Dark Erotic Fiction

The Final Survivor

At the very moment that Holly was fiercely pledging to ensure that the last member of the strike force was caught, Marcelle Fair was leaving her hotel room. Fear had interrupted her uneasy alcohol-induced slumber and forced her to arise early. She decided to get some fruit and coffee, along with a few aspirin to kill her pounding headache. The lobby was brightly lit at the early dawn hour and Marcelle was looking forward to stretching her legs after a light repast in the small hotel cafe.

She saw a small crowd clustered around some sort of exhibit and moved that direction to see what was causing the interest. Upon approaching, she recognized that it was one of the new “display” roasters. She quickly appraised that the unit was just firing up because the women”s flesh was still blemish-free and remained the gorgeous alabaster of chilled blood-free girl meat. She gasped when she realized that one of the four women, a big busty brunette was still alive. Stinging tendrils of salty oil were making her eyes blink and occasionally small quivers shook the tightly trussed long pig. Her plump breasts were already a dull blue from her constricting bondage.

Each girl”s hair had been pulled back painfully tight in a ponytail, secured with a nylon tie, and then hacked off just below that point, leaving only a ragged inch-long ponytail. The gutting process on three of the women helped emphasize their tiny waists and made their breasts and thighs seem larger.

Marcelle gasped in sudden recognition of one of the three dead women. She”d just recognized Mary Hess, the FREEDOM Cell Resistance Leader that controlled her BEACON Team. “She”s spitted and roasting. Oh, crap! Mary Hess has already been caught and killed,” she told herself with horror. “I never heard about this on the news.”

She stepped back and studied the scene again. “Mary and the other one are young, probably college aged. The other two are older, but with bigger frames and much larger breasts; although the dead one is blonde.” Marcelle struggled to remember if she”d seen either of the other two dead women or the live brunette at some point in her past. Eerily, the big-titted brunette seemed to wink furiously and even wiggle a bit each time she came around and faced Marcelle. The resistance fighter was just deciding that freeing the brunette might be a required course of action when a woman beside her giggled.

“Look, Herald, - no matter where we stand, - the live one”s eyes seem to follow us.”

Another man interjected, “Yeah, it”s the same with me from where I”m standing. Kinda weird, huh? Almost like that Mona Lisa painting, - right?”

That reality check sobered Marcelle. She shook herself with the certainty that it”d been her imagination that the doomed brunette was trying to contact her. Marcelle said a final mental goodbye to Mary Hess, and left without a backward glance.

Behind her in the display cooker, Sheila Mull groaned in realization that no miracle was going to save her. She”d struggled with every bit of her strength to contact Marcelle Fair through the glass front of her enclosure. Her presence at the window had seemed her salvation. Any delicious thoughts of potential revenge against Holly for betraying her vanished along with the departing member of BEACON Team.

Having lost her appetite, along with her pounding headache, Marcelle Fair then spent the morning shopping. The depressing realization that overnight two highly-trained teams and a leadership cell were completely destroyed had been almost overwhelming. The skewered form of Mary Hess, who she thought was an Underground Railroad leader, had been the final straw.

Her first purchase of the day had been at an upscale leather goods store to replace her travel-worn school backpack. Next, she replaced her college wardrobe with expensive business attire that matched the classy valise she”d purchased. As she progressed from shop to shop, Marcelle slowly discarded anything that tied her to the disastrous Underground Railroad membership, to St. Julia College, in the city of Hutchinson Kansas, or even the appearance of being a coed.

The local and national news outlets were in full crisis mode; building up hysteria about other potential attacks by the Underground Railroad. Candace Walter”s head exploding in a spray of red gore was at the top of every news story. Marcelle knew that she was in serious trouble and feared that news rumors of a well-placed anti-slavery mole in Eastlake may been the reason her organization had been so easily wiped out. “A traitor,” she whispered cautiously. “Could a traitor have exposed us?” Marcelle decided it didn”t matter, her mission was now to survive. “I”ve already done my bit against slavery,” she told herself. “Now, I have to move on and try and make a new life.”

“An anonymous spokeswoman for the New Underground Railroad just released this statement,” Marcelle heard as she walked past an electronics outlet. She paused to listen.

The newswoman continued her story. “The New Underground Railroad has distanced themselves from “the misguided act of violence that killed innocents and slaves in Eastlake, Ohlahoma. Our policy,” they said “is to change laws and to free women enslaved in violation of moral codes founded upon our basic humanity. We are not like the animals that enslave, murder, and eat our own.“”

Back outside Magnus Hotel, the shaken woman paused and considered her options before she went in to her room. Marcelle now knew that she was the sole survivor of BEACON Team and there had been little information about the specific survivors of ANVIL Team other than she knew they were in the hands of the notorious slaver Mike West. The FREEDOM Cell Leadership of the New Underground Railroad Movement had likely been quashed permanently. Given the announced capture of Wendy Adler and Anne Kinison at the very truckstop they”d departed from the night before, the entire movement was being described as collapsed because it had been full of empty-headed young twits. The news reports were gleefully playing up the story of how once the two truck drivers realized who they”d given rides to, they”d quietly taken the wrong interstate highway ramp and returned back toward Eastlake. Wendy and Anne were described as brainless, self-deluded girls too stupid to remain free. NMG was highlighting their capture as proof that the WSA 2000 laws were wise and protected the public from similar delusional idiots.

Holly, NMG executives, SWAT teams, and literally hundreds of news cameras were on hand to capture the anticlimactic turn-over of the two stunned women. Holly released a press release stating that NMG planned to request an uncontested right of purchase from Federal Prosecutors given they were the target of that group”s terrorist scheme. They hoped to overrule the politically motivated ploy of the female State Prosecutor to interfere in the case.

During that morning, Marcelle disposed of all the identification she”d managed to find from her ill-fated team, even her own. A surprise among the pile of documents had been the discovery of a false ID that Candace Walters had left in her purse. Given their resemblance and age, Marcelle decided to assume the fictitious identity of Anna Young, a blonde girl her same age, height, and weight. “Thankfully,” she mumbled, “I”ve never had my fingerprints taken so changing my identity should work if this false ID is any good.”

Her mind made up, Anna Young turned away from the hotel and hailed a taxi cab. She told the cabbie to take her to the nearest salon. “I”ve never been a blonde,” she told herself almost cheerfully given the traumatic events of the last hours. “And, I”ve got enough cash to open a local bank account and get a fresh start at the university here in Eastlake.” Anna also decided that like mice during the last ice age, “she”d be humble, quiet, and stay out of sight.”

Holly paced the floor of Marcelle”s empty hotel room. Sheila”s computer files had easily given up the identity of the remaining team member. Completely focused on her mission to capture the last remaining FREEDOM Cell member, Holly had reviewed the hotel security tapes from the night before. She”d easily recognized the brunette checking in just moments after Gabrielle Crooks because of the photos in Sheila”s extensive computer files.

Desperate to eradicate the last link to her hotel and the subsequent murders that Holly had done in order to protect herself, she”d charged upstairs to Marcelle”s room. “Where the hell is she?” Holly muttered angrily. Her police baton was put away down in her office, but a bulge in her pants pocket concealed the taser that Holly intended to use as soon as she spotted Marcelle Fair.

Hours later, she returned to her office and reviewed the computer-based security videos to remove any visual sign that tied her to the women or even that they”d been in the hotel at all. Discovering that two of the rooms were taken with false identities and that Marcelle had used a dead teammate”s credit card only as identification before paying cash had been a huge relief. “I don”t have to leave records that they even entered. Ah, here”s the piece showing Marcelle Fair leaving this morning.” Holly sighed and then deleted that entry as well.

Inwardly, she prayed that nothing from the three rooms rented the night before would be linked back to the resistance movement. “Sheila, your passion for security might save my ass. You might have hidden my existence from your Benefactor. Now, I have to get the vans taken care of. Maybe there will be a good ending to this mess. Maybe, - oh, merciful deities, I hope so.”

The Aftermath - Part V

By about two in the morning, Sheila and Gabrielle had completed their joyful romp in bed and were playfully squirting each other with the spray hose in the suite’s large Jacuzzi. Under their laughing forms, Mary and Shelly were miserably sputtering and sobbing as soap and water sluiced onto them from their betrayers” bodies. The two resistance leaders meant to clean up much more than just the urine on their fallen comrades and the sex musk on themselves.

Gabrielle finished up rinsing shampoo off Mary”s red, tear-streaked face while Sheila stood by the bathroom mirror, quickly patting her body down with an oversize, fluffy towel. The spray hose off, Gabrielle grinned up at her co-conspirator. Then, her smile froze and her eyes widened in terror in the final micro-seconds before the twin darts of Sheila”s taser jammed into her upper torso. Sheila cruelly fired high voltage down the coils of wire again and again until she was sure that Gabrielle was completely subdued.

“Sorry, honey,” Sheila whispered to her former best friend in the world. “It”s only business, you know. The revolution must live on and you are the only remaining link that could bring me down.” She lovingly rubbed the quivering face of her lover. “You understand, - don”t you?”

Gabrielle Crooks was far too disoriented from the multiple 450,000 volt shocks that had just coursed through her wet and defenseless body. Her overloaded muscles had become jelly-like as the lactic acid from the bone-jarring electric-fueled spasms, reducing her to a quivering, defenseless mass. Sheila had intentionally purchased the most powerful taser on the market; one banned by most law enforcement agencies as too risky for use.

Sheila picked up her discarded towel, wrapped it around her lush form, and picked up the phone. “Holly, honey,” she purred. “It”s that time. I want you to have my slavegirls picked up right now. Yes, - I know your concerns, - but we already covered this in great detail. Oh, - by the way, send a cart large enough for three. And, - I want them gutted and spitted within the hour, - after all, you know the consequences if you don”t get them roasting. You will follow my directions exactly if you don”t want to be linked to tonight”s events.”

While she waited for the kitchen staff to arrive, Sheila straightened up the room, adding Gabrielle”s things to the pile destined for the hotel incinerator. The easy tasks freed her mind for remembering the last time she”d seen Holly in person when she”d walked outside the glass lobby entry of the National Media Headquarters reserved for the exclusive use of the downtown office of Spellbook Slaves and Games.

“Holly had just walked outside with a woman who liked like she was some kind of Norse queen come to life. I was close enough in my recon to hear the poor idiot bemoan the way she”d been bullied by Darlene, the ex-owner she admired so much, to take her for some wild sex with that jackal Mike West,” Sheila remembered. The blonde Mistress became disgusted with Holly and left her there looking like she was going to vomit.

“I was wearing a blonde wig, that tight grey business skirt and jacket, decorative-top hose, and no panties, bra, or shirt.” She smiled at the memory of how easy it had been to get the attention of the huge-titted Mistress as she left Holly by the slaver”s building. “It was a target of opportunity. All I really hoped to accomplish that day was a preliminary survey of some target sites. Then, I saw those “double-Ds” and the Mistress outfit and it was too good a chance to pass up. All it took was a hand signal bring the van forward to the curb, warn Gabrielle what we were doing, get to the sidewalk before the Mistress, drop my briefcase, and point my ass toward her. The poor thing was putty in my hands; she had drool running down the front of her Mistress outfit before I even tasered her.”

“Holly doomed herself when she didn”t call for help after recognizing me. Plus, the camera that Gabrielle Crooks was running of the NMG headquarters clearly caught Holly”s look of recognition in the background behind where the tasered Mistress twitched on the sidewalk. Priceless!” Sheila muttered with real satisfaction. “We had to quickly get a program together to handle that huge Mistress, but it was well worth it. I hope to start releasing video clips of her humiliation soon.”

Sheila remembered that after lewdly exposing her crotch, she casually walked to the driver’s door as if nothing happened. “That”s when I saw Holly staring at me. I winked at her and left. Whatta hoot!”

“Since then,” Sheila continued to herself, “I”ve been periodically contacting the girl about once every five or six months using a special phone. She had no choice but to give us cash, Mike West”s habits and his office locations, and the access code to his office. Silly slut, - she”s mine forever now.”

When the kitchen team timidly knocked on the door, Sheila was ready with a grin because her plan was going so flawlessly.

A narrow spray of mace squirted between the opening door and the steel jamb, striking Sheila squarely in the eyes. Aggressively pursuing the attack, Holly stepped forcefully into the room, crouched into a batter”s stance, and two-handedly swung a heavy police baton across Sheila”s belly with the weight and power of her torso behind the blow. In rapid succession, thumping blows to legs, arms, and her back followed. At least one sharp crackling pop told of broken bones. Sheila ended up weakly writhing on the floor, unaware and unable to resist when Holly knelt down and used bright red nylon binding rope to secure ankles and wrists together. When she was finished, Sheila was a mass of pain contorted in a painful hogtie.

With a clatter of wheels, Holly tugged a huge laundry cart into the suite. She took care of the easy things first; bags, suitcases, and personal effects. Two sets of van keys were tucked into Holly”s pocket for later use.

The hotel kitchen was dark, cold, and completely deserted at two thirty in the morning. The early shift would arrive in less than an hour and a half. Gabrielle whimpered in horror when Holly whisked a beige plastic cover aside to reveal a Jessica 3000. Because she was working alone with dangerous slaves, and because she had a little compassion for two of the women she was murdering, Holly gave Shelly and Mary a strong dose of quickly metabolized tranquilizer suitable for livestock. Then, she slipped Gabrielle”s weakly resisting form into the Jessica 3000 cradle system while the drugs went to work on the two duped assistants.

“Normally,” Holly lectured to Sheila and Gabrielle as the Jessica 3000 sprang to life, beginning a merciless fucking motion into Gabrielle”s softly bucking form, “it”s recommended to let the machine fuck and shock the meat into prime tenderness for several cycles before triggering the pneumatic gutting and spitting process. Unfortunately, we”re in a hurry, so you and Gabrielle won”t get the full benefit of the torture you bitches so richly deserve. Instead, I”ll let Gabrielle feel the pain of an accelerated program where the cock expands bigger and harder and the shocks are much more intense. Plus, the nipple heaters and clit burner hurt like hell.”

After a few long moments of silence, she pulled down a Lexan shield. Then, with a thundering hiss, Gabrielle was gutted, sluiced clean with high pressure jets, and spitted, all in a matter of seconds. A splatter of blood, body parts, and water explained the shield. A moment later, Gabrielle was draped beautifully on a special cart, held up only by the long spit that entered her torso through her cunt and exited her mouth. Holly wrapped heavy cotton roasting twine in key spots to secure the head, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles to the skewer. “I prefer cotton twine to the traditional steel skewers or baling wire which I think ruin the look of the golden skin once cooking is finished, Holly told Sheila authoritatively.”

At ten minute intervals, Mary Hess, and then Shelly Richmond joined Gabrielle on the cart. A grunting, whimpering Sheila Mull witnessed the amazingly fast process from the swivel chair Holly had bound her to. Finished with the first three carcasses, Holly rolled Sheila”s chair toward a section of wall. “Sheila, on the other side of this rollup wall is the back of our new glass-fronted rotisserie.” The wall clattered up noisily and revealed the backside of a faux firepit with a heavy steel rotisserie carousel above it. Holly slipped the cart full of the three lifeless carcasses forward and slid Shelly”s skewer onto the receiving clips of one arm of the rotisserie carousel. Holly slightly rotated the spit by pushing on Shelly”s soft ass until it clicked into position and then she closed the locking latches on the skewer mounts. With a whir, the rack rotated up and the next empty set of rotisserie arms were aligned with the cart. Mary and Gabrielle were quickly mounted to the carousel as well.

Holly turned to Sheila, “Once I open the opposite shutters, anyone at this end of the lobby will see today”s dinner entrees cooking.” She smirked at her blackmailer and added dryly, “I hope you noticed that our dinner special is half off on a Chef”s Special.” She gestured toward the three bodies already on the roaster and continued, “We all know that alternate meat like this isn”t really live roasted despite the label of “live roaster”. However, if you carefully examined our Dinner Special advertisement, you”d have seen that today we prepare a real delicacy, although I don”t especially enjoy the pungent wild-meat taste.” Holly took Sheila”s chin in a tight squeeze and added, “It”s one hundred percent, live roasted, unprocessed girl, - Sheila-meat.”

Sheila peed; the spattering of the smelly piss on the tile floor was loud in the quiet kitchen.

Holly picked up a heavy meat mallet and after an experimental swing or two said, “There”s more than one way to tenderize tough meat. Behave or I”ll make this especially painful.”

Holly stuck a needle in Sheila”s jugular and eased a tiny bit of calming sedative into her bloodstream in order to ease the mounting process for the traitorous bitch. Holly had no intention of mitigating the painful process of being roasted alive. She laid a special roasting rod on a stainless steel food preparation table and rolled Sheila atop it. She carefully aligned a one-inch diameter rectal shaft with Sheila”s tiny puckered rear opening. Holly sprayed vegetable shortening on the unyielding steel and then jammed it six inches deep into Sheila”s ass before tightening the skewer mount onto the shaft. With the lower torso rigidly attached to the shaft, she rolled Sheila onto her side. Next, she gathered up a quarter-inch stainless steel cables fed through a slot on the heavy shaft which she tightly wrapped around Sheila”s thighs before ratcheting the cable tight. A similar cable secured Sheila”s ankles to the shaft. The last cable was secured under Sheila”s ample breasts and tightened to attach the upper torso to the shaft.

After studying her helpless prey, Holly rolled the long pig onto her belly and bound her wrists behind her back. Then, Sheila”s wrists were ratcheted all the way up to just below her neck, dislocating her shoulders with discernable pops. The pain penetrated into Sheila”s lightly drugged brain and she whimpered as each wrist was dragged into position up against the thick rotisserie shaft. Lastly, Holly locked Sheila”s head tightly to the shaft.

Sheila came to full attention as something cold misted across her body. “Hmmph!” she cried. A little blood dribbled off her tongue where a skewer held it outside a ringgag locked behind her incisors. Holly didn”t want Sheila swallowing her tongue and dying any earlier than possible.

“Hush, you little baby,” Holly whispered. “You wanted your girls quickly prepared and I”ve done just that. The stuff I just sprayed on you is the same as each of them got; a thick coat of olive oil; it”ll hold a thick coating of spices on your skin and will brown everything nicely in the roasting pit.”

The rotisserie carousel whirred and began to rotate up and over the faux bed of coals. Each of the four pigs slowly rotated on their own skewers at the same time. As each girl passed by, Holly rubbed salt and herbs onto the glistening bodies, including Sheila”s. She made sure that each crevasse of their bodies was coated by the taste-enhancing additives.

“At this point,” Holly explained loudly over the softly whirring machinery, “the room is refrigerated. At six this morning, the lobby shutters will rise, - of course that”s when the gas coals below will ignite and the rotisserie will begin to rotate. This is a true slow cooking process so you”ll last at least three hours before rising temperatures in your inner core shut down your brain activity forever. I just wish you”d be awake when the chef does your final gutting before letting you finish cooking. Most of your blood will remain in your blood vessels, coagulated from the heat of roasting alive, and giving the special “wild game” taste. Goodbye, you cowardly and blackmailing bitch!”

Holly slammed the rotisserie panel shut and left the kitchen. Her next stop was at the hotel incinerator.

Hours later, in her office, Holly contemplated the computer disks, notes, cash, and the laptop on her desk. They were all that remained of the four women spitted and slow roasting over the now glowing coals of the glass-fronted rotisserie. Frankly, Holly should not have been amazed at the extent of the cash Sheila and Gabrielle had with them. It was clear from the cash bonanza that they placed a high value on their own safe escape. Their clothing and flammable gear had already fed the hungry inferno of the hotel incinerator and Holly planned to scatter their weapons, ammo, and cell phones in small, disassembled bits from a boat on the nearby river. She”d rented a small motorized skiff and would discretely drop everything at points between the two Eastlake oil refineries.

The most surprising discovery had been the unencrypted files on Sheila”s laptop computer. In addition to every possible detail about the organization, its membership, and their plans, Holly had made the chilling discovery of the identity of the power broker behind the attacks in Eastlake - the mysterious “Benefactor”. “No wonder Sheila decided to have Gabrielle act as the sole contact with him. He”d mercilessly kill off any possible connection tying him to a conspiracy against slavery. Holy merciful deities! If this is tracked back to me, - I”m way worse off than Sheila. I have to hope he never discovered that Sheila was the true leader of the cell with me as their blackmailed contact in Eastlake.” That sobering discovery had prompted Holly to attempt to end this matter forever.

By then, Holly had already heard the news that two of the escaping terrorists had been turned in by alert truck drivers after a widespread BOLO (Be On the Look Out) broadcast had been sent through law enforcement channels. The media had discovered the BOLO and rebroadcast the information through their public radio and television outlets. Further, the news was ridiculing the women as brainless twits for letting themselves to be led right back to the very truck stop where they initially fled from in Eastlake. Their capture had resulted in a frenzy of speculation about the New Underground Railroad Movement.

A chill went down Holly”s spine at the news. “Who else knew the identities of the escapees from BEACON Team?” She sat sweating in fear. “I have to be sure the last surviving member, Marcelle, is found and accounted for if I want to severe the line of evidence leading back to Sheila and then myself,” Holly told herself fiercely. “The problem is, - why hasn”t her identity been released? And, what about the other three pigs cooking downstairs? Why aren”t the authorities looking for Gabrielle, Mary, and Shelly? Marcelle couldn”t have exposed the two escapees on her team; there simply wasn”t enough time for that. Or, - was if it was the Benefactor that set this whole thing up?”

The Escape From Eastlake - Conclusion

Through the long evening, Wendy and Anne rotated back and forth from the cab to the sleeper. They were as enthusiastic and sexually proficient as they could be given their incentive for keeping their “saviors” happy. Both men had each woman individually and together in as many ways as they could imagine. Whenever their attention flagged, one of the girls was there to “enthusiastically” “pump” up their man for another round of sex.

The news reports on the two failed raids were disheartening. Police officers detailed the almost instant eradication of a crazed team of female terrorists at NMG. One news clip denounced the group as cowards and highlighted “the cowardly detonation of explosives rigged to four bodies that killed eleven and wounded fifteen members of an elite protection team working under contract for NMG.” Later, executives at NMG pledged to work tirelessly with regional law enforcement officials to eradicate the anti-slavery radicals in the New Underground Railroad. On-the-street interview clips provided by the media giant were overwhelmingly in favor of capturing and publicly punishing the crazed women. Especially chilling to Wendy and Anne was the statement that three members of the female radical group remained at large despite one of the largest manhunts in state history. The only hope for their survival was that no names or descriptions were given in the news reports.

As they heard the latest update, Wendy and Anne had tightly clasped each other”s quivering hands as they pretended to enjoy double-teaming Tom.

An undated news bulletin blared over the tractor-trailer”s powerful speaker systems with details of what local officials described as “the heroic efforts” of a local slaver credited with almost single-handedly derailing the plans of the lunatic terrorists. The report told how Mike West, owner of Eastlake-based Spellbook Slaves and Games, captured an entire radical anti-slavery kidnap team at the cost of what Mike West characterized as, “only one slave and the cowardly death/suicide of the leader of the team.” The broadcaster concluded the story with, “Many state and regional officials have already issued statements praising Mike West”s handling of the situation and have already begun to question why a similar attack at NMG ended up “such a fiasco” with so many wounded and dead. The State Prosecutor isn”t so happy with Eastlake”s valiant slaver. She is trying to get a judge to void the enslavement papers Mike West filed that made him the owner of one entire team of foiled terrorists. The Prosecutor will likely vigorously pursue her case against Mr. West given that there are no other survivors to publicly prosecute. ”

At this news, Wendy and Anne wept silent tears of horror and fear. While crying, they were putting on a girl-girl show for the two truck drivers during a fuel stop. “We should get out of here,” Wendy mumbled into Anne”s drenched sex. “I think we should forget about getting back to Saint Julia College and lay low here.”

Anne had resisted. “No,” she hissed back into Wendy”s equally soggy twat. “We”re already in Missouri and we”re long past any Oklahoma roadblocks. I want to keep going.”

So, the escaping pair returned to munching on each other”s pussies and moaning as if it was the best sex of their lives. They never got a chance to wash their faces until long after the truck returned to the highway. Both girls were blessedly happy that Fred and Tom turned off the radio.

Wendy was dozing atop Fred when Tom yelled back and called her newfound lover forward. Worn out from sexing the young girls, Fred grumbled something about, “leaving the best tits and ass I”ve seen in years.” Before he crawled out of the sleeper unit, he paused long enough to rub his hand appreciatively across Anne”s cum-streaked lower belly.

A few minutes later, Tom yelled back, “Hey lazy girls! Fred needs a blowjob! Anne you go first and let Wendy sleep in a bit more!”

Anne nodded wearily and started to crawl forward. A gun appeared magically in Fred”s hand and Anne belatedly realized that they”d introduced themselves to the men only by their middle names.

“Busted! You dumb bitch!” Wendy complained wordlessly as Fred gagged her and secured her wrists and ankles with heavy-duty nylon wire ties. She grunted in pain as Fred wedged her hog-tied form under his feet on the filthy floorboards.

Wendy was startled from her rest by Fred”s reappearance in the sleeper. “I thought you were getting a blowjob upfront,” she whispered petulantly. She gasped when she saw the gun in his hand.

“You stupid cunts thought you could fool us!” he hissed as he secured her wrists behind her back with another nylon tie. “What kind of morons attack one of the most powerful corporations in this country?”

“Wait!” Wendy pleaded, “We submit as your slaves. Please, - please, stop at the nearest Missouri slaver and we”re yours. If you thought we were good before, - we promise, - you haven”t seen anything yet.” She sniffled through her snotty nose and whispered, “Just don”t turn us in. We”ll get a public execution for sure.”

Fred rolled her roughly face down, reached under her belly with both hands, and heaved her ass up into the air. He nestled his thumb against the tight ass the drivers hadn”t yet used and gave her an answer. “We”d love to honey. Problem is, - someone positively identified you two by name and there”s already a judicial enslavement order signed by a federal judge that takes absolute priority over any other subsequent enslavement.”

Wendy cried out in fear but tried another tack. “Mexico! Oh, please, - take us to Mexico and enslave us there! Down there they don”t care what an American federal judge mandates!”

This time, Tom chimed in from the front of the cab. “Bullshit! Each of you cunts are worth $10,000 in reward for a live capture and $5,000 dead. Plus, - we”ll be certain to get a ringside seat at your execution. Myself, - I”m hoping to be cumming in Wendy”s tight little ass as they snuff her.” He laughed as each girl moaned loudly in fear.

“The worst part,” Tom added, thoroughly enjoying the situation, “is that your terrorist strike on the NMB accomplished nothing except killing a few rent-a-cops. Your team fired only two grenades that fell short of the building and then snipers killed the six bimbos on your team with Teflon-coated rounds. Those guys cheated the public out of some high-profile torture-executions.”

Tom gave Wendy a painful swat on the ass and began to unzip his pants. “Don”t worry, you two cunts will get an NMG extravaganza personally hosted by Lilly herself. It might be weeks before you finish shrieking in agony and finally die.” Finished taunting the helpless bitch, he set his cockhead against Wendy”s dry rosebud and heaved himself in with a long grunt of pain as his dry dick fought its way into her rectum. Wendy”s shriek of agony was echoed by Anne”s muffled cries. The cries of anguish fueled Tom”s ass rape of Wendy.

Wendy had already decided that whatever horrible pain Tom was inflicting on her poor butthole was practically nothing compared to what that demented bitch Lilly would put her through.

Thirty minutes later, the truck began to slow and pull toward the right side of the interstate. “Tom, you get to drive the rest of the way back to Eastlake. I want a chance at Anne”s ass. If she cries half as much as Wendy did, - it”ll be the best ass fuck I”ve ever had.”

Tom rolled off the sweaty back of Wendy where he”d sagged down in exhaustion after pumping her rectum full of cum. The two men high-fived as they passed each other. “Hey Fred,” Tom yelled back as he shifted into first, “these bimbos are so clueless they never even noticed that after fueling up at that truck stop back in Missouri, we turned right around and headed back toward Eastlake.”

Anne groaned in realization that Wendy had been right. “We should have gotten off in Missouri and found another ride. Stupid bitch!” She stopped thinking as she felt Fred fumbling at her backside. “Hmmmff!” she protested wildly. “Hop!” The man ignored her and then her ass burned like a molten bar of steel was being shoved in. “Hiiiii!”

Fred set all his considerable weight and strength into ripping deep into the tight ass. “Heiiii!” he muttered as his dick scrapped deep inside the shrieking girl”s bowels.

Tom kept the tractor trailer rig running smoothly down the road while Fred grunted happily behind him in time to Anne”s muffled shrieks of agony. He was already visualizing the team of hot slave sluts that he and Fred could buy with part of the reward money to keep them occupied during the lonely stretches of road they traveled. “Yep,” he told himself, “picking up these two college bitches was the best thing that ever happened to us grizzled truckers.”

The Aftermath - Part IV

The most stricken and distraught members of the defunct resistance cell had been radical Sheila Mull and her dedicated, hard-working assistant Shelly Richmond. Sheila turned off the ignition and turned tearfully to her helper.

“Give me a hug!” Shelly cried. The two embraced with desperation and Shelly whispered, “It”s OK, Ma”am. It”ll be fine. You”re untouchable “cause nobody even knows you exist. We”ve done everything right on our end. This was just bad luck.”

After the passionate embrace, Sheila and Shelly ignored each other for the next few minutes. The shapely young coed began to strip out of her clothes while Sheila took the time to spray glass cleaner on the interior surfaces of the driver”s area and wipe everything down. Then, the now naked resistance fighter and her boss bagged all their loose gear and Shelly”s discarded clothing.

Sheila stepped out into the dark. They were parked on the public street alongside Magnus Hotel. She straightened her skirt and business jacket, looking fully the part of a young female business professional. At the back of the van, Shelly wordlessly passed down their single soft duffle bag and an expensive suitbag and then slid down a heavy, flat slave dolly. Shelly hopped down and knelt on the cushioned top of the wheeled platform. Sheila efficiently fed straps through “D” rings and across the top of Shelly”s ankles and then her thighs, locking her legs on the platform.

Sheila snapped two “A” frames into place; one to recesses outside Shelly”s ankles, and the other to similar recesses outside her knees. The “A” frames swiveled up and joined their tops together with a locking collar that clicked shut around Shelly”s neck. Still working wordlessly, Sheila took her naked friend”s wrists and cuffed them behind her. She smoothed her lover”s hair back and whispered, “See you in the room,” before slipping a black elastic blindfold over her eyes.

With her friend secured blind and helpless, Sheila smiled for the first time since the teams mysteriously fell out of communication. Still gently, Sheila pushed a fat red ballgag into Shelly”s cooperative mouth. Whistling in a sign of her renewed confidence, Sheila hung the duffle bag and suitbag on hooks projecting from the sides of the joined “A-frame” top.

She reached down to grasp the leash already attached to the front of the slave dolly and yanked. After the initial thump of getting fully up onto the sidewalk, the load followed her twitching ass smoothly as she headed toward the hotel entry. Sheila”s heels clicked rhythmically as she came to the open doors of the hotel. The big brunette was a vision of gently bobbling ass cheeks and big tits.

“Later, I”ll have to move the van and do a final cleaning,” she told herself. “Thankfully, it”s rented in Shelly”s fake identity.” She gripped the dolly leash more tightly and confidently passed through the open doors of Magnus Hotel. Ignoring the Night Concierge deferentially holding the doors open, Sheila went straight to the reception desk. While the night receptionist took care of signing her in, Sheila Mull glanced down and admired her “slave”s” smooth curves. Young and shapely, Shelly was a mouth-watering morsel. A big henna faux tattoo was prominently placed on each otherwise flawless haunch as well as one between her shoulder blades. The three tattoos were similar except the uppermost one was in a larger script. All three were in the same elaborate font and declared that Shelly was “Pet”.

“Prior planning prevents piss poor performance. “P” to the sixth,” Sheila muttered smugly. Having a false identity to check into the hotel and the tattoo on her “slave” were just two of Sheila”s elaborate safety schemes. Days earlier, she had reviewed the escape plan and placed the fake tattoos on her naked co-ed assistant. As a result of the close contact and Shelly”s nakedness, they”d fallen into bed and ravished each other. Then, they”d whispered for hours while snuggled up together in their mussed up bed. After their exhilarating sex, it had been the perfect way to unwind.

About five minutes later, Marcelle Crooks signed into Magnus Hotel as well. Like Sheila, Marcelle signed in using a carefully crafted fake identity. As expected, her nameless slave slut wasn”t entered into the guest register on the computer system. Like Shelly, Mary Hess came into the hotel as simple baggage. The block letters “SLUT” on her ass cheeks and back told all of her status. Most seeing the slave would assume that the loose morals of a free woman had made her an easy conquest for enslavement. Given that slaves had little say in their use, terms such as Slut, Whore, Bitch, Ice-Queen, Frigid, Sexually Restrained, etc had no meaning as labels for a slave. Slaves acted as trained and commanded or they were reclassified for other less enjoyable uses.

In Sheila”s room, Gabrielle swept in with a laugh of giddy happiness. She hauled her luggage in behind her. She”d never intended to use her room; the real rendezvous was with Sheila. The two true leaders of the defunct underground resistance cell had already written off their two deputies Shelly and Mary. Sheila and Gabrielle kissed passionately. They completely ignored the trapped women on the slave trolleys who had doomed themselves as soon as they agreed to shelter Sheila and Gabrielle”s existence from the ANVIL and BEACON Team members.

Sheila Mull and Gabrielle Crooks were already on her second celebratory glass of Chardonnay when Marcelle Fair inadvertently took refuge in the same hotel as her Team Chief and the mysterious Resistance Leader. Marcelle wanted only a few simple things: a tightly locked door, a hot soaking bath, and all the liquor in the mini bar. Type and flavor of liquor mattered little, Marcelle desperately wanted to be drunk to the world.

While waiting for the elevator, Marcelle noticed a full-color advertisement for the next evening”s dinner special at the main dining room. “Be the first to see our new all-glass rotisserie enclosure! Dine on the best-cooked alternate meat - roasted and baked!” Marcelle shuddered and thought, “The next targets we need to focus on are all the alternate meat vendors and the specialty chefs. This hotel claims to have hired a famous chef from Germany where they are experts in all ways of preparing pig.” She shuddered again and thought, “How inhumane, - cooking someone alive. I thought that was a myth.” The last line on the dinner special indicated that “One “long-pig” would be “live roasted” for a special “wild-game” taste that only our German Chef can produce.”

Hours later, Gabrielle teased one of Sheila”s now soft nipples and asked, “Hmmm, lover, - is everything on track with your hotel contact?”

Sheila kissed her lover softly and replied, “Yes, - everything is perfect. Now, - let”s get some sleep; we”ll need it for tomorrow.”

In the luxury suite”s Jacuzzi, Shelly and Mary whimpered in a chilling pool of their own urine. There was no doubt in their terrified brains that they were in big trouble.

The Aftermath - Part III

Marcelle Fair had just finished her radio report at NMG when all hell broke loose around her. The soft thump, thump of two grenades being launched and the crackle of M16 fire as Candace approached the entry of NMG were expected.

It was the heavy booming gunfire that seemed to come from everywhere and the lifeless slumping to the ground of the entire assault team that shocked her to the core. Then, it registered in her numbed brain that she”d actually seen Candace”s head explode like a melon in the initial volley. Marcelle quickly determined that Holly and Cheryl were also dead. A final volley of fire made each scattered corpse twitch as final skull shots tagged into each kill.

Belatedly, Marcelle grabbed her unused Night Vision Goggles and held them against her face. There had been plenty of ambient light in the early evening gloom and she hadn”t felt it was necessary to use them. She almost peed herself when she saw well over a dozen darting infrared laser beams as snipers all around swept the scene for additional targets.

Even worse, she saw three tight formations of black-clad SWAT Teams flowing toward her general area. The ones from her left and right rear smoothly passed her and converged on the building entry in a well-practiced move. One team secured the building and the other swept back a few meters to the downed girls of her team.

Marcelle held her breath in terror as ten silent warriors in the third team passed scant feet from the bush she had hidden under. Unfortunately for Marcelle, she was dressed the same as her ill-fated comrades. Thinking furiously, Marcelle made a quick decision. Moving carefully, least she disturb the bush, Marcelle set her weapon and helmet aside and began to slip out of her clothing.

Except for her pink panties, Marcelle was soon naked on the scratchy mulch under the bushes. Then, she feverishly sawed off most of her black combat pants and bits of the black tee shirt with her serrated combat knife. She eyed her discarded bra wistfully and slipped the skimpy tee shirt and her severely abbreviated pants back on. All her remaining clothing and gear, even the heavy flak jacket, went into her pack.

A few moments later, Marcelle stuffed her socks and the ragged upper canvas sections of her now modified boots into the pack as well. She now wore only her pink panties, black shorts cut to just above the almost invisible crease under her plump ass cheeks, the portions of her boots below her ankles, and a sleeveless tee shirt that barely covered her bobbling boobs.

She abandoned her weapon under the thickest portion of the bush and carefully crept backward. Then, quickly snatching glimpses through the NVGs to confirm the snipers” attention remained well forward of her position, she moved away from the NMG headquarters. Her face puffy with tears shed of shock, grief, and fear, Marcelle left the scene of carnage. Behind her, the timers in the explosive packages carried by Candace, Amy, Janet, and Erika continued to count down to final detonation. The NMG SWAT Teams were making the upcoming detonation more effective by centralizing the bodies at the middle of the secured site held by the black-clad professionals.

Blocks away, she heaved her military gear and backpack into a dumpster. She hopped inside to rummage around and hide the damning equipment deep under the garbage.

Marcelle Fair slipped quietly into a busy bar with an audible sigh of relief and pondered her fate. “I have no future without a new identification and more money,” she thought angrily. “This “plan” had no good backup in the event of failure at the target site.” The cool, crisp ale helped center her thoughts but she still railed against the group”s paranoia about operational security and their fear that someone would get scared and run; possibly compromising the identities of other members. Except for three one hundred dollar bills in her pocket that were provided by the resistance, Marcelle and her comrades went to war without any identification. All their post-mission gear was in the recovery trailer.

“My only chance is to get to the truck stop before Wendy and Anne leave.” She chugged her beer and, feeling much better, swept up her change and walked out onto the street to hail a taxi.

“The truck stop by the interchange,” she said.

The cabbie turned and looked back at her. “Honey,” he said while tapping the front passenger seat back, “If you”re going on duty, I can save you the fare if you make me happy while I drive you to work.”

Marcelle sighed and resigned herself to accepting the role of whore. “Don”t want him to think anything is abnormal,” she thought forlornly as he pulled away from the curb. Her lips quickly slurped his expanding staff fully into her mouth. Marcelle was glad her taste buds still remembered the crisp ale.

The cabby was well-satisfied and didn”t mind paying the fourteen dollar fare out of his own pocket.

Marcelle slowly meandered through the busy truck stop. She blended in well, if a little bland in costume, compared to the other prostitutes and sex slaves working the crowded lot. Anne Kinneson”s pre-arranged observation post in the diner was empty and Marcelle reluctantly approached the parked truck.

“Stupid bitches are gone!” she muttered as she examined the empty cab. “Given that the running lights are still on, Wendy probably left the cab under her own power.” Marcelle decided it was worth the risk to recover her personal gear stashed in the nearly empty trailer. Inside, she stood a long moment beside the evil form of a glistening Jessica 3000. “We were so close,” she thought. “Were we ratted out by a traitor amongst our group? How did ANVIL Team do after they killed Mike and Ingrid? Are they safe? Will we attack these bastards again?”

Marcelle slipped into another taxi cab ten minutes later still wearing her “escape” clothes (but now equipped with more proper black heels). A bulging airline travel bag on the seat beside her was stuffed with the each team member”s identification, escape cash, and any pilfered clothing and specialty gear she thought would be helpful in her flight to safety. Given that the cowardly Wendy and Anne had already fled, Marcelle Fair judged that none of her dead teammates would mind her taking their gear and money.

“Hotel Magnus,” she told the driver.

“Kinda pricy for a girl like you,” he replied as they pulled away. “Sorry,” he added quickly, “no disrespect intended, Miss.” He groaned and added, “After all, - I”m a simple working stiff just like you.”

Realizing he”d naturally jumped to the conclusion she”d hoped for, a tired hooker just getting off work, Marcelle grinned and replied tiredly, “You”re right! I”m meeting one last date on the corner. He”s a regular and I can shower at his apartment and rest for a few hours after I get him off.” She laughed and added, “Bet it takes less than ten minutes till he”s snoring like a baby!”

The cabby laughed back and then, every few moments, stole appreciative glances back at her in the mirror.

Enroute, Marcelle quickly repaired her make-up and stripped down to her pink panties and black heels. Grinning at the wide-eyed, clearly horny cabbie, she shrugged into a black cocktail dress and fixed her hair. Then, settling back in her seat, Marcelle randomly slipped a teammate”s cell phone from her bag and sent a text message to her team”s resistance contact, Mary Hess.

Unbeknownst to Marcelle, Mary Hess” cell phone was turned off with the SIM card and battery removed because Gabrielle Crooks and her lover, Mary Hess, had already gone into hiding.

Marcelle”s message told the entire story. “Mom, party was a total bummer! Everyone was dead drunk or wasted. Am only one left standing and my ride left without me. This completely sucks! Love M.F. :-(”

Reasserting Her Rights

Holly slammed the phone down in anger. “Lousy manipulative bitch!” she snarled. Small tears formed at the corners of her eyes and she took a few deep shuddering breaths in a futile attempt to calm herself. “Oh, crap, - blackmailed, - what am I going to do! I haven”t heard from her in years and this is the way she remembers our friendship. A small favor my ass! Shit! How am I gonna get that much cash rounded up?”

The door to her office abruptly opened and Holly looked up in still barely suppressed tears of fear, humiliation, and rage. The door slammed shut again with a bang.

“Ma”am, I need to talk to you about my status,” Ash began in a rush. “I”ve been stuck in this Corporate Asset limbo for far too long. After all, you agreed to release me after a year!”

“This isn”t a good time, Ash. Get out, we”ll talk later!”

Ash stomped one of her high-heeled feet in exasperation. “No!” she shouted petulantly. “I”ve had enough!”

The foot stomping momentarily distracted Holly because of the enticingly jiggling response of the big woobly EEs atop the faux-platinum-blonde”s slim frame. It had been Holly”s decision to force Ash into having massive implants and be subjected to a hormone regime. The overlarge mammaries made Ash into a delectable, if rather unnatural-looking sex doll. The sight of the sexy blonde”s body almost made Holly smile in spite of her current predicament.

“Calm down or you”ll do yourself harm,” Holly tried to interject as calmly as she could manage.
“No, now!” Ash burst out with her own rage starting to emerge. “I became your Corporate Asset on 28 May 2006. That”s almost two whole years ago! The agreement was for one year.”

Holly realized that her regularly-used tazers were still in her purse and inside her closed desk drawers. Also, her collar override remote was similarly in her purse. She was also logged out of the hotel database so she couldn”t access the web-based collar control program. “Not prepared!” was her internally directed hiss of rage. Holly set her hands firmly on the rear edge of her desk and leveraged herself quickly into an upright position in order to reassert control of the situation. “Shut up! Back away! Calm yourself!” were the commands that she spit out as she stood up.

Ash ignored her owner/boss and strode to the opposite side of the desk. “I want an answer now!” she demanded leaning forward toward Holly. “Last night”s session with the Williams” was way outside the bounds of a normal Corporate Asset agreement. It”s not fair! I”m not some sex slave to be used as you want!”

Ash once again stomped her feet in time with her now shrilly shouted comments. “I, - want, - you, - to, - release, - me, - now!”

This time, Holly wasn”t distracted a bit by her Corporate Asset”s jigling bodily charms. She was just taking a deep breath to blast back verbally at the disrespectful asset when the door burst open with a bang.

Raul, her swarthy Cuban day shift security and slave handler manager was first into the room. He held both a 9mm automatic and a tazer at the ready. Immediately behind him, Judy Wetmore, Holly”s blonde day receptionist pushed in with her own tazer ready to fire. As per their drills, she opened the door for Raul”s entry and then followed immediately in his footsteps.

Raul took a confused moment to gape at the almost normal scene in the office. Judy didn”t hesitate; she fired her tazer directly into Ash”s back and immediately fired the second cartridge. Then, she repeatedly began to pull the firing button, sending crescendos of high voltage devastation down the thin wires every few seconds. Ash”s muscles involuntarily convulsed, throwing her body about.

“Enough!” Holly commanded. “Thank you Judy.”

Both women turned baleful glares toward Raul who still stood shell-shocked at his initial entry point. He gulped visibly and raised his hands upwardly in a defensive move, his tazer and automatic now pointed to the ceiling.

“What the fuck do you think I hit the Panic Button for, Raul!” Holly demanded with very real anger.
The Cuban hung his head and whispered, “Sorry, Ma”am. It”s just that I never expected Ash to give us any trouble, - and I thought, - well, I thought the call might have been a mistake.”

Judy knelt down during this interchange and quickly cuffed the gasping blonde”s hands behind her back. Then, she roughly rolled the twitching slave onto her side and checked her airways. “Secure, Ma”am,” she said briskly. “She”s breathing fine. What”s next?”

“Take her downstairs to the kennels. Judy, I want you to hang her up, strip her bare, and give her one hundred lashes with a riding crop. Raul, you watch to be sure Judy doesn”t have any problems. Otherwise, you are forbidden to touch Ash in any way!”

Both Raul and Judy looked taken aback by the last very adamant command.

“Do you think I”d reward you, Raul, for such a sloppy response to my Panic Button call?” Holly responded peevishly. “In fact, as punishment, you will volunteer to take Frank”s shift at no pay tonight while he plays with the silly bitch to his heart”s content. Then, - you”ll work your day shift tomorrow as usual. You have any problems with that?”

Raul gulped and shook his head. “No, Ma”am. No problems at all.”

“Good, then get on with it! Both of you!”

Holly waited a few minutes after they left. It took her awhile before she felt composed enough to begin the phone calls necessitated by the events of the last few minutes.

“Oklahoma Ponygirls? Yes, - good morning. I”d like your stock manager to give me a call. Well, yes, I know that I wasn”t interested in your company”s offer last week. It”s just that events have led me to reconsider. In any event, have him give me a call, please.”

After she hung up, Holly pursed her lips and wondered what else she could do. She picked up the phone again and dialed an internal number. “Chef Wuestewald, good morning. When I came in this morning, I noticed your advertisement in the elevator about our new all-glass rotisserie enclosure and it reminded me that I”d like a meeting with you. As soon as you can break free from your duties, I”d like a detailed tour of the process from walking slave girl to long pig on the rotisserie. Yes, - I”m interested in both your preparations; the gutted and spitted long pig preparation for roasting as well as the alternative, live-roasting technique. Good, - thank you.”

After a moment”s silent reflection, she picked up the phone once again and dialed. “Spellbook Slaves and Games? Good morning, Ingrid. Yes, - it is a beautiful day, thank you. Is Mike West in? No, - hmmm, well can you leave him a message? Please tell him that I would like to arrange a courtesy consultation at his earliest convenience. In fact, I”m willing to pay a premium for the earliest office call that he can schedule. What, - oh, yes, we are still very happy with the way Mike set up our little operation. It”s just that something has come up and I might have to liquidate some of our slave holdings. Also, I would like his legal opinion on one of my options. No, - I realize that he”s not a lawyer, it”s just that he has experience with so many conversions. Alright, thank you Ingrid.”

Serena Cross languished happily in the luxurious bed. She was sexually exhausted but supremely satisfied. “Roslynn was every bit as good as I expected,” Serena told herself blissfully. She stretched out on the hotel’s king-size bed and her grin of happiness faded somewhat as she realized that her bedmate was missing. “They’ve gone back home to Lawton, OK,” she thought with longing.

After Roslynn and Rowan Williams returned from their leisurely dinner, Rowan had quickly taken charge of Ash. While Serena waited bound on the floor for Roslynn to change into something more comfortable, she’d been astounded at the speed and skill at which Rowan moved Ash through a series of bondage poses. Each time, ropes moved almost blurringly through the air as the master rope handler bound up his prey. Somehow, and this was an eye-opener for the sheltered graduate student, Rowan managed to pump his erect manhood vigorously in all three of Ash’s sex holes during each brief contorted pose. Despite Ash’s strained facial expressions at the severity of the bondage, Serena was almost jealous of the attention she received, especially when the bitch gasped and quivered in uncontrolled orgasm.

“I’m considering taking up Roslynn’s offer of meeting up with them in Lawton,” she’d told herself wonderingly. “They told me that there would be a party and I could meet their friends before both Rowan and Roslynn give me their full attention for the remainder of the weekend. Hmmm, … Rowan and Roslynn are both masters at pleasure. I can hardly wait.”

Thus, Serena Cross made her plans. While in bed with Roslynn, she stated her desires and Roslynn agreed. However, Roslynn extracted yet another promise before Serena’s desires could be fulfilled. The promise made Serena’s pussy clench with anticipation at the future humiliation she’d face before she was granted days of endless pleasure. She agreed to participate in a guessing game about occupations at the start of the party. “Fine,” Serena had responded with a forced smile, “I’ll be a contestant in your party game as long as I get my fill of both of you for the remainder of the weekend.”

Serena missed Roslynn’s grin of satisfaction because her mouth settled once again around Serena’s slippery clit. As Serena began panting again in building lust from her lover’s skillful manipulations, Roslynn was calculatingly reviewing the guest list for her upcoming party.

“I’ll have to rent three out of town slave girls for the contest,” Roslynn thought. “Otherwise, all my friends will already know who the slut is amongst the slave girls. And, I’ll need to borrow one of Rowan’s co-worker’s daughters to throw into the mix and introduce all five girls at the beginning of the party. During the start of the evening, my friends will have the opportunity to engage each in conversation, trying to discover the slaves, the free woman of virtue, and the slut wannabe. As we drift off to dinner, each will fill out a voting card, unbeknownst to my contestants. While everyone is eating, I will tally all the votes and see who was most correct. If Serena is discovered, she will be publicly humiliated as the horny bitch she has become. I already have plenty of video footage of her acting the faux slave girl to show my friends. While this is going on, I’ll have Rowan tie the bitch up naked in the living room.”

The phone rang, interrupting Serena’s dreamy state.

“Hello,” Serena Cross answered with a voice still croaky from sleep.

“Where the hell have you been, I’ve been all over the hotel looking for you!” Holly demanded in a shrill voice. “Your research pitch to the Slave Commissioner is in five minutes. A chance remark by Mr. Williams as he checked out this morning is the only reason Judy Wetmore, my receptionist, knew you were still in their suite. Get your ass moving!”

“Holy shit!” Serena mumbled in dismay as she rolled out of bed. She stared bleary-eyed about the suite and found her dress and heels from the night before. “Where the fuck is my underwear!” she hissed angrily as she struggled into her clothes. The young woman had time to run a brush through her hair and rinse her mouth out before she staggered out of the suite lugging her computer bag. Her underwear was nowhere to be found.

Serena had recovered her composure, if not her appearance, by the time she got upstairs to the executive office space on the Penthouse Level. She was looking for the Board Room.

“Ahh, here she is,” Holly began the instant Serena entered the opulent room.

Judy took Serena’s arm and rushed her toward the podium. “The computer system is already booted up,” she whispered. “All you need to do is organize yourself, slip in your presentation disk, and start when Holly gives you the cue.”

“No, I’ll use my own laptop,” Serena replied, “It’s much quicker and the video will play much more smoothly.”

“As you know gentlemen,” Holly addressed the half-dozen or so people in the room as Judy and Serena whispered together at the podium. “This is Miss. Serena Cross, our twenty-four-year-old graduate student researcher from Quebec, Canada. She has already completed her undergraduate work on Bachelor of Arts degrees in Psychology and Sociology and is finishing up her Master of Arts in Sociology.”

Holly paused to get her breath and then continued, “She approached a number of organizations with her unsolicited proposal to finalize some rather interesting research she’d undertaken.” She nodded toward a corpulent figure in a rumpled suit at the head of the table and continued, “Mr. Samuelson, our Oklahoma State Slave Commissioner was intrigued by the work and asked that I contact Miss. Cross about taking her up on her offer.”

M.J. Samuelson nodded sagely at the room and took a mouthful of Talisker, a fiery single malt from the Isle of Skye. Mortimer intermeshed the fingers on his hands across his ample girth and spoke up, “Miss Cross, why don’t you make your own introductory remarks while Miss. Wetmore gets your presentation set up.”

Serena looked startled but to her credit turned to address the room. “Yes, … well, … thanks to the interest of the Oklahoma and Eastlake Slave Commissioners, my field research was fully funded. Supported by your grant, I was able to confirm the promising initial survey data which indicated that there was a noticeable positive sociological impact of WSA-2000 on females.”

As the slim redhead made her introductory remarks, Judy took the laptop over to a side table and attached a video cable to the back.

“While this is my first chance working in the United States, my studies over the last seven years have nonetheless made me an expert on the details of both U.S. and Canadian White Slavery Act laws. As such, my research will easily pass peer reviews and be published. So, … let me begin.”

Judy shook her head at Serena’s inquisitive look and whispered, “It’s not ready yet.”

Frowning at not having her presentation ready, Serena spoke once again. “Gentlemen and ladies,” she said smoothly, “I’m certain you’ll enjoy the polished pitch Miss. Wetmore will get going for us in a moment or so.” Serena looked pointedly at Judy, clearly hoping the presentation was now ready.

Judy once again shook her head in the negative.

“In any event, … the presentation is fully interactive with multi-media documentation ranging from my detailed field notes, audio and video sound clips of interviews, statements from authoritative figures, legal reviews, and much more.” The young Canadian cocked her head and added confidently, “Despite the explosive nature of my findings, it will be impossible to refute my field work and conclusions without far more exhaustive work on the subject. My first research conclusion alone, that “WSA-2000 has immensely improved the lives of women’, is enough to have more than justified your modest investment in backing my work.”

Serena took a deep breath and looked again toward Judy. “Ready to go?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

Judy shook her head in the negative again and walked over toward the Canadian. “Your laptop won’t boot up,” she whispered. “I can’t even find the operating system and there isn’t a DVD disk in the player.”

Barely controlled anger welled up from Serena Cross’ stomach. Her nostrils flared and she responded sharply, “No problem! I’ve got lots of redundant backups in a locked case in my interview room downstairs! I’ll go get them!”

Serena turned toward the door and a veritable mountain of six-foot-six-inch muscular black flesh smoothly moved to block her way.

“Boss?” his voice rumbled in a clear question of what to do.

“Miss. Cross, I think it best that you let Holly Pritchard go fetch your files. Rondo will stay here with us.”

“Data disks, Commissioner Samuelson,” Serena whispered toward the rotund man after turning back toward the table she’d just been addressing.

M.J. blinked owlishly. “Yes, of course. Holly dear, can you please get what our researcher needs from downstairs?”

Serena flinched as a heavy hand settled on her shoulder from behind. “Ma’am, the key is in my purse on a leather strap,” she whispered as Holly stood up.

Following Rondo’s unspoken guidance, Serena silently moved toward a seat beside the podium. She collapsed limply in the chair and glanced up at the towering black form beside her.

Rondo grinned down at her with a mouthful of gleaming white teeth. It was a predatory look that made Serena very nervous. He moved gracefully for such a large man and shifted to stand behind her.

“I’m sure everything will get sorted out quickly,” the Slave Commissioner said. “We’re all eager to hear your presentation.”

The graduate student sat silently, staring at the table full of people that she’d expected to so easily wow with her presentation. “Yes, … thank you,” she responded with a stammer. Slowly her confidence began to return. “After all, I’ve plenty of backups created just for situations such as these,” she told herself.

The room remained uncomfortably silent for minute after minute. From behind her, the backs of Rondo’s monstrously large hands lightly explored her back, leaving Serena petrified at the man’s gall. “At least my body is blocking the others from seeing what he is doing,” she thought with some relief. The feathery touch continued and Serena realized that Rondo must know she wasn’t wearing a bra. She blushed in embarrassment.

Finally, Holly returned with Serena’s leather satchel.

Unexpectedly, Holly ignored her and instead approached the head table where she dumped the satchel’s contents out with a clatter. “Commissioner, I can’t find anything except these unopened DVDs and video tapes. There are no notes or other documentation.”

Serena felt her bladder release as the implications of Holly’s pronouncement quickly set in. When the black man’s hand tightened on her shoulder, her stomach cramped so painfully that she lurched forward, escaping his grip even as the acidic contents of her stomach boiled upward through her throat and mouth to splatter on the room’s lush carpeting. Gagging, she fell to her knees and more vomit exploded from her mouth.

A hand grabbed hold of her hair and lifted her painfully to her feet.

“Wait, this is a mistake, … someone has stolen my work!” Serena babbled. Her chin was streaked with thick strands of throw up and her hair was a mess. She didn’t look like a knowledgeable scholar any more.

By this time, the room was empty save for Rondo still grasping Serena’s hair in a relentless grip, Holly Pritchard, and M.J. Samuelson.

Serena’s eyes darted toward the door. It was closed.

“Have you been a bad girl with my money?” M.J. Samuelson growled angrily at her.

“This walking camel toe of a cunt stole your money boss?” Rondo growled in anger at least as furious as his boss’.

“Please, gentlemen!” Holly interjected, “give the poor girl a chance to explain.” She turned toward the Canadian. “Tell them, Serena, … tell them where your research is.”

Serena whimpered and couldn’t think of anything to say. “It’s gone,” she shouted to herself. “All my work is gone!”

Taking Serena’s confused silence as a sign of guilt, M.J. Samuelson sighed. In an even tone he proclaimed, “Miss. Serena Cross, as Slave Commissioner I may not have the authority to impose sentence on you for the criminal fraud you have perpetrated against us and for the funds you have stolen, but I can promise that you will receive swift and vengeful retribution for what you have done.”

Serena stared dumbly at the man. Her mouth worked up and down but no coherent thought came through. At her silence, one of Rondo’s strong hands slipped up to cover her mouth and the other wrapped around her chest to firmly trap her against his rock-hard form.

“Miss. Cross, I promise that within the hour I will have a Judicial Order of Enslavement in my hands. As a slave under my control, you’ll rue the day that you decided to scam us with your bogus research project.”

With that pronouncement finished, he turned to his bodyguard. “Rondo, I understand that this young lady has video equipment set up downstairs. Perhaps you can use the next hour or so to introduce her to the “Breaking in Bebe DVD Series’ that has proven so popular.”

Serena began to buck and squirm in an attempt to free herself. “Mmmff, mmmff, … mmmff!” she screamed. Inwardly, she was already rehearsing her attempts to negate the Slave Commissioners false claims. Outwardly, she failed to communicate anything except her terrified disagreement as she was bodily removed from the room by the hulking bodyguard. Once in the hallway, she calmed in horrified realization that during her struggles she’d felt an impossibly huge erection between the man’s legs.

“He’s taking me away to rape me,” she thought dully.

“Well?” M.J. Samuelson demanded in a peevish tone.

Silently, Holly handed over a single DVD.

“Yes?” M.J. once again demanded. “Is it as advertised?”

“Yes,” Holly said wearily. “The stupid bitch gave you even more than she promised. I reviewed it earlier and it really is a finely polished piece of propaganda.”

“Very good!” the oily Commissioner said with clear satisfaction. “Once she’s disposed of we’ll begin our media campaign.” His face sharpened and he once again demanded, “And, you think the discoveries she made will hold up under academic scrutiny?”

Holly sighed. “M.J., I think Serena was correct in that no matter how outlandish her conclusions sound, it will be impossible to directly refute her work without rigorous research that will take time and effort to conclude. By then, you’ll have already accomplished what you’ve planned, … presenting academic proof to our lawmakers that the White Slave Act of 2000 has been beneficial to society in general and to the female population as well.”

“Good, … good,” M.J. responded happily. “I want to hamstring any of the opposition before they even start their grassroots efforts to overturn WSA-2000.”

Holly watched in fearful silence as the powerful but crazed political appointee mulled the success of his plan. One reason for her fear was the Slave Commissioner’s well-known quirk of tormenting his enslaved red-headed assistant named Bebe. Each of his Bebes only lasted about six to eight weeks before they were replaced with yet another soft-titted redhead assigned the very same name. Nobody knew how many Bebes the Slave Commissioner had gone and only a few knew of their fates. Holly, as head of the hotel where the Slave Commissioner brought his ill-fated assistants, knew some of those details. As a fellow redhead, she wanted to ensure she was never snared by the evil Commissioner.

“What about my office slut!” Commissioner Samuelson abruptly demanded.

“Sir,” Holly replied carefully, “she’s been in the kitchen for about ten days. As usual, your slaves are force fed a gallon of enriched dining room slops every three hours. She’s already gained the twenty pounds you specified.”

“And her cunt filet?”

“The chef and her assistants have been thoroughly rubbing their special cinnamon oil lotion around her cunt and on her breasts at the beginning of each feeding. The filet is properly plump and tenderized and despite her oversize breasts, they are nice and droopy per your standards.”

“Nice, … nice,” M.J. mumbled. “You know how I hate taut balloon-like udders on my girls.”

Holly waited quietly as M.J. downed yet another glass of the fiery brew he favored.

“Ahhh!” The Commissioner wiped the back of his suit arm across his mouth. He swayed a bit drunkenly and then he commanded, “Gut and skewer that fake redheaded bitch this afternoon. Clean her up nicely and send along the carcass with documentation that indicates it is our Canadian student, Miss. Serena Cross. My dinner guests will be pleased with the speed of justice in Eastlake.”

“And Serena, sir?”

“You know what I like, Holly,” he growled. “Do her up the regular way: nipple rings, the heavy stainless steel hog ring in her nose, a red ballgag, Bebe’s red panties, and the rest of her slut wear. Don’t bother cleaning Bebe’s old clothes, Serena can wear them back to my office as they are.”

“Yes, Sir, … as you wish.”

After M.J. Samuelson left the room, Holly remained alone for several long minutes. “That poor girl,” she thought with a shudder. “By the time Rondo is finished, the staff will have a lot of blood splatter to clean up in that meeting room.” Holly had been given a complimentary copy of one of the demented Commissioner’s “Breaking in Bebe DVD Series’. Given the slimy politician’s penchant for anal sex, the over zealous Rondo took extreme pleasure in brutally ripping his bludgeon of a cock through the normally virginal anal stars of new the Bebes. Often, their tearing flesh was torn to the point that stitches were needed.

“Poor, foolish girl,” she repeated sadly.

Serena Cross tried to draw back from the doorway threshold to the adjoining suite. “Hmmmf!” she protested as she took in the scene revealed in the other suite’s living area.

“Hush, pet!” Roslynn whispered reassuringly while tugging forward on the leash. “We don’t want to distract Rowan while he’s busy breeding a slut.”

Given her situation, Serena had no choice but to follow Roslynn’s lead regardless of her increasing reluctance to pursue her pact with the sexy woman. Then, the self-avowed expert in the technical intricacies and the societal impact of White Slave Act laws in North America was awestruck at the intimate act the husband was performing on a big-titted blonde slave atop a library table.

“Oh, shit!” Serena thought. Her eyes darted across the scene. Rowan’s thinning hair, completely silver close-cropped beard, and a face deeply creased with too much exposure to the damaging rays of the sun accurately foretold his age of sixty-three. However, the whipcord-thin body below that glistened with sweat as his rhythmically contracting muscles stroked his cock with a machine’s precision into the grunting blonde’s sex was drastically at odds with his age. Serena knew the man was ramrod slim, but she’d never imagined the full impact of the old man’s diet and exercise regime that had been mentioned almost in passing by his wife during their initial interview.

“He is amazing, isn’t he?” Roslynn whispered in her ear. “He can literally fuck for hours and still unload four or five cums in the process. Not many women can begin to keep up with his stamina. Thank you for setting all this in motion when you begged me to demonstrate my talents to you in such a very personal way. As a reminder, you were promised a limited number of hours of unimaginable pleasure that could be extended to the remainder of the night only if you purchased the time by submitting yourself to my control for a measly hour or two.”

Roslynn’s tongue teased its way into Serena’s ear as she drew the two down to their knees on the carpet. “Thanks for submitting my little slutlet.”

“Of course, your request meant that I had to make my own deals with my Husband / Master to get him to even consider the offer. If you’d refused to submit to me,” Roslynn continued whispering in Serena’s ear even as her form molded itself behind Serena and a hand snaked around her torso to claim an aching breast and tingling nipple, “Rowan would have taken you downstairs to a wonderful dinner where you would have discussed how to punish me for failing to overwhelm you with my talents. Meanwhile, the blonde slut and I would have been left tied up uncomfortably in this room to await our reprimands.”

Once again her voice hardened, “You might be a tender little morsel of a bedmate, but I was never in doubt of capturing your lust and claiming your commitment for more sex. Of course, … the other half of my deal was to give Rowan the chance to experiment a bit and to better judge my dedication and sexual prowess by giving him a temporary lover. Thank you for getting Holly to agree to lending us this horny little cunt and tempting her with a chance at freedom.”

Serena tore her attention away from the woman kneeling beside her and studied the woman laid out across the library table just feet from where she had been set. Like herself, the blonde was also collared and gagged. The slave’s normally beautiful long blonde hair was matted with sweat from her exertions. Drool and snot covered the sides of her face and along with the gag, head harness strap, and greasy hair gave her a cross-eyed, subhuman, almost dairy-cow look. More sexual was the rolling motion of her oversized mammaries as Rowan plunged lustfully into her froth-covered twat. The breast meat would roll smoothly toward a chin or belly before being jammed to a jiggling halt as pubic bones jarringly clashed. Occasionally, one or the other of Rowan’s hands would temporarily release a tight grip on a shapely thigh to grasp a mammary in a bruising hold.

Even with her uncertain predicament, Serena was fascinated as milk burst forth from one of the bitch’s fleshy teats to erupt upward several feet in long thin streams. Rowan’s arms returned to the red-faced woman’s thighs and her feet once again began to lifelessly flutter about above her face as the man pummeled her sex. The woman’s blue-tinged arms were tightly secured below her body, lashed to the ornamental steel frame of the marble-topped library table with tight wrappings of thin leather.

“Ashlee was promised complete and instant freedom if she outperformed Rowan’s wife in bed?”

“Hmmf, … hessss!” Serena agreed to the affirmative after struggling to communicate through the gag.

“She has no idea that her own ex-slave is now Rowan’s wife?”

“Ho!”

“Good job my horny little researcher,” Roslynn praised the young Canadian and rewarded her by lightly caressing both her breasts. Serena’s nostrils flared as she drew in deep breaths while her excitement level increased.

“Are you getting wet for me?” Roslynn teased while nipping on her ear.

Serena unconsciously bucked her hips feebly upward from her kneeling position, fucking toward empty air.

Roslynn laughed softly and whispered back, “No, … no more pleasure for my little slutling until she pays her fare.”

Serena moaned in frustration as Roslynn let her breasts loose. Then, she froze as skilled hands behind her wrapped some sort of a wide strap around her upper arms and then drew them backward, tightening her wrists’ connection to the chain at her waist. “Hmmmpf!” she protested.

Roslyn ignored the complaining girl and buckled the straps in place. “Hush, this isn’t even uncomfortable bondage. The straps are only to lock your arms and hands back so you can’t use them during your upcoming task.” Lastly, she snapped a clip to each of the cheek buckles on the gag strap and left the pairs of leather cords attached to them dangle down. Satisfied, Roslynn rose to stand behind her “volunteer’ and observe her husband finish up with Ash. Meanwhile, her fingers took a firm grip on the back of Serena’s collar to be sure she stayed kneeling at her feet.

When he was finished, Serena couldn’t help but stare fully mesmerized as his long softening cock pulled out of Ash’s puffy sex with a plop. “It’s huge,” she told herself in amazement. “… and such equipment on an old man, … wow!” She began to wriggle about in discomfort as the man turned toward them with his drooling meat dangling snake-like from a cum-soaked mat of silver pubic hair.

“Roslynn, honey!” he exclaimed in pleasure as he leaned over Serena’s head to hug and kiss his wife.

His moving hips dragged the musky sex organ across Serena’s face, leaving trails of pungent juices behind while his crinkly pubic hair left its own slippery deposits on her cheek. She tried to pull away, but the hand gripping her collar pushed her face harder against Rowan’s soaked crotch.

“How’d the loaner bitch do?” Serena asked.

“Well,” replied Rowan noncommittally, “she was pretty perky the first round or so. Actually, … my first cum was really satisfying. But, she quickly got tired. You can see for yourself, … she’s kinda done in. I gave up on her once she became a limp fuck and the muscles behind her twat lost their tightness. That’s why I tied her onto the table to at least get some practice hammering into bound meat.”

Serena heard the couple kissing hotly above her. Roslynn continued to hold her tightly against her husband’s bare sex.

“So, honey,” Roslynn cooed, “which one of us is the best?”

“Dear, … there was never a comparison.” He sighed happily and continued, “You are the best! I couldn’t even tell that she’d been given an incentive to succeed. She tired out so quickly!”

“Oh, well!” Roslynn replied eagerly. “I’ll make it up for you later. It is nice to know that this slave / wife is better than the competition. You go shower and change for dinner while I take care of our guests.”

Serena slumped down in abject humiliation as Roslynn left her kneeling. Vainly, she tried to shake her head to fling off the remnants of Ash and Rowan’s sexual liaisons from her face. Their combined stench clung to her face.

A crackling pop interrupted her futile attempts. Looking up, Serena whimpered as Roslynn drew back the arm holding a leather wrapped handle ending in a bundle of leather thongs. The cat swished down heavily on Ash’s helplessly bound form. Silently, Roslynn stroked the punishing whip downward, squarely striking the poor woman’s glistening sex. Serena was especially stricken by the fact that she never expected the soft-spoken Roslynn to punish a fellow woman so harshly. Altogether, five heavy slashes stroked across the sacred junction between her legs and five more targeted her milk-heavy breasts.

Apparently finished with the punishment, Roslynn strode to the blonde’s head and knelt down to place her mouth to her ear. “Hello, Ashlee Wansley,” she whispered into the sobbing woman’s ear. “No, … I forgot, you’re now Ash, the silly hotel slave that foolishly enslaved herself to escape her husband and left her slave alone at his mercy.”

“Hmmmpf, hmmpf!” Ash protested, her eyes widening as she recognized who had just whipped her.

“Don’t worry,” Roslynn promised, “I don’t bear a grudge. But, … I am disappointed. Our lives could have been pretty nice with both of us slave sister wives to Lance.” Roslynn possessively stroked Ash’s enhanced EE breasts. “Course,” she continued, “even my talents wouldn’t have kept him interested in those little bee-sting titties you had before Magnus Hotel improved your looks.” She squeezed and milk erupted from the distended nipples. “It would have taken quite a lot of work to get you anywhere near my level of ability in satisfying your whanker husband.”

“Oh, … that’s right, Ash. I’m not sure you knew what happened after you escaped from Lance that night. Whew! He was pretty sore at not getting two sexy bimbos under his thumb and then he was absolutely livid when he lost your trust fund.” Roslynn’s fingers ground tightly into Ash’s nipples as she recollected the beating Lance had given her the morning after Ashlee escaped his marriage.

Roslynn let loose the squirming woman’s bruised nipples and continued, “Then, the accounting department at his firm cut back drastically. Oh, Lance kept his job, but his pay was cut in half as it shifted to part-time. So, … without any spare cash, and still sticking to his silly dream of owning two slave cum bitches, he sold me to buy two other young ones. Not only did he take a loss by selling me well below what he originally paid, he was stupid enough to think that he came out ahead with the two inexperienced and formerly self-centered teenagers he walked out with. Even the teenagers cleaning the slave kennels knew that the girls couldn’t fuck or suck worth a damn and worse, … they whimpered and complained all the time.”

“Ash,” Roslynn said soothingly, “I am thankful that your actions resulted in such a positive life change for me. As you’ve just learned, despite his age, my new husband has the stamina and libido of two teenagers and I just absolutely love him.”

Ash whimpered and shook her head.

“Oh, … you’re confused about the whipping. Silly girl! A deal’s a deal. You lost your wager by failing to please my husband. I set up the wager as a legitimate chance for you to earn your freedom. Now that you’ve lost, Rowan gets to spend as much time as he wants from the end of dinner till dawn practicing his knots and playing with his whip collection.” Roslynn laughed happily and said, “No matter how much I beg him, he rarely whips me or ties me up. You will find out he is really interested in honing those skills.”

“Hmmmpf!”

“But, … dear Ash, … because I owe you so much, I’ve arranged a special treat for you while Rowan and I go down to the dining room for our dinner.”

Roslynn turned and dragged a very reluctant Serena Cross toward the library table. She had to fight the girl to set Serena’s face against Ash’s musky crotch and yanked one of the leather straps dangling from a cheek ring up over Ash’s thigh. She did the same with one strap from the other side and then pulled equally on the pair. Serena’s face was now drawn unwillingly against the slave’s drooling snatch. Roslynn secured the ends of the thin straps under the table and then grabbed the remaining set of straps. These, she fed downward with the intent of leaving the Canadian researcher locked in place against Ash’s crotch with two pulling her up and forward and the final two pulling her down and forward. As a final humiliation, Roslynn pushed her knee up against the kneeling Serena’s back and fed her perky tits through openings in the ornate wrought iron legs holding up the library table. She lashed the free ends of that last set of dangling straps tightly around her breasts.

Serena mewed in discomfort as her abused tits began to throb as they began to turn purple and bulge from the blood trapped within. Now matter how she attempted to shift her face, she couldn’t escape Ash’s slippery crotch.

“Now, Serena,” Roslynn said matter of factly, as she loosened the head harness only enough to pull the black sponge gag free from under the ring gag. After settling the ring back behind her front teeth, Roslynn re-tightened the harness. “Your job during dinner is pretty clear. Rowan and I will aim one of your nice digital cameras to record your first cuntlapping and the second to record Ash’s face. If you don’t work non-stop to please Ash to your very best ability, … well, then you forfeit your place in my bed and Rowan can play bondage and punishment games on your body till dawn.”

Roslynn jammed Serena’s face harshly into Ash’s pussy by pushing on the back of her head. “Got it? Suck like a talented lesbian bitch and you come to my bed. Fail, … well you already know that part.”

“Hmmpf, … hmmmpf, … hmmmpf!” Ash become very vocal in voicing her appreciation of the graduate student’s feverish tonguing well before the video cameras began recording Serena’s shameful actions on the slave’s sloppy sex.

With the suite’s door closed, the newlyweds hesitated in the corridor long enough for a long hug and affectionate kiss. Serena’s sucking and slurping noises were well muted by the door, but Ash’s next orgasm was evident even though the gag and the heavy door.

Roslynn smiled at Ash’s muffled cry of ecstasy. As they headed toward the elevator, she realized the extent of her hunger and wondered what her man was going to order for her meal. “They have the most heavenly menu and wine list,” she hinted as they neared the elevator.

Serena stood passively in the corner of the elevator in a bemused fog as she was taken up to experience her first sexual tryst. The twenty-four-year-old felt like she was floating in some sort of surreal dream as the elevator took her up toward one of the side-by-side suites she’d reserved for the voluptuous blonde and her older husband. The firm touch of an oversized breast against her arm, the tight grip of a hand on her upper arm adorned with an outlandishly large diamond, and the erotic cloud of the woman’s perfume had her completely bewitched. Later, Serena Cross couldn’t remember the specifics of how she got from the elevator to the luxurious king-size bed. In fact, she had no recollection of removing her clothes which somehow ended up wildly scattered about the suite.

The sensation of the first tentative kiss of a woman’s lips on her bare throat became burned forever into her memory. The touch chased away any fears about the acts she’d challenged the blonde to perform on her virginal body. Committing herself to consummate the forbidden acts she’d arranged, Serena whimpered and relaxed, letting the woman take charge. Later, she would be able to playback every millisecond of the intense pleasures that followed. For the next few hours, the young Canadian was taken on a crash course in human sexuality, experiencing orgasm after orgasm until she finally collapsed in sheer exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster ride she’d set in motion.

It was the sound of the shower which roused her from her dazed rest. Belatedly, Serena realized her bedmate had left her fully naked atop the tousled top sheep. Resuming her normal mode of extreme shyness about her body, Serena quickly wrapped the bed’s wrinkled top sheet around her body before stepping toward the bathroom. She swayed once or twice until her blood pressure normalized and then she entered the bathroom.

Mrs Williams was clearly visible through the clear glass of the oversize shower door. Serena’s breathe quickened at the sight of the water cascading off the huge-titted blonde. The Canadian watched mesmerized as the enticing woman’s fingers massaged frothy suds of shampoo into her hair. “Oh, … my!” was her only semi-coherent thought. “She is an absolute sex goddess!”

“Ah, … I see that once again you made me wait,” the woman’s husky voice startled Serena from her daydreams. While Serena remained dumbfounded, the dripping wet blonde slipped past the transparent shower door and lightly gripped her chin.

“I, … I,… uh, … I kinda hoped our time wasn’t up,” Serena stammered to the woman who had just thoroughly ravished her body and awakened a dormant sexuality she’d never imagined.

The blonde reached her second hand up to lightly caress the black-haired researcher’s cheek. “You’re awfully cute, Serena Cross,” Mrs Williams whispered. “But, we had an agreement, … remember?”

Serena felt her belly clench at the words. Wordlessly, she nodded. The naked woman’s closeness made it hard to think, let alone speak. Normally fully in control of her emotions, Serena flushed red with humiliation. Inwardly she whimpered in need.

“My cunt is throbbing,” she thought. “I can almost feel my sex pedals opening. Oh, … she’s made me into such a slut!”

Serena took a deep breath to answer the woman’s question. Suddenly, once again in a panic, she squeaked meekly, “You know I’m not a lesbian!”

The hand on her chin shifted from a gentle hold to a taut grip at the words. The other hand that had just lovingly caressed her cheek slipped down to squeeze her hip in a relentless hold. “Serena, we’ve been through this silliness already,” Mrs Williams answered her in a measured tone. “Just a few moments ago you were moaning and thrashing about on my bed as you begged me to finish that last orgasm with my tongue and hands.” Her face tightened in dissatisfaction and she whispered silkily, “Tell me again why you contacted me.” Before Serena could answer, she continued with a steely tone that belied its hushed whisper, “As you so often say, … spare no details in your story!”

“I, … I, … that is, … I thought they were lying to me.” Serena bent her head in embarrassment and added, “It didn’t seem possible that you could be such a perfect woman, … such a perfect slave.” The light flickering off the over-size diamond mounted on the blonde’s wedding ring drew her attention.

The hand on her chin tightened and then relaxed. The hand on her hip slipped up her side, brushing against a sheet-covered breast. Serena shivered.

“Yes,” Serena continued reluctantly, “it seemed to me that some clueless hicks from a backwater town were exaggerating about how utterly fantastic a slave was that they found on display in some local slave shop. Of all places, … who would expect such a thing in Lawton, Oklahoma?”

“What was it that Lance Wansley said about me? You said you’d never forget his words, … that they were engraved in your memory.”

Serena looked up timidly at Roslynn and whispered, “His words were the same ones that appeared on the card in the slave kennel. He said you were a “twenty-two-year-old blonde bombshell of sex-infused, big-titted sexslave; eager to do anything to satisfy her owners’ and that you were truly the “perfect slave, flawless in your eagerness to please.’”

“And his former wife, Ashlee?”

“Yes, … today in the interview she said the same thing. That’s why, …” Serena’s voice caught in embarrassment before she stammered on, “why I went to your house to interview you and your husband. In the countless interviews I’ve conducted and the thousands of hours of research I’ve invested in becoming expert in modern slavery, I’d never run across such glowing recommendations about a young, inexperienced slave. I just had to know if it was true.”

“Know, … or experience?” The soft grip on her chin once again momentarily tightened.

Serena whimpered at the hidden strength in Roslynn’s grip. “Both, … Miss, … Miss, … Mistress.” Serena hung her head in abject misery at her shameful words.

“