glossy magazine into Belinda”s basket. “I bet that clamp on your cunt smarts, Ingrid.”

I squirmed at the reminder of its presence.

“Did Mike clamp you like that?” he asked. He appeared to be more amused than concerned.

I nodded.

“You know, Ingrid, I have something here that he might be interested in, the next time he needs to have you do any towing. Take this and give it to Mike with my compliments,” Bernard said.

I stared at the thing he showed me. It was a black rubber butt plug, not like any regular butt plug but shaped just like a car”s tow ball.

“See?” he said, drawing my attention to its flat, square base. “It has a place here where he can attach a towing chain, or even a tail, if he wants to make a pony girl out of you.”

My eyes went wide at the thought. Bernard clearly enjoyed seeing me humiliated and, given his obvious connections with Mr. West, I felt certain he”d be enjoying plenty more of it in the future.

Bernard eventually charged the payment to Mr. West”s card and packed our purchases into a carry-bag, which he handed to Belinda. I could feel his eyes on us, watching the whole way as I quickly headed for the exit; Belinda and Tracey stumbling and yelping for me to slow down all the way until we were finally out in the car park.

By the time we finally arrived back home, my nipples and pussy had been tortured to the point where I felt I couldn”t take another moment more. I had no idea of the time either, but we obviously made it with time to spare because Mr. West casually let us back into his house and removed the snuff collars. I somehow got the feeling he wouldn”t have done that if there were any chance of any of us exploding.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 35 - Waffles, And Somebody Screams

“Breakfast in 5 minutes. Be here.”

The sound of Mr. West”s voice calling us to breakfast caused Belinda and Tracey to scramble into a sitting position on the bed and I was helped up to sit between them. Together, we all carefully climbed off the bed and made our way to the kitchen.

I hadn”t had the chance to check myself in a mirror, but I felt sure I looked a total mess. I know I felt like one, and the dull throbbing ache of the nipple clamps biting tightly into my nipples didn”t make me feel any better. Mr. West was waiting for us and he had another collar for Belinda.

I could tell by the way her body tensed up that the snuff collar terrified her, and I didn”t blame her for the way she felt. I felt the same way about the one I had on and I felt sure Tracey did too. Mr. West then outlined his plans for the day.

“Sonya, Jen and I are going to be in the back yard most of the morning. Call via the intercom if you need me to open a door or something. Not you Ingrid… That might be a bit tricky with the ball gag in. I might need to send you out for some stuff from the Walgreen. Can you deal with that?”

I nodded slowly. He then took Jen and Sonya out the back somewhere and left Belinda, Tracey and me sitting at the breakfast table. He was gone a lone while and both Tracey and Belinda fidgeted with their plastic sporks and other things on the table; each deep in concentration as it their plastic cutlery was a Rubik”s cube and they were trying to put all the colored sides correctly back together. I lapsed into thought about the prospect of our shopping expedition.

I remembered Mr. West mentioned something about my duties including shopping for him when he first brought me back to stay at his house. At the time, the thought of going out nude in public filled me with a sense of dread, but it also tantalized me. The thought of having to go out gagged and cuffed and with my nipples clamped and chained to the other two girls -

Mr. West”s house was on the opposite side of town to the one where I used to live; his on the leafy Northern side with mine having been on the more exclusive Southern side, so I felt mildly relieved that the chances of any of my former neighbors seeing me were relatively slim. But then, I also remembered there were a number of other people I knew who lived somewhere on this side of town. I didn”t doubt many, if not all were now aware I had been arrested, convicted and enslaved, and I imagined most would be thrilled to see for themselves what had happened to me. People like my former employer, Nelson, obviously already knew, but what of others I used to work with?

I found myself unusually aroused by the thought of some people I knew seeing me. There was a maintenance man named Vic Sutton at the bookstore, for example. He”d always been very friendly toward me, but I always got the impression that, behind his idle chit-chat and jokes filled with sexual innuendo, he was really undressing me with his eyes. Oddly enough, I had never encouraged him to see me this way, but I hadn”t been entirely firm in my protests for him not to tell me those jokes or to look at me in the way he did.

There were others too I could think of, but a sudden and blood-curdling scream snapped me, and Belinda and Tracey, out of our silent little reveries. A moment later and Mr. West returned from outside, smiling happily and clearly ready now to sit down to breakfast.

“You haven’t told us what you wanted us to get,” Belinda spoke for us all.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve made a little list.”

I watched as he retrieved the piece of paper from his pocket, leaned across the table, and passed it to Belinda and what appeared to be a credit card.

“This is my limited funds debit card. There is enough in that account to pay for the items on the list, but not much more.”

“Come with me,” Mr. West said, rising from his seat again.

We followed quickly along behind him and were almost at the front door when he stopped.

“Wait here,” he said before disappearing back down the hall.

When he returned he had a few things in his hands. Among them was a leather blindfold mask for Belinda, and a matching one for Tracey. After blindfolding them, he opened his hand and dangled a long, thread of fine sterling silver chain.

“Spread your legs, Ingrid,” he said.

I didn’t have any choice or say in the matter, so I did as I was told and separated my feet widely on the carpet floor. On the end of the chain was a bright, shiny silver clothespin. I watched silently as he kneeled between my spread legs, reached up between then, and then, after a moment of pinching on one of the outer lips of my pussy, snapped the tight jaws of the clothespin onto it.

It didn”t hurt quite as much as I”d been expecting, but it was quite heavy and the sensations of it stretching me slightly were noticeable. He then ran the chain up between my legs and connected Tracey and finally Belinda in a similar fashion. Both girls let out little yelps. He then pressed a button to disarm the front door and, with a hard slap on my bare ass, he told us to hurry along before the door rearmed itself.

“Remember girls, try not to get lost and be back by noon. Not a second later,”

I could feel the chain tugging on my pussy and hear the sound of Tracey and Belinda yelping behind me as I tried to establish some kind of a pace we could all agree on. When I got to the front curb, Tracey crashed into the back of me, and Belinda into her, almost causing us all to fall down. They were already cursing and swearing as they stumbled in the darkness of their blindfolds. I looked down the street and felt panicked. Mr. West had said it was a mile there and back. I dreaded the long march and torturous march ahead, but the only thing we could do was advance.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 34 - A Tantalizing Torture

When Mr. West finally left me alone with the Belinda and Tracey, I quickly had to think what needed to be done and even more importantly, how I was going to explain it to the two girls. The sight of his discarded clothes near the wicker laundry hamper in the corner of the room seemed like a good place to start. I made a couple of high-pitched, whiney sounds, nodded my head in the direction of the basket and took a cautious step in its direction. Belinda appeared to get the hint, but Tracey was much slower to catch on.

“The clothes!” Belinda said. She rolled her eyes a little.

I nodded enthusiastically and Tracey”s eyes lit up.

“The clothes!” she echoed as she stepped off in their direction, clearly forgetting her collar was attached to the chain hooked to one of my nipple clamps.

I bit down hard on the ball gag and screamed loudly through it. My nipple felt the full force of the chain pulling and I jumped to follow Tracey. Belinda called for Tracey to stop, but she didn”t move herself and for one brief and horribly painful moment, my nipples were stretched taut in opposite directions. Both girls hopped back to be close to me. My heart beat so furiously I feared it might burst right out of my chest.

Eventually, the two girls managed to work in concert with each other; each watched the other and the two of them checked for me. We made our way to the corner of the room, daisy-chained together like three Chinese lanterns; the two girls collected up Mr. West”s clothes and put them in the hamper. They then shared the carrying of it and walked in front of me as we all made out way to the laundry. A couple of times they got ahead of me and my nipples suffered more agonizing jerks of the clamps until one or the other girl realized they were walking too fast. My nipples throbbed and I burned with hot flushes all over.

“What now?” Belinda said, after she closed the lid of the washing machine and set its cycle to “wash”.

“Now, we have to have a lesbian orgy,” Tracey said. She said it with the wide-eyed innocence of a child and not like she was simply repeating the perverse joke Mr. West made earlier in his bedroom.

“No we don”t” Belinda laughed, but she clearly warmed to the idea when she noticed me shake my head from side to side.

“We don”t?” Tracey asked. She sounded disappointed.

“Oh wait!” Belinda corrected herself. “So we do!”

And with that, the two girls started walking off back in the direction of their dorm room with me stumbling along behind. Belinda occasionally gave me a sly look over her shoulder; I gave her a pleading look in return. Once we got to the dorm, I was terrified about having to cross the electric threshold again but, as if by some small miracle, it had been deactivated and I was able to pass through without any more suffering, other than the crushing pressure on my tortured nipples.

Belinda led me over to the bed I”d seen her asleep in earlier and together with Tracey helping, had me lie on my back on it. I struggled to get into a comfortable position where my hands weren”t pinned uncomfortably behind my back. But the two girls had by now already climbed onto the bed either side of me and I was trapped between them with my hips thrust provocatively up in the air above the mattress. I stared up at the camera I knew to be hidden behind the dark perspex dome on the ceiling; my eyes wide with what I imagined would be a look of dread. They then rolled onto their sides and faced each other; half lying across my clamped nipples as their lips locked into a passionate kiss.

As their tongues explored each others” mouths, I felt their hands lightly caressing my stomach. The touch was not altogether unpleasant, but it was hugely embarrassing and I clamped my thighs together when I felt fingers wandering in search of my pussy.

Belinda broke free from her kissing of Tracey and she looked down into my eyes.

“Come on, Ingrid. Spread your legs for us!” she laughed.

I shook my head defiantly and crossed one knee over the other as an extra defense. Belinda took hold of one of the nipple clamp chains and she encouraged Tracey to take hold of the other.

“Open up!” Belinda said. They both started lightly jerking the chains.

I resisted the light pull of the chain on my nipples for as long as I could, but as they got more rough and demanding, I gradually separated my legs until they were widely spread on the bed.

The two girls then resumed kissing each other while their hands roamed between my thighs; their fingers taking turns to search out and stimulate my clitoris. It was impossible not to respond to the sensuous touch, and as sharp twinges of pleasure shot through me, my feet kicked out and my toes wriggled.

I watched helplessly as the two girls continued to kiss each other; Belinda glancing my way every now and then while her fingers and Tracey”s rubbed my swollen clit. They used my own pussy juices for lubricant and rubbed with unrelenting strokes. It was plain from the look in her eye she was secretly delighted with my pleasured suffering and then, in an act I sensed she knew would humiliate me completely, she told Tracey to tongue-fuck my pussy..

Tracey”s tongue felt sure and secure in its assault on my clit. The chain that connected one of my nipples to her collar was just long enough for her to get her face right up close to my pussy. The position thrust her ass right up in front of me, and Belinda took the opportunity to lick the young girls exposed and manifestly aroused pussy.

I groaned and struggled when Belinda decided to move herself into a position where she could more easily get her tongue into Tracey”s pussy. My body became trapped between Tracey”s spread legs and after Belinda had finished crawling on her knees to trap my head, she slowly lowered her moist pussy until it pressed down on my gagged mouth.

The pungent aroma of Belinda”s ass so close to my nose repulsed me, but my head remained immobilized and forced to act as a seat for her ass. She squirmed on my face and used my chin to stimulate herself.

Tracey”s long, soft hair felt wonderful and soothing between my thighs, and her tongue expertly brought me to the brink of a climax in less than a few minutes. But Belinda”s ass in my face and her pussy smearing its juices all over my nose and gagged mouth, detracted a little from the experience.

“Use this and make her cum!”

I heard Belinda say something as she leaned back to retrieve something from under her pillow. A moment later I could feel Tracey”s hands between my thighs and a cock-shaped object being pushed into my slick pussy. It started buzzing inside me as she drove it deep and when she had it nearly fully embedded, I felt the instant, heady rush of pleasure as something cold and wriggling pressed against my warm, aroused clit.

The shaft of the vibrator flexed and twisted vigorously in my pussy while the tickler sent me into an orbit of spectacular delight. Wave after tumbling wave of orgasmic pleasure slammed down on my senses; my legs kicked out in fitful responses until at last, I was gasping and almost screaming for mercy. It was too much! It was like a thousand orgasms at once. My clit felt electrified; the same kind of electrified feeling I”d felt when zapped by the invisible fence to the dorm, but magnified and concentrated down into one tiny spot between my legs. I imagined being buried in sand, such was the smothering feeling of the pleasure, with only my clit exposed to a sun with rays of orgasmic euphoria that shone down concentrated and intensified through a magnifying glass.

I bucked up under Tracey”s weight; thrusting my hips up to have my clit stabbed by the sharp rays stimulation. It was bliss beyond words.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 33 - Teaching The Teacher A Lesson

I watched impassively as Belinda sucked Mr. West”s cock, taking him deep in her mouth each time her head bobbed forward. There”s wasn”t much reaction from Mr. West for a long time, and he just stood there with his hands on his hips and a smug kind of look on his face as if to say how amused he was with himself over the electric shocks he forced me to receive.

After a while, he suddenly took an interest in Belinda”s oral activities on the end of his cock.

“Are you paying attention there, Tracey?” he asked.

Tracey glanced briefly at him and nodded.

“Good. You get down there next to her on your knees and get ready to take over. OK?”

Tracey flashed me a wide-eyed look and I gave her a discreet nod in return, as if to say it was OK. She dropped to her knees beside Belinda and watched, like a little sparrow waiting to be fed.

Mr. West extracted his cock from Belinda”s mouth and pushed her aside. Tracey”s mouth dropped open on his command and she took the blood-engorged tip into her mouth and held its shaft in one of her small hands.

“That”s it. Move your tongue around on the tip while you stroke it. You like the taste of that?”

Tracey nodded, but she didn”t appear to be sure.

“Good. You”ve got a lot to learn, but I”m sure Ingrid here will be only too happy to help. Is that right, Ingrid?”

“Yes, Mr. West,” I said through teeth still clenched, but slowly starting to relax.

“Belinda”

“Yes, Mr. West?”

Belinda was still licking her lips when she looked up at him.

“In that drawer over there (he pointed) you”ll find some nipple clamps. Get them please.”

“Yes, Mr. West,” she replied without question and went to rummage in the drawer.

She returned with a pair of elaborately crafted silver clamps connected together by a short length of silver chain.

“Belinda, I want you to suck Ingrid”s nipples and make them nice and firm so you can clamp them for me. OK?” Mr. West”s face beamed with a wicked grin.

I stared at him in disbelief and then watched helplessly as Belinda obeyed him instantly. She clearly relished her task and her mouth felt hot and wet on my nipples. Her tongue flicked over the sensitive bud of my nipple; her teeth lightly nibbling and stretching it away from my breast. I moaned softly at her touch. She gripped the breast with one of her hands and squeezed, forcing more of my nipple into her mouth.

“Let me see,” Mr. West said.

Belinda moved her head away and looked in Mr. West direction for his approval.

My nipple that she”d sucked was flushed bright red and glistened with Belinda”s saliva. It was clearly aroused and it tingled.

Mr. West was pleased with the result and he told Belinda to clamp my nipple.

I could feel myself trembling as I watched the jaws of the clamp scissor open. Belinda pinched my tender nipple again with the fingers of her other hand and distended my nipple far enough so she could securely clamp it. The pressure on my nipple as she released the spring mechanism was excruciating, and I yelped loudly.

“Now the other,” Mr. West said.

Belinda then went to work with her tongue on my other nipple and aroused it as quick as she”d aroused the first. It was then clamped with a pressure equally intense and I had trouble breathing.

“Don”t touch!” Mr. West warned when my hands moved to rescue my tortured nipples. “Put them behind your back.”

I reluctantly did as I was told and stood there, grimacing and fighting a mental struggle to overcome the pain.

Mr. West then told Belinda to retrieve a gag and some handcuffs from the drawer, which she did. She followed Mr. West”s instructions and gagged me first, pushing the red rubber ball deep into my mouth and then securing the leather straps that held it in place. She then pulled my wrists together behind my back and cuffed them.

I moaned through the gag, and gave Mr. West a pleading look with my eyes. He could see the look but ignored it and soon was filling Tracey”s mouth with his cum.

After he”d finished cumming in her mouth, he called the two girls to stand either side of me. I watched silently; my eyes watery with tears of tortured anguish, as he clipped short chains to each of the girls” collars. The other ends of these were then attached to the chain joining my nipple clamps and, once satisfied everybody was just how he wanted them, Mr. West explained what our morning duties would be.

“Before breakfast, I want you girls to help Ingrid with the housekeeping. I think she knows what needs doing, so you just follow her instructions. I”ll be checking to make sure everything is done properly and if it isn”t, I”ll not be very happy. In fact, I might even send the three of you out for a walk wearing the snuff collars. Understood?”

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 32 - The Electric Rubicon

“Wake up Belinda, if she isn’t already…” Mr. West”s voice sounded from the intercom speaker.

“I’m awake,” Belinda calls across the room to it.

“Great, Belinda, come on down here. Wait a second”

Belinda stares at me with a blank, shocked sort of look. I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck still tingle from the shocks.

“It’s OK Belinda, you can cross the fence now, I’ve fixed it. Ingrid, find the both of the TV controls and bring them here please,” Mr. West says through the speaker.

I notice Belinda cautiously approaching the threshold, reaching forward with her hands. Her hands pass through the doorway without being shocked and, emboldened with the confidence of this, rushes quickly from the room.

There”s no sign of the TV controls. I frantically rush from place to place in the room searching, and eventually find them. They had been on floor in front of the television right in front of me.

After having seen Belinda pass straight through the door I hadn”t given a second thought to rushing through it myself. The shock knocked me straight back on my ass and I fell to the floor like and infant who hadn”t yet learned to walk properly. I wanted to cry with the frustration of it. After regaining my feet, I tensed my whole body in anticipation of the current and stepped into the field. The current shocked me severely and my screams howled loudly throughout the house. But eventually, I stumbled through and ricocheted down the hallway walls back to Mr. West”s bedroom.

When I entered his room again, I saw Belinda on her knees at Mr. West”s feet; her head bobbing on his cock in a frenzy of noisy enthusiasm.

“If you want to teach Tracey to give head, ask first,” Mr West said, looking across at me. “I”m more than willing to let her practice, but just not first thing in the morning.”

I wanted to make profuse apologies but found it impossible to speak. The electric shocks seemed to have seized my jaw and I could barely seperate my teeth, such was the clench of them. Tracey stood to one side studiously observing Belinda sucking cock and I moved to the other side and quietly passed Mr. West the remote controls.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 31 - Jumping The Fence

“Toss me my robe please,” Mr. West says to me as I enter his bedroom again.

“Tracey, it”s not your fault. Please be quiet,” I whisper in an urgent tone to try and quieten her. She”s almost inconsolable, but by the time I have fetched Mr. West”s robe, she has at least stopped trying to talk. I pass the robe to him and then hand him his keys. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest as I watch him remove Tracey”s collar and secure it around my neck. He enters some kind of code on his palm pilot and then sends me off to wake Belinda.

I have a million frightening thoughts swirling in my head as I rush to the room at the end of the hall. All of a sudden, just as I cross the threshold of the slave dorm, an electric shock hits me; thumps me; an invisible hammer that hits me so hard I drop to my knees and briefly lose all sense of balance. The shock is swift and instant and I scream loudly.

“You need to cross the invisible fence. Once you are in the slave room use the intercom to tell me.” Mr. West voices crackles from the intercom speaker above the control panel for the invisible fence on the wall just outside the door to the room.
I have to physically shake my head to clear the fuzz caused by the shock. My brain has become completely addled and I have much difficulty remembering the code. I stab my finger at the tiny buttons and make a second attempt to enter the room. The second electric shock is every bit as strong as the first, but it doesn”t quite cripple me as badly as the first. I shriek loudly again and return to the control panel. I stare at it blankly unable to even think I remember what numbers I”m supposed to push and, fearing I might suffer the worst brunt of Mr. West”s impatience, I decide to brave the shock one last time and throw myself into the room.

I take two crumbling steps into the room and can feel the electricity as one steady stream of pain through me. My whole convulses and spasms until at last, I find the place beyond the reach of the electric field where I collapse into a twitching heap on the carpet. Belinda is by this stage awake and is staring at me like I”ve suddenly taken leave of my senses.

“Ingrid?” I hear her ask, but there”s no time for explanations.

I struggle to my feet and move unsteadily over to the intercom inside the room.

“I”m inside now,” I pant and gasp breathlessly into the microphone.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 30 - Score: 0/10

“Ingrid, Tracey can’t suck cock to save her life.”

I felt a sudden tightening of my stomach. Mike remained on his back in bed without even looking at me as he spoke.

“It”s not her fault!” I offered, hoping to sooth the angry tone I could hear developing in his voice. “It”s not her - “

“Ingrid, shut up, I know it”s your fault. I told you this was your job. On the bedside table by your mat there is a snuff collar. Put it on Tracey please. Then go in to my office and get the key ring.”

My whole body went suddenly cold; frozen with a rush of profound dread. Tracey was sobbing loudly by the time I had the collar attached around her neck and begging for Mr. West not to kill her.

“Oh no! Please Mr. West. She didn”t - ” I tried to reason with him, but he was unforgiving.

“I want those keys now or neither of the collars come off today and I have to repaint the ceiling of some room around noon. Shut up and do as you are told.”

Tracey”s sobs became a wail. I rushed from the room and tried to be as fast as I could in search of the keys. I found them, returned to the bedroom, and handed them to Mr West.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 29 - Cocksucking 101

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I set my alarm for 5 am Monday to allow myself enough time to wake Tracey and explain to her how it was her turn to blow Mr. West. She woke with a fright and wasn’t overly keen to get out of bed, especially if it meant she had to suck Mr.West”s cock.

“Do I have to?” Tracey asked.

“Yes, Tracey, it”s very important you do,” I whispered so as not to wake Belinda who slept soundly in the next bed.

I sat down on the edge of Tracey”s bed. “Listen,” I said in a kindly tone, “I”m sure Mr. West expects us all to do our share of things. If he thinks you”re not willing to do you bit, he might get rid of you, and if that happens - “

“Please don”t let him hurt me!” Tracey whimpered. She sat next to me on the edge of the bed and hugged my arm tightly.

I wriggled my arm free from her grip and put it around her shoulder to reassure her I would protect her as best I could. She started to sob softly.

“Why do men always want me to do that?” Tracey mumbled through her quiet tears.

“I don”t know,” I shrugged. “It”s what they like, I guess.”

“But what if I don”t do it right? What then?”

“Haven”t you ever sucked a cock before?” I asked.

“No. Never.”

“Well - ” I tried to think of how to explain it. “It”s not that difficult.”

“That”s easy for you to say; you”re an expert!”

I”m sure Tracey meant it as a compliment, but I still felt uncomfortable hearing her say that.

“No, I”m not an expert.”

“Yes you are. And so is Belinda,” Tracey insisted.

“Look, all you have to do is go into Mr. West”s room, crawl quietly up to his cock, and suck it.”

“But how? That”s what I don”t know!” Tracey sounded slightly desperate.

“Here, let me show you,” I said.

I held Tracey”s trembling hand in mine, closed her fingers into a small fist and asked her to relax her thumb for me.

“Imagine this is Mr. West”s cock. That”s it, just relax your thumb - “

Tracey”s brown eyes stared at me; a look of wonderment on her face.

“Take hold of it very softly and let your fingers tease it gently for a bit before you put it in your mouth.”

I used my thumb and middle finger to simulate the action on her thumb.

“Before you put your mouth on it, wet you lips so they”re nice and slippery - and then, be very careful not to scrape it with your teeth - take the tip into your mouth and just explore it with your tongue.”

Tracey”s thumb tasted salty in my mouth. I simulated the sucking as if it was a cock, but its bony hardness didn”t feel anything like a real cock in my mouth. I continued to suck her thumb affectionately and watched her face for some reaction.

“That feels nice,” Tracey smiled.

“Do you think you can do it?” I asked after removing her thumb from my mouth.

“Yes. Yes! I think I can!”

“Good,” I smiled and patted the back of her hand. “Let”s go then.”

I watched from the doorway of Mr. West”s bedroom as Tracey crept up onto his bed and crawled to his cock. She looked across to me, waited until I gave her a reassuring nod, then picked up his flaccid cock and began slowly masturbating it.

White Slave Act of 2000 - Ingrid’s Tale - Part 28 - The Spellbook Half Hour

Sunday afternoon passed quietly and without incident. The peace and quiet allowed me to work through about twenty of the case files, and by the end of the afternoon I was feeling quite satisfied I had made a good start in my new life as Mr. West’s personal assistant and house slave. That evening, I was allowed to sit at his feet while he watched some television.

I felt quite exhausted and enjoyed the opportunity to relax in such a semi-ordinary way, just like I might have back in my own home, except I wouldn’t have been sitting there, completely nude and watching a bizarre little news-type of program called The Stock Report. It was like a financial report but instead of reporting on figures like the Dow Index and fluctuations in the prices of gold and oil, it was a report on the current state of affairs in the slave trading world. In spite of the amount of nudity and images of women young and old in all manner of distress, I yawned and began to find the program as dull as any regular stock report.

The Stock Report was briefly followed by more news, including an item about some kind of electronic chip that was about to go into its final testing stage. There were graphic images of a slave girl in what looked like some kind of medical or scientific operating theater. She had her legs spread high in stirrups and a surgeon was performing some kind of operation on her vagina. The voiceover explained that this chip (the name of which I think he said was the Clita-Satra) was inserted into the fleshy hood protecting her clitoris. It was only microscopic in size and barely visibly to the human eye, but it contained circuitry (something - the geek-speak went righ over my head) that allowed slavers and slave owners to track their slaves anywhere in the world.

“This is the slut collar of the future,” one of the white smock-coated inventors was proudly boasting. “Not only will it allow you to track your slaves, but signals can be transmitted to it from anywhere in the world which allow you to stimulate her with pleasure or torture her as your heart desires.”

“Does science know no bounds?” Mr. West chuckled to himself behind me.

After the news, there were a number of commercial breaks including several sponsored by the Eastlake Country Club. They weren’t actually advertising the club, but it was clear the club was promoting the slavers’ business. Whether or not this was a purely commercial arrangement wasn’t clear, but I was beginning to suspect there was much more to it than met the eye.

The early evening’s entertainment schedule began with a program called The Spellbook Half Hour. It opened with a thirty second blizzard of frenetic, fast cuts between scenes of naked women bound, tortured and even possibly snuffed. It all blinked on the screen like a strobe, so it was impossible to tell exactly what I had seen but one thing was clear: the show was about Mr. West’s house and the slaves living in it!

There was a brief introduction recorded by the business suited executive I remembered from my first afternoon enslaved to Mr. West. He was identified on the screen as Hugh Jorgan, Executive Producer for The Torture Channel network. He then spoke briefly about his latest pet-project which was, it transpired, the ‘reality television’ program Mr. West had mentioned was soon to be filmed in his house. After the man finished speaking about his enthusiasm for the project, he proudly introduced the rest of the program. It opened with a sequence of stills taken from every camera in our house; a slide show flipping from one empty room to the next until at last it stopped on the slave dorm.

It wasn’t possible to determine exactly when the filming had been done, but I guessed from the sunlight streaming in through the window that it was early morning. Neither Belinda nor Tracey were in the television room to see, although I presumed they could see it on the television in their room, but the camera had them framed on one of the beds. Tracey was on her back on the bed with her legs widely spread and Belinda kneel on the mattress between them; her red hair spilling out over Tracey’s thighs as he face buried itself between the timid, young girl’s legs.

The camera lingered on the scene for a long moment before switching ahead on its silent, voyeuristic journey through the house. It stopped in Mr. West’s office, right above the desk. I could see all the files I had worked on during the day spread out all over the desktop, but my chair beside the desk was empty. It hovered above the scene for a moment before it switched to another camera in the office which revealed me standing in front of the television, remote in hand as I watched the screen. There was still no voiceover commentry or anything. Just an eeire silence. The camera watched from overhead for a few minutes, maybe two, and then blinked its way on to the next room.

It was a darkened room and the camera might not have captured any images at all if it hadn’t been for the night-vision it apparently was equipped with. I stared into the murky green image and could see a naked girl, shackled and sitting curled up in one of the corners of the room. She just sat there without appearing to move at all. And then the camera flipped on to another location.

There wasn’t any image to see; just a blinding flash of white light accompanied by the most blood-curdling sounds of screeching music. I almost jumped clear out of my skin! “Shit!” I gasped.

I clung tightly to Mr. West’s leg and tried to recapture my breath, which had totally disappeared from my lungs.

The camera passed slowly from one room to the next again before finally returning to the scene of Belinda and Tracey. I watched closely, listening for signs of any reaction from Mr. West as we watched Belinda’s head squirming between Tracey’s thighs. Tracey appeared to be in the throes of ecstacy; her hands up behind her head and her elbows clamped tightly against the sides of her face. After a few minutes of this, Belinda started to reposition herself. She kept her face buried in Tracey’s crotch, but she slowly inched herself around until she could straddle Tracey’s face with her thighs. I could see Tracey’s small hands slip around Belinda’s legs and then her face bobbing up to meet Belinda’s pussy. Belinda squirmed on her Tracey’s face as she ate her pussy. Her elbows pressed under Tracey’s legs and scooped them up off the mattress so she could grab hold on the back of them and upend her onto her shoulders. Belinda then sat squarely on Tracey’s face. I couldn’t see much because of Belinda’s wild mane of red hair everywhere, but the animated movements of her head left nothing to the imagination.

The scene quickly cut back to the office and, as I had been expecting but hoping Mr. West might not see, was me sitting in the office chair and masturbating. It must have been toward the end because I already had my feet spread against the edge of the desktop while my hands groped and played with my pussy. The scene only lasted thirty second or so and it ended with me throwing my head back and looking straight up into the camera with one of those ‘oh no!’ sorts of looks on my face. There was a sudden cackle of canned laughter, and the show cut straight to black. I blushed deeply and I heard Mr. West laugh behind me, but he made no comment about what he’d seen. In many ways, I wish he had said something, just so I knew what he was thinking, and his absence of comment made me feel even more guilty and embarrassed.