Phil's Site

SERVANT TWO-THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER 1

(Mg* Pedo Inc Cons & Non-cons BDSM MC Anal)

By Phil E. Hebe

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright 2010 with all rights expressly reserved by the author unless otherwise explicitly granted. You are free to distribute this story to other venues, providing that you retain the author's name, this notice of copyright, and a link to the original page(s) where you found it. You are NOT free to sell or use this story in any venue which charges any fees to readers without the express written consent of the author.

This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community where you view such material, please leave now. This story and its characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story codes before reading the text.

Chapter 1

Opulent. That was the first word that struck me as I walked into the dining room - the first time I had seen it. On my previous visit to the gentlemen's club to seek membership, it was being used for a private party and was not available for my viewing.

Seventeen-foot, vaulted ceilings, my practiced eye estimated, with gold leaf applied over cast plaster crown molding. Five huge crystal chandeliers, lit with candle bulbs, gave a soft yellow glow to the room. The walls were covered in damasks down to the black walnut wainscoting. The carpet gave way with a soft crush beneath my shoes. A string quartet on a dais played chamber music. Seven large round tables graced the room. Each with seating for eight. In the center of each table was a silver candelabrum and the utensils were sterling silver. I realized I was going to have problems knowing which utensil to use. There were three different crystal goblets at each setting.

"I will be eating from Ming Dynasty china," I thought to myself. "I never thought I would see the day." Then I wondered if the price I paid for the privilege was too high and in the next instant consoled myself with the thought that she had, after all, agreed.

"Your name, Sir?"

I looked at the young servant with his blonde hair and said, "Wayne Banner."

He consulted a seating chart. "Right this way, Sir. You have been assigned to table number four."

The young man pulled out a chair when we got to the table, then scooted it back in as I seated myself.

"The menu, Sir," he said as he handed me a gilt edged parchment. "If you need anything, anything at all, just ask any wait staff to send over Servant Three-fifty-six, that is me Sir, Servant Three-fifty-six. I will be your personal waiter for the evening."

"Do you have a name?"

"Not necessary, Sir. Servant Three-fifty-six that is all you need to know."

There were two other men already seated at the table. Not knowing the proper protocol I bobbed my head toward each of them and they bobbed in return. I looked at the menu. All the entries were in French, "Oh, great." I thought. Ordering was going to be difficult. Then I spied Filet Mignon; that was what I would get, not that I had any idea what it came with.

A young woman came to the table and stopped next to me. "Wine, Sir?" She handed me a tasseled booklet. I opened it. No prices, just more French words.

"I am having the Filet Mignon and leave it up to you to choose the best wine for the course." Just like my waiter this young woman also had a stenciled number assigned to her, Oh-six-two.

"Very good, Sir," said the young female. She took back the wine list and she walked away. I praised myself for dodging that bullet and at the same time realized just how far out of my element I was.

I looked around the room. It was filling up fast for the supper serving. Five more men joined our table. Then I saw my price of admission: Sharon, my daughter. She was standing in the corner with a young boy. I could not help but look her up and down. I had never seen her like that. Her light blonde hair, instead of the usual pony or pig tails, was up on her head in a French twist. Her clean scrubbed look was replaced with make-up; eye shadow, eye liner, plucked eyebrows, powder, rouge, and bright red lipstick. She smiled her crooked closed mouth smile, gave a quick wave, and then turned crimson. I knew why. She wore fuzzy looking, high heeled, open toed slippers, and a thin band of leather around her neck. Otherwise she was completely naked. I had forgotten how good she looked without clothes on. As hard as I tried not to, my eyes kept trailing down her body. Her swollen nipples were the color of light toast with a slight pinkish cast and sat on small, just developing breasts. I had a hard time tearing my sight away from her crotch. Her sex was acutely vee shaped with a darkly shadowed slit running up high into her pubic mound. The mound itself was pronounced, maybe because she was so thin that it seemed to stand out. Only fine downy blond hair graced her pink blushed nether lips. After all she was only twelve. All the wait staff were young, young and naked with only the black leather band around their neck and a tail hanging from their backside for adornment. I cursed myself for finding my daughter and all the Club servants delectably sexy. I cursed my penis, which was growing in my pants.

Not one word was mentioned during the meal about the naked children. That seemed to be taken for granted. All the men were dressed in dark business suits with white shirts and ties. I was dressed in a black wool worsted suit, white silk dress shirt, and a red regiment striped tie. I always felt uncomfortable wearing a suit. Usually wore them only for weddings and funerals. But at the Club it was required dress for supper. The men talked about the state of the economy, world politics, local business, and their golf scores. I knew most of them were local titans of one business or another. I saw our senator at one table seated next to the mayor of our city and the police chief. With members like that I knew the police would not be raiding this place anytime soon. I introduced myself with a brief description of my housing construction business, no one seemed impressed.

At the end of the meal the tables were cleared by naked bus kids and the naked musicians left. A bright spotlight lit the dais where the small boy stood with his back to the room. I guessed his age to be about twelve or thirteen, his nationality, Asian. I saw the number 335V stenciled on his buttocks in black ink. Jutting out of the valley of his buttocks was a hairy tail, looking much like a horse's tail and the same black color of the hair on his head. The bidding started at 5,000 points. In five hundred point increments the price went up to 8,000 points. It stalled there and the hammer came down. The auctioneer snapped a leash onto the leather band around the boy's neck and handed the other end to the high bidder. The boy was led off the stage.

My daughter was next under the spotlight. She looked so small, so fragile that I wanted to rush up there and take her away. She is a blue eyed, natural blonde and takes after my wife's Swedish decent. Her skin was easily the lightest in the room, made even more so under the spotlight. The same went for her hair, which looked almost white. Like the boy before her, she stood facing the wall. Just like the boy a number was stenciled in black ink on the flank of her buttocks and a tail that matched her blond hair cascaded from her behind to her knees. Number two-thirty-six, the number followed by a V, 'V' as in virgin. I knew why they faced the wall; their desirability was based on the shape of their buttocks. Looking at my daughter's backside from a sexual perspective for the first time, I realized just how desirable it was, how nicely rounded the hemispheres were, how it jutted out at the small of her back and notched at the top of her legs. I knew in advance about the horse tail and how it was plugged into her rectum. The plug was in the slender shape of a man's cock. Once inside it was blown up with air like a balloon so it could not slip out. I found the shape of her buttocks and the fact that she had a tail plugged into her rectum very erotic. I felt my penis thicken in my pants and reminded myself that this was my daughter I was looking at.

The bidding stalled at 13,000 points. The auctioneer had Sharon turn and face the audience. He made a comment about her small breasts and shapely sex. There were no new bids.

"Come, come, Gentlemen. This is a grade A prime acquisition, ready and willing to be trained as a servant. A guaranteed virgin, ready to be deflowered. We don't have many of this caliber available on the auction block that often. Did I mention she is a rare treat, the daughter of our newest member? Not some Asian runaway." When there were still no bids he had Sharon turn around again, bend at the waist and hold her ankles. He flipped the tail up on her back then opened the outer lips of her sex exposing the pink hood and inner lips to the view of the audience. "Gentlemen, Gentlemen how can you possibly resist such a gorgeous cunt?"

He left her standing there like that as he went back to the podium. I should have run up and defended her honor. I should have covered her shame. But how could I when I was sitting there with a full blown erection?

I listened as the bidding started up again and crept up to 16,500 points. "Mr. Horus Reed is the winning bidder," the auctioneer said after a long pause without a further bid, and the hammer slammed down. A leash was put on my daughter's collar and she, too, was led away.

Sixteen thousand-five hundred points for a twelve-year-old girl's maidenhead. One quarter of the sixteen thousand-five hundred points that would be deducted from my 100,000 point initiation fee. In order to join this exclusive club I needed to back my points with a lien on my business and provide a virgin servant for the club use. Life in the fast lane was not cheap. After the initial auctioning of her virginity and training if a member reserved her for the night 1,000 points would be charged against his account and 245 points would be added to mine. The Club got the extra points as a handling fee. If she went on the midnight auction block I would get approximately one quarter of whatever points was the winning bid. It was never mentioned in any of the literature, but I was emphatically told that points translated to dollars. My credit cap was 200,000 points. If I went over that limit I would have to pay the Club the same amount in dollars. Seven percent interest of the outstanding points was billed to me every month in dollars. If I quit or got kicked out of the Club my points would become immediately due. They would send me a bill. If I could not pay it, they would take my business. That is the way the Club made money for upkeep.

These men were rich enough to buy children on the black market to be their virginal contribution to the club. Children, I have come to find out, are for sale all over the world. At the Club there were Chinese, Indian, African and South American servants, even some Russian and Baltic children. I heard orphanages here in the U.S. occasionally sold off children. I had no such possibility, not the finances nor the knowledge on how to buy children. My only recourse was to offer up my own child.

I did not join the club because I was a pedophile. Although, watching all those fine young girls running around buck naked and knowing they were available for my pleasure made them very enticing. I did not join to turn my daughter into a whore or an indentured sex servant, even if that is the way it sounds.

I joined for the contacts I could make. As I mentioned, I was in the housing construction business, but it was not a good time what with the real estate collapse. I dreamed of being in the high end housing construction business. Someone had to build these people their mansions, so why not me? It only made sense. There was a huge profit in building five million dollar mansions especially since the tract housing market was in the dumps. I heard the rich were not affected like the middleclass; they still had money to spend. I love money just as much as the next guy and everybody will tell you it requires some personal sacrifices.

I talked it over seriously with my daughter. I explained that she would be a naked servant and work part-time in the hotel. At first she would probably be washing dishes and mopping the floors, but I heard advancement was quick for the servants that cooperated the most. I told her servicing the customers' sexual needs would also be required and that one of the first things to happen would be the auctioning of her virginity.

At first she was leery but I kept on talking and soon she said my dream was more important than, as she put it, her 'dumb ole virginity' and that she would do what was necessary. I was certain of the answer; no one has a more loving, more devoted daughter. I knew with a little coaxing she would volunteer to do whatever I asked of her. I am not the nicest guy; I know I took advantage of her love for me. Selfish of me, but I never claimed to be a saint. She would profit too, because if I had money I would certainly share it with her.

When we visited the Club for the first time, while I was given a tour they took my daughter and made sure she qualified. She needed to be in what the medical profession call Tanner stage two or early stage three puberty, with breast buds or just a bit beyond, but not experience menarche. She needed her hymen intact. I had no doubt she was a virgin. They said they discouraged blood relative servants, but they liked her good looks and willing attitude.

The old hotel was five stories high, but only four stories were being used. The first floor held the lobby and reception area as well as the dining room, kitchen, and a room they called the Arena, which was a casino and night club. That is where the midnight auctions were held. I was told good bargains could be had at the auction. The second and third floors were hotel rooms and the fourth floor was suites. In the lower level was the housing for the servants and all the hotel building equipment. The Club had a name, The International Institute for Gifted Orphans. It was meant to misdirect its true nature. All the members simply referred to it as the Club. Entering the original lobby one would find an elegant, poised woman to answer any questions about the Institute. Enter via the side door marked "Members Only" and once past the guard there would be a pretty, young, naked boy or girl to assist in any way they could.

When we joined the Club they showed us a video of another girl being trained. We watched as the girl was put into the restraints. We saw the phallic like tube inserted in her rectum and inflated, the other end of which was the horse's tail. She would wear it full time during her training and during working hours after that. They told us that the winning bidder becomes her mentor and a special bond was formed between mentor and servant that could only happen at the time the girl's hymen was taken or the boy's anus was used for sex for the first time and that was why a virgin was required. Once the trainee was restrained, he or she was completely dependent on the mentor. We watched as she needed everything done for her from brushing her teeth and combing her hair to having her buttock washed after she defecated. That was all part of the training. She was taught everything she needed to know about sex, how to take the penis deep into her mouth without gagging, to swallow semen without choking. She learned how to accept a penis for anal intercourse. She was taught a veritable encyclopedia of sexual practices and positions. Most importantly she was taught how to take orders and lead a highly disciplined life. We were told punishment was a very large part of the training although we only saw one incident where the servant was strapped down to what they called a whipping table and a quirt was brought sharply across her buttocks. On top of all that, we were told she would work in the hotel for at least five hours every day. When I asked when she would have time to sleep, I was told sleep deprivation was also an excellent training tool.

"I should point out," said the secretary, "that the servant is here strictly for the members' enjoyment. When the servants have sexual intercourse with the members they may enjoy it immensely, but they are incapable of having an orgasm. That is so the servant gives each member his or her complete, and undivided attention. Only the servant's mentor or owner can give the servant a climax as part of the reward and punishment program, and only they are allowed to whip the servant.

I asked about the servants, they all had a black leather collar with a gold medalian attached to it around their neck and the tail hanging from their buttocks. They all wore the same style black slipper. All the boys had page boy hair cuts giving them an effeminate look and the girls wore their hair down their back to their buttocks.

"It is their uniform, so to speak. It gives them a distinctive look only found at the Club," the secretary said with a sound of pride.

I was told that I, too, needed conditioning and it would be facilitated through a series of forty-five minute hypnotic sessions which I could attend by appointment with the club hypnotist, Dr. Franklin. The secretary said they would prefer for me to have a daily session while my daughter was in training and after that at least two sessions a month for the first year.

The Membership Secretary explained that since Sharon was related and not permanently assigned to the Club she would go through a very intensive one month training session. "We use the carrot and stick method of training our servants," the secretary said. "Pleasure, punishment, drugs, and hypnotism will be used to make her a perfect servant. We must completely disorientate and disrupt her life so that the servitude becomes her reality." They told me it was not a good idea to see my daughter being trained, that I would not like what I saw being done to her. I should have listened to their advice.

Sharon and I both signed the papers that said we agreed to all stipulations and clauses. We signed papers giving them all rights to train Sharon in a manner they deemed fit for the trainee. Another paper stated we reviewed the training film and understood and agreed to the type of training used. We both had to sign a two page nondisclosure contract that stated none of the techniques, member names or purposes of the club shall be made public. It was strictly enforced with stiff penalties. Just skimming over the document scared the hell out of me. One more document said they have the right to use performance enhancing drugs and do minor body modifications on the trainee. I was assure that in the future any modifications they performed could be reversed, and any drugs they used were non habit forming or hallucinogenic.

Sharon's mother, Hilda, died in an automobile accident, one of those terrible twisted metal kind that they run pictures of again and again on the local news. Hilda was a negligent driver; always had her mind on something else, was on the cell phone, drinking coffee, or combing her hair. After the accident I was filled with remorse. I should have done something about her driving, should have made her pay attention to traffic, even if I had to beat it into her. I didn't and look what happened.

I remember so well Sharon's plaintive cry for months that followed, "Where's Mommy? I want my mommy." I understood very well my obligation; I had to be strong and loving to make up for her loss. I did not date because I knew I could never replace her mother with any other woman. Every available moment I spent with Sharon. From the age of five I raised her with the help of Maria, a part time housekeeper who came in the afternoon five times a week. Sharon was the usual giddy preteen, but at times she was a child prodigy way beyond her years. If she was really stumped, she would ask to be driven out to the cemetery. She would sit in front of her mother's grave and talk to her while I walked around and read old tombstones. On the way home I would get the "Mommy says" advice, such as "Mommy says we need a vacation. She suggests Disneyland." or "Mommy says sending me to a private school is a bad idea. It would disrupt my life when I need calm the most." Some of the advice astonished me, wondering where it came from. "Mommy says you've been bitchy because you lack an adult female companion. You should go out and find yourself a sexy lady friend."

Right after the accident Sharon had reoccurring nightmares, or she imagined there were monsters in her bedroom, or was easily frightened during thunderstorms. I finally gave up visiting her room every time she had one of those episodes and had her start sleeping with me, she in her pajamas and me in pajama bottoms. The bed was more than big enough for the two of us and beside I liked the idea of another person near me. I too missed Hilda, especially at night in bed. I dressed Sharon and undressed her and gave her baths. There was never a thought of any kind of sex between us. A couple of times she saw my morning erection, or accidentally caught me naked. Not wanting to traumatize her, I made no big deal over it and even let her look at me just to let her know nudity and sex were normal.

My daughter disappeared, led away by the leash by Mr. Reed; a distinguishing looking man in his forties, prematurely gray and a slight pot belly. I knew him. When I first got married I worked in sales for his father. I worked in the field and Junior worked in the office. From what I heard he was not well liked and the problem was Senior thought his son could do no wrong. Mr. Reed, Sr. was one of the richest men in town, the owner of Reed's Heavy Equipment Co.; the largest construction equipment dealer in the tristate area. I envied the Reeds their money. That was when I decided I wanted to be rich too. Mr. Reed, Jr. owned a multimillion dollar estate on North Island. A philanthropist. One of the board of directors of not only the Club, but the downtown bank and the president of the local chamber of commerce. He was also, I had heard, one tough cookie to do business with. It was with some misgivings that I watched my daughter being led out of the room on a leash held by Mr. Reed, Jr.

• SERVANT TWO-THIRTY-SIX chapter 2