The Serengeti Yeti

Charlotte I

by Parker

Parker 04

WARNING: This story contains bondage, non-consensual sex, d/s, humiliation and other similar elements. If you do not enjoy reading this sort of fantasy, STOP NOW (before it is too late). OK? You have been warned.

Copyright 1993 by me (Parker) and ???. Feel free to distribute (unaltered), but be discrete.

 

"Pardon me Madame, but we're in Port."

Francesca D'Abrette opened her eyes to see the Captain's bearded face on the large colour monitor that hung from the ceiling of her opulent cabin.

"Thanks, Bole." She stretched, catlike, working the sleep from her body. "Give me an hour or so to get ready, and we'll go ashore. Oh... and tell the crew that tonight's a party night."

The corner of the Captain's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "At once, Madame." He nodded and the screen went dark.

Yawning, the young millionairess slid off the soft bunk and planted her feet in the thick carpet. The cabin was indeed opulent, but the luxury went unnoticed; in her almost thirty years of existence, she had come to expect nothing less from her surroundings. Indeed, she would have tolerated nothing less. That was why, upon inheriting the "Monaco Nymph" cruiser when her brother died (in somewhat mysterious circumstances), Francesca had personally ensured that it was completely refurbished.

A large, mirrored wardrobe filled the length of one wall in her large cabin/bedroom, and Francesca took a moment to admire her reflection before opening it to select some suitable clothing. She was not a beautiful woman, but she was a striking one. Her face, under her short, dark hair, was a bit thin and harsh, and her body, while lithe and muscular, was not really curvaceous enough to be called attractive; indeed, she was almost completely lacking in breasts. Francesca could easily have rectified that with surgery, but on the whole she was not really all that interested in attracting the kind of men who were turned on by large breasts. Really, she was not all that interested in attracting men in any case. Her pleasures lay elsewhere. And, if she did decide that she wanted a man (as she did on rare occasions), she had learned that money was far more effective an aphrodisiac than any mere physical feature.

And money was one thing she had in abundance.

Smiling back at her reflection, she slid open the door to the wardrobe. At one end hung a variety of night dresses, some long and expensive, others short and slutty. Next to these were her 'bedroom clothes'; a range of fancy dress costumes that might be worn by herself or by a 'friend' in any fantasy she might choose to enact. The remaining half of the closet contained day and evening wear from the world's greatest designers. She pulled out a short white Chanel dress-suit, a present from an old girlfriend. She loved it's perfect fit and simplicity, and decided it would be ideal. In a place like St. Maxine, simplicity often attracted far more attention than flash and glitter.

And Francesca D'Abrette loved to be noticed.

After a quick shower, Francesca slipped into a silk camisole, panties and shear white stockings, put on her dress, and applied some make-up. Preparations complete, she called the Captain on the boat's intercom.

"Are you ready to leave?" she asked. Upon hearing an affirmative response, she strolled to the upper deck. Topside, she paused briefly to survey the view. The Port of St. Maxine consisted of a small bay nestled snugly in between a rise of land to the east and an artificial breakwater to the west. The town itself - long one of the lesser-known "getaways" for the rich and famous - was spread out in a picturesque sweep of colour and light, beginning on the north beach with the famous "Promenade des Anglais" and sprawling on upwards through numerous magnificent summer homes and on up into the gently rolling hills of southern France.

The Mate - one of the six men crewing the large cabin-cruiser - nodded respectfully as he assisted her in her descent down the short ladder to the launch bobbing in the choppy Mediterranean water. She was popular with the crew. One of the reasons for this was her habit of throwing small "parties" for them at many of the various ports of call. This particular stop was one of their favourites; five of the six men (short straw stayed on watch - she would be sending out some "entertainment" later on) would be joining her and the Captain onshore later, once the relevant arrangements were made. As usual, Francesca would not be participating, but she did like to watch.

It promised to be a memorable evening.

The Captain, Nedrick Bole of South Africa, had booked a table in one of the town's more celebrated restaurants - a Michelin "3 Star" on the busiest section of the popular Promenade des Anglais. The restaurant had, of course, been booked up when he had called - one usually booked weeks in advance for this particular establishment - but the D'Abrette name opened a lot of doors. As they entered the restaurant, the Maitre d' Hotel came straight over to her, atypically ignoring at least one gesture of request from another guest.

"Miss D'Abrette!" he greeted her in flawless English. "It is so good to see you here again!" He ushered the two of them to a corner table.

Over dinner, she and Captain Bole discussed plans for the crew party later that evening. For these occasions, Francesca usually provided luxurious quarters, unlimited alcohol and a number of prostitutes for the men to enjoy. She herself rarely participated, usually just watching. Tonight, however, she felt like doing something more. Something special.

Just what, however, she wasn't certain.

After the waiter had unobtrusively cleared away the remains of their repast, Francesca and the Captain made their way to a public phone to begin making arrangements for the coming evening. As was almost always the case in Europe, the booth was plastered with an assortment of stickers pasted onto the glass surroundings. Each had been printed in both English and French, and advertised the services of various 'escorts' based in the town.

CALL YOUNG BLONDE NIKKI ON 755632 FRENCH IS MY SPECIALTY

MISTRESS HELGA INVITES YOU TO HER DUNGEON PHONE 133598 - NOW!

SAMANTHA WILL BE YOUR 24-HOUR SLUT TEL.613344

SCHOOL-GIRL SHERRI NEEDS YOUR PUNISHMENT -166455-

48DD DEBBIE NEEDS YOUR BODY ON 314569 MASTERCHARGE AND AMEX

"Captain... have a look at these!"

Bole, who had been scanning the passing crowds for attractive women while Francesca had examined the cards, peered into the small booth. She held up a couple of the cards for examination. "Which of these do you want? I think I might give 'School-girl Sherri' a ring!"

"Ha!" Bole laughed. He like this part of the job. "I was thinking of her myself! The men always like that sort of thing. How about 'Debbie'?"

"Why Captain," Francesca teased, "a breast man. I never knew."

Bole grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm only thinking about the welfare of my crew," he declared stoutly.

Francesca laughed. After a final glance at the other advertisements, she slipped the two cards they had chosen into her purse and left the phone booth. Something was bothering her, though. She still felt like doing something different tonight, but she didn't know what it was.

Ah well... something would turn up.

A few moments later, they entered the Hotel Adelphi, walking into its large, marble reception area. It was there they encountered an unexpected problem in the form of a stubborn desk clerk.

"I'm sorry Mademoiselle, but we are fully booked tonight." The speaker - the creator of the problem - was a young blonde girl standing behind the reception desk. Unused to being refused anything (it was an experience as unpleasant as it was unfamiliar), Francesca stared at her. She saw a girl in her early twenties: a tall, willowy blonde, with soft blue eyes and long hair that fell in gentle waves down her shoulders.

A girl who was in her way.

The desk clerk - Charlotte - looked back, trying to maintain a firm look on her pretty face. She saw only a rich woman; a spoiled, rich woman who was all too used to getting her own way in everything. A woman who had not been forced to scrimp and save and work her fingers to the bone in order to get through two years of business school; a woman who had not been required to trudge endlessly from interview to interview, finally accepting a position far below that for which she was qualified. A woman who had no right to speak to her in that tone of voice.

A woman she resolved herself to stand up to.

As for Francesca, she suddenly realized just what it was she wanted to do that night. The reason - the source of her strange restlessness - suddenly became apparent. A nasty smile flickered across her face. If Charlotte had been a little older - a little more experienced, a little more observant - she might have sensed the danger in the woman's smile. But she was none of these things.

"Call me the manager" Francesca ordered, smile gone, glaring at the poor blonde.

Charlotte sniffed, but did as she was told. Henri would sort this spoiled woman out. Soon a short Frenchman - Henri Delacourt, the manager of the hotel - appeared from a side door. Charlotte turned to explain matters to him, but was cut off before she could speak.

"Francesca, mon ami!" Henri rushed forward, taking the proffered hand and bestowing an elegant kiss. "But it has been too long! How are you? How is your brother?" After accepting his obeisance, Francesca coolly explained how her brother had regrettably just passed away, and that she, as his only heir, now managed the D'Abrette empire.

"You have both my sympathies, and my congratulations..." he said tactfully. Knowing what he did of the D'Abrettes, he had a pretty good idea that her brother's death had not been an accident. Still, it was not his place to question either the motives or actions of the rich. He was, despite his senior position in the hotel, a servant; and he knew it.

He was also well aware that the D'Abrette empire included a large Parisian holding company, which in turn owned a controlling interest in the Adelphi hotels.

"And how might I be of service, Madame?"

"The 'Nymph' is moored in the harbour," Francesca told him, "But we were hoping to enjoy a night on dry land. However, the young lady here informs me that you have no rooms available."

"Mon dieu!" The manager turned and slapped his young desk clerk across her slender wrist. "Charlotte! What nonsense. Do you not know who this is? You will ensure that the penthouse is immediately readied for her, and that her visit is made as enjoyable as we are able!"

Charlotte, amazed at this turn of events, blushed furiously, but quickly nodded her head in obedience. "Oui Monsieur, je comprend, je comprend!"

Francesca smiled as the young girl stammered out an embarrassed apology. "She's very pretty Henri. Perhaps she could be our chambermaid for this evening?" Henri frowned; that was highly irregular. "Oh," she continued, "And while you are here, might I invite you and your wife to dine with us on the Nymph next week? We will be returning to St. Maxine on the first of the month."

He was perceptive enough to perceive the implied promise; he did not wish to spend the entirety of his career managing this one hotel. "Mademoiselle," Henri said, beaming. "You are too kind! Of course we will be happy to join you. Charlotte will get changed immediately, and ensure that your room is prepared!"

The manager was well aware of the eccentricities of the rich, and neither knew, nor wished to know, why the young heiress might demand a chambermaid in her bedroom. He had learnt the importance of discretion, but realized that his blonde employee might not recognize such values. As Francesca and the Captain left to take a drink in the hotel bar, he pulled the girl to one side.

"Charlotte," he hissed, "Miss D'Abrette is one of our most valuable customers. I will be asking her in the morning about your performance and will expect a favourable report! In that way, you may make amends for your unforgivable rudeness to her."

"But Monsieur..." Charlotte felt like she was going to cry. "It was not my fault. We were booked. And the way she looked at me... it was if she was undressing me with her eyes!"

Henri looked around to lobby; no one was nearby. He turned back to Charlotte. "Indeed," he whispered, "she may well wish to do such things or worse, so you should accept that now! If you are good to her, and she speaks well of you, I can assure you that your future within this hotel will be significantly improved. I might add that she will likely reward you very well herself."

That was the carrot; time for the stick. "If, however, you refuse to do this, I promise that you will never work in this business again!" He stared at her. "This is a large chain; you are aware that I have the means to do as I say."

Charlotte wilted under his intense stare. She was one of the many young hopefuls who had arrived at one of the resort villages in the south of France from a poor farming family, searching for riches. Despite her attendance at business school, good jobs - indeed, any kind of jobs - were scarce. And anything, she reasoned, was better than the life of street prostitution that had befallen so many of her contemporaries. One thing that was always in demand in a place such as St. Maxine was female beauty.

Charlotte shuddered.

"Yes sir," she said quietly, "I will do as you say."

"That is good. Go to the chief housekeeper and ask for a chambermaid's outfit. She will dress and prepare you."

He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "You may be shocked at the activities that take place this evening but do not forget my promise!" Nodding, the young girl left the desk, to go and ready herself for the night that lay ahead. After she left, the manager picked up the desk phone and punched a button.

"Madame..." He spoke into the receiver. "This is Henri. Charlotte will be coming by in a moment for a chambermaid's uniform. I want you to give her one of the costume outfits... Yes, the one we used for the longshoreman's party last year... don't worry about that; tell her to put it on when she gets to the penthouse..."

In the bar, Francesca and the Captain sipped their drinks and made use of the bar's cellular phone to call the women advertised on the cards. It was a matter of only a few moments to contact them and set up the evening's activities; any hesitation the prostitutes might have felt was quickly dispelled when Francesca mentioned the location of their assignment; the Adelphi was one of the most expensive hotels in a town full of expensive hotels, and anyone who could afford a night in the penthouse could surely afford to pay top rates.

Business finished, Francesca relaxed in her seat while the Captain informed the crew of the plans for the evening and arranged for some company for the unlucky crew-member consigned to watch duty. Word came, in the form of Henri himself, that their room was ready, along with all the "special arrangements". Francesca and the Captain quickly they finished their drinks, and took the elevator to the eighteenth floor penthouse.

His employer didn't react, but Bole could not help but gasp as they entered the penthouse. The main bedroom was huge, featuring two all-glass walls that afforded a spectacular view of the sea-front all the way down to the eastern hills. The white walls contained numerous specially-commissioned paintings by some of France's most acclaimed modern artists. It was a suite, of course, and polished wood doors lead to a library, a second bedroom, and a large, brass and marble bathroom. The second bedroom door was partly open, and they heard a rustling coming from behind it. Francesca walked up to the door and knocked.

"One moment, Madame." It was Charlotte. "I am getting changed."

Francesca turned to the Captain and giggled. "I think she's shy!" she smirked. "We'll soon cure her of that. Still, we'll play along with her to start with!" Francesca felt a warm glow of anticipation. She had been right; this was indeed what she had needed for tonight. Her crew would have their party, and she would have hers.

The Captain walked over to a beautiful teak drinks cabinet. After surveying the extensive collection of premium brands, he poured himself a glass of Scotch and mixed a Martini for Francesca. After he passing it over to her, he took an appreciative sip of his drink.

"Not ba..." he began to comment, but fell silent when the door to the second bedroom opened and Charlotte walked out, her cheeks flushed red with embarrassed self-consciousness.

She was quite a sight.

Her long, wavy blonde hair had been tied up in a high pony- tail with a white lace ribbon drawn into a large bow. Thick, pale pink lipstick and red blusher - applied by the housekeeper, in accordance with Henri's instructions - gave her a beautifully tarty look, that perfectly matched the effect created by the skimpy maid's costume. The outfit itself was a thing of beauty. It displayed her svelte figure perfectly, the tight, black silk squeezing her breasts upwards, the twin points of her nipples moulded and clearly visible beneath the thin material. The plunging neckline and puffed shoulders were trimmed with white frills, as was the thigh-length skirt's hem. White petticoats flared under the tiny skirt, hanging clear from tight panties and stockings. Gossamer thin, white net gloves went from her fingers to upper arm; black stiletto high-heeled shoes clasped her feet, and, as a final touch, a bib-like apron was tied around her torso with a large bow, matching the one in her hair.

Charlotte fought back the tears as she entered the main bedroom, tottering slightly on the high-heels. She had belatedly come to the realization that the outfit she had been given was not the normal hotel chambermaid uniform. By then, however, it had been too late to protest. She had known, when Henri had pulled her aside in the lobby, that more would be expected of her than simple maid's duties, and she had accepted this as the price she would have to pay to keep her job. The costume though... she felt like such a slut in it!

'One night,' she told herself, gathering her courage as that man and his hateful employer stared at her, him in open admiration and the woman in... well, she didn't know what.

It scared her, though.

"How do you feel darling?" Francesca spoke at last, gliding forward to inspect her new maid.

"Umm, I feel embarrassed Madame" replied the poor girl, acutely aware of the looks her breasts and thighs were receiving, both from Francesca and the Captain.

"Don't worry," Francesca assured her, fussing over the bow in Charlotte's ponytail. "You look splendid." She stepped back, taking in the full effect of Charlotte's maid costume. "Quite delicious. And in about half an hour we'll have you looking just as I want! Just stand there for a moment."

Francesca went to the phone, and dialed the direct number given to her by the manager. "Hello, Henri? Yes, this is Francesca. Yes, she is perfect... just one more thing to complete the ensemble. I need some... virile young men who can be trusted. Just for about twenty minutes." Charlotte's face adopted a look of fear, but she kept her position; there was no backing out now. Not if she wanted to keep her job.

Francesca noted her expression and smirked over at her as she listened on the phone. "That would be perfect. Oh yes... by all means. Please do. The more the merrier."

She hung up the phone and walked slowly over to where Charlotte stood in her maid's outfit. Slowly, she ran one of her long, painted fingernails down the frightened girl's cheek. "Don't worry my dear," she purred. "We're just completing your 'look' for tonight's party."

"Madame." Charlotte swallowed, gathering her courage. She couldn't just let this happen without saying something. "I am not... not a prostitute."

Francesca smiled at this. "Well," she said, glancing over at the Captain who was trying, vainly, to suppress a chuckle, "I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate to think that I was going to have to pay extra for your services. You do come with the room, don't you?" The Captain laughed out loud.

Charlotte started to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. The Captain strode over and pulled it open. The manager stood there, with five men who appeared to be from the hotel's kitchens.

"They're Portuguese," he announced, correctly interpreting Francesca's raised eyebrow, "and don't speak any English or French. They can all be trusted." He led the five men into the room.

"Excellent," commented Francesca, motioning them over to the where the Charlotte stood, now trembling. The cooks laughed and pointed at their young coworker who stood before them in her new outfit. They knew who she was, just as she recognized them. Charlotte, conscious of her position in the hotel as only one who was used to worse could be, had made a point of ignoring those whom she considered to be of a 'lower position' than herself. In her few months as an employee, she had managed to alienate most of the kitchen staff as well as many others with her haughtiness. Hence, seeing her reduced to a mere chambermaid - a sexily dressed chambermaid at that - was a pleasant surprise to these men. One of them, bolder than the others, reached for the tail of the large apron bow that hung from the small of her back, and pulled it free as he passed. The apron dropped to the floor. Anxious to retain what clothing she had, the humiliated girl crouched down to pick it up.

"Charlotte!" Francesca ordered angrily. "Stand up! As long as you are my maid, you will NEVER bend your legs to pick something up. They must remain straight, and slightly parted, with your back arched inwards. Do you understand?"

Flushing red with humiliation, Charlotte glanced over at the manager. He just stared back, however, expressionless. No help there. Trembling, Charlotte looked back at Francesca and nodded.

"Good. Now try again. And do it slowly! We all want to watch."

Charlotte did as she was told, feeling the tiny skirt slide up over her thighs as she bent at the waist, legs straight and slightly parted. The cooks, as a group, moved around to get a view of her from behind, laughing and jeering as her tiny panties were exposed. They stretched against her shapely buttocks, clearly outlining the shape of her vulva. The cook who had pulled free the apron ventured forward to slap her hard across her exposed ass. Charlotte gasped and tried to straighten up, but Francesca, who had moved up next to her, gripped the girl's neck, keeping her head low.

It was time to begin in earnest.

"Get your cocks out boys," she ordered, a cruel smile on her face. The manager quickly translated her statement into Portuguese, and then followed the order himself. Francesca examined the exposed cocks in satisfaction; they would do nicely. One of the men even sported what must have been at least an eleven inch monster of a penis. Perhaps later, she herself would...

The same bold cook who had earlier tormented Charlotte moved forward and tried to press his cock against the girl's barely- covered pussy.

"No!" Francesca spoke sharply, using a tone of voice calculated to establish control, regardless of the lack of a common language. "You're not fucking her. She's going to suck you off." She waited while the manager translated her words before continuing. "And none of you are going to cum until I say! Do you understand?" Once again, the manager translated. The men looked a little disgruntled at this requirement, but nodded their agreement. The thought of that snooty little desk clerk being forced to wrap her sexy lips around their cocks was irresistible. They would have agreed to anything.

Francesca turned her attention back to Charlotte. Still held down by the back of her neck, the girl had fallen to her knees and was waiting quietly, head down, seemingly resigned to her fate. The skirt, never particularly concealing, now rode high on her rump, exposing long, slender legs right up to her ass crack.

Francesca leaned down to whisper some final orders in the poor girl's ear. "Keep your hands behind your back, holding up the hem of your skirt, slut!" Charlotte, now crying, moved to obey. Her trembling hands hesitantly pulled the short skirt up, completely exposing her backside. "Now," Francesca continued, "I'm going to spank you until all of your friends here are ready to cum, so you'd be well advised to give them your best efforts!"

She shoved downwards and released her hold on the girl's neck. Shaking her head in mute denial, Charlotte knelt on all fours on the thick carpet. She looked up to see that the men had formed a queue in front of her, the manager at its front; his cock hung limply from the fly of his dress trousers.

"It's not very clean" he said apologetically, smirking down at his employee. "But don't worry, it will be by the time you're finished."

This was too much for Charlotte. Mouth held firmly closed, turned her head away from his limp cock. Francesca knelt behind the girl and raised her palm.

SLAP!

"Ow!" Charlotte, recoiling from the impact, instinctively dropped her gloved hands to protect her reddening ass.

"STAY STILL!" Francesca shouted, "AND MOVE THOSE HANDS AWAY." Sobbing, Charlotte obeyed, once again pulling the skirt up on her thighs. "Now open your mouth," she was ordered. "The spanking will continue until you are finished."

SLAP!

Charlotte trembled in shock as Francesca's hand was once again brought painfully down onto her exposed ass, but followed orders, opening her mouth as wide as it would go. The manager looked down at his subservient employee, enjoying the sight of her pouting lips opening to accommodate his member. He decided that he could get used to this. As he slipped his cock in, Francesca brought down her palm again, and Charlotte started energetically sucking on him. A few seconds later, as the manager grew visibly harder inside her mouth, Francesca momentarily stopped the spanking and grabbed the girl roughly by the ears.

"Come on my petite bimbo! Open up; let me see your pretty little tongue cleaning your nice manager's cock!" She pulled the girl's head back, and watched in delight as the maid/receptionist obediently ran her pink tongue all around the manager's still- growing cock head, collecting lumps of smegma as she licked. The man was soon groaning in pleasure at the sight of the girl kneeling before him in absolute submission. Impulsively, he took hold of her pony tail and yanked her head towards him, driving his cock down her throat.

"Let me feel your throat around me Charlotte!" he ordered, voice hoarse, as he slid his nine inches of throbbing manhood deep into her face. "Arggghh - the slut's gagging on me - merde! it feels good!" The sight of the girl's slender neck contracting around his cock heightened his feeling. Before he could come, however, Francesca ordered him away, and gestured for one of the cooks to take his place.

The first cook was a huge, bearded man, his thick, hairy arms covered with tattoos. He wasted no time in thrusting his greasy cock between the Charlotte's still-parted lips and then fucking her face, his cock driving down into her throat. Gasping for air, Charlotte tried to pull back, but her assailant grabbed hold of her ears and pulled so that she had no option but to take the whole penis down her throat.

SLAP!

Francesca, delighted at what was taking place before her eyes, had resumed the spanking.

After a minute or two, Francesca ordered the man to the back of the queue and allowed a younger cook - the one with the eleven inch penis - to enjoy the sensation of Charlotte's moist young mouth. Gagging and choking, Charlotte accommodated it as best she could.

The sucking continued for some time. As each man looked like he was just about to come, Francesca got him to pull out and move to the back of the queue. The rotation moved quicker and quicker as each man was sucked again and again by the sobbing girl. After each of the six men had enjoyed Charlotte's mouth three times they were all visibly ready to orgasm.

'Time for phase two,' Francesca decided. She stopped spanking and began to speak. "Form a circle around her. I want you to cum in her hair, on her face or her dress. Charlotte, you will lick and touch them until they cum all over you!"

Charlotte, momentarily unrestrained, tried to stand up. She had to get away! No job could be worth this price. It was a futile effort, however. As she began to pull herself to her feet, Francesca grabbed her by her ponytail and pushed her back to her knees.

There was no escape. Hand firmly gripping the poor girl's hair, Francesca leaned forward and whispered: "I'm going to allow you thirty seconds, slut. If they're not finished in time - if they haven't cum all over you - then they will cumming up your ass. It's your choice!"

Fresh sobs wracking her abused body, Charlotte started frantically licking and sucking at the circle of cocks, sweat and pre-cum dripping down her lovely face and smearing her carefully applied make-up. She used her long, slim fingers to masturbate two men while bobbing her mouth up and down on a third. She felt her hair being yanked cruelly as a man wrapped it around his cock using it as a make-shift cunt. One man pulled open the elasticized frilly arms of her dress, pushing his cock under the lace and against her shoulder. Another pushed his cock down into her cleavage, while the seventh - the Captain had at last decided to join in - had wrapped her frilly skirt around his penis and was masturbating it up and down his erect cock. She was now servicing seven men at once.

For Francesca, however, it was still not enough.

"You've got twenty seconds Charlotte!" she warned, pitching her voice above the groans and sobs. "Say slutty things about yourself while these nice men bring themselves off!"

The terrified girl pulled her mouth of the cock and, after coughing, began to speak. "I'm a slut..." she said, her voice faltering as she cried in shame. "I'm..."

"Be more dirty!" Francesca interrupted slapping Charlotte's tear-stained face. Charlotte choked back her sobs and obeyed as best she could. The man whose cock she had been sucking began to run his hand up and down its well-greased length, all the time keeping it pointed directly at her face.

"FUCK... FUCK MY FACE. I'M A DIRTY SLAVE SLUT. HURT ME, MAKE ME CRY - I DESERVE IT!" she cried. Desperate to make the men cum before Francesca carried out her threat of allowing them to rape her ass, she began to lick at the cocks surrounding her, speaking as best she could between slurps.

"MAKE ME SICK WITH YOUR SPERM, DRIP IT ONTO ME AND MAKE ME LOOK LIKE THE BITCH THAT I AM." Moving as quickly as she could, Charlotte moved from cock to cock, licking, sucking, rubbing, kissing... doing everything possible to make them cum all over her.

"I'M A SLUT... I'M A WHORE... CUM ALL OVER ME!"

That did it. One of the cocks in her hand begin to jerk.

"In your hair slut!" Francesca told her, grabbing the girl's hand and directing the cock as the first string of sperm flew through the air and landed with a audible splat in her pretty blonde pony-tail.

"Oui! I'm cumming," cried the manager, his cum spraying the upper part of her tits and maid's dress and dripping down towards the apron.

"Make sure it all drips onto you bitch! Anything falls on the carpet and you're licking it up."

But nothing fell on the carpet.

Thankful to have succeeded in making the men cum within the thirty seconds, Charlotte squeezed every last drop from the men's cocks, making sure that it all landed somewhere on her body. Jet after jet of thick, white cum covered her face, hair and dress. All in all, it took under a minute for all the men to empty their balls over the cum-covered slut. When they were finished they stood back to admire their work.

Charlotte kneeled, gasping in the middle of their circle. Her little silk dress was now covered with white sperm, the thick fluid dripping down the material until it congealed and dried. Smears of glistening white jism marked, slug-like, the trails it had taken down her face and upper chest, and her hair was matted with glistening cum.

"You stink like a pig!" remarked the manager, laughing at the kneeling, crying girl.

"Good work!" remarked Francesca, motioning to the Captain. As the cooks pulled up their slacks, he gave each of them a one thousand franc note, thanking them for their efforts, and then showed them to the door.

While he did this, Francesca pulled the manager to one side.

"Fancy finding Charlotte looking like this in a bedroom with five men!" she commented. "What a slut! And for someone in a position of responsibility at the hotel? Don't you think that your other employees should be informed?"

The manager was momentarily taken aback. What was this leading to? His puzzlement showed on his face. Francesca sighed dramatically.

"I hardly think that Charlotte could resume her former position here if word got out about her... activities?"

"Ahh..." Things were becoming somewhat clearer. "Perhaps I begin to understand. But I promised her..."

"I'm not suggesting you fire her," Francesca smirked, guessing at the promises the manager might have made to convince the desk clerk to act as a chambermaid. "Merely that a... new position might be a little more suitable for her. I'm certain that, after a little training, her employment at the hotel could be both long and... profitable."

"Ah," the manager prompted, at last understanding the game, "And you might be able to help out with this... training?"

Francesca laughed delightedly. "But of course," she answered. "I would be glad to lend my assistance." She looked over at Charlotte who, still dripping with cum, had struggled to her feet. The Captain stood behind her, ensuring that she would not escape. "With a little work," she murmured, "I'm sure her career at the hotel could easily be advanced. The first step is to ruin her reputation among the employees."

"Ahh." The manager nodded in agreement. He would play along.

Having agreed on a course of action, Francesca and the manager turned and ordered Charlotte to approach them. She obeyed, her head bowed in shame, still dripping cum onto the carpet.

"The manager is going to walk you through the hotel's back rooms." Francesca was all business now. "You will confess to any man that should see you that this is your responsibility, and invite him to enjoy your mouth. Only when every male member of the staff has had the chance to enjoy you, and all the woman have seen you, will I expect you back!" She expected some sort of reaction, but the girl had lost any will to fight. Sobbing quietly, Charlotte followed the manager as he left the room.

Once again alone, Francesca and the Captain sat down and fixed themselves another drink. Both were excited and horny from watching the receptionist's humiliation, and took showers in advance of the evening's entertainment.

Within the hour, the five crew-members had arrived and were awaiting the whores. They didn't have long to wait, and they weren't disappointed. 'School-girl Sherri' turned out to be a young-looking woman with long, brown hair done up in pig-tails. And Debbie, the Captain's choice, measured up beautifully, with curly, platinum-blonde hair and large, firm breasts. Drinks were poured, rates discussed and payment made.

Now, only one thing was missing...

"But I don't know," the manager protested, having been called back up to the penthouse. "I'll find out." Picking up the telephone he dialed Housekeeping.

"'Allo? 'Allo..." It was a woman. She had to shout over some sort of commotion going on around her.

"Is this Housekeeping?" the manager asked, also shouting.

"No," came the answer. "This is Housekeeping."

"This is Henri. What's happening down there?"

"Oh... nothing monsieur.. nothing at all!" she said, plainly lying.

"Madame, I am the manager. I do not expect to be lied to. You will tell me exactly what is happening or I will ensure that you lose your job. You will answer at once!"

Sensing some entertainment, Francesca hit the 'speaker' button on the telephone. Now everyone in the room could hear what was being said.

"Monsieur, I apologize! I did not realize!" the woman said, clearly afraid for her employment.

"Don't worry Madame! Just tell me what is going on! In English, if you please." This was in deference to Francesca, whose French was limited.

"Monsieur, I fear I cannot tell you! It is dreadful!"

"Madame," the manager said, losing patience, "If you want to continue as an employee of this hotel, I suggest you overcome these inhibitions and explain yourself!"

"It is the young receptionist, Charlotte!" the woman explained, clearly distraught. "It would seem that she has engaged in some sort of an orgy with the customers... and members of the staff. Her body and clothing is covered with man's.... er, man's....."

Francesca grabbed the phone. "A man's semen?" she asked.

"Yes Mademoiselle, Man's semen! It is shocking that she is such a slut! I believed her to be innocent and good, but it seems I was wrong! Now she has touched herself while many of the men here make their, er, semen, onto her face, and other men make sex with her mouth..." In her excitement, the housekeeper's English began to falter.

"Madame?" called Francesca. "I hear the sound of women's voices. Are they shouting?"

"Oui Mademoiselle. They are angry because the slut has had love with their men!"

"Are they? How did they find out?" asked Francesca, who was now becoming very interested in the woman's account.

"But it was obvious from her appearance. They also are receptionists, waitresses, and maids here at the hotel. They have tied Charlotte to the sinks!"

"And what are they doing?" Francesca had hitched up her tight white skirt and pressed the palm of her hand against her pussy as she listened in anticipation. This was even better than she had hoped.

"They throw the rotting food and vegetables at her Madame! No...wait! They have thrown cans of food at her, to make her bruise. I fear that they might kill the slut!"

"Do not worry," Francesca told her. "The manager will be right down."

Taking his cue, Henri bustled out of the room.

"You have been most helpful, and we shall ensure that you are suitably rewarded!" Francesca kept the woman on the line, listening with malicious pleasure as the housekeeper gave an account of Charlotte's continuing predicament.

A few moments later, however, the manager's voice came onto the line. "Hello? Mademoiselle D'Abrette?"

"Yes Monsieur, I am still here. It sounds like young Charlotte is having a rough time down there!"

"Oui Madame... It is true. But I think you would approve!"

"Yes," Francesca agreed, "I rather think I would, but that is enough for now. I do not want her damaged. Yet. You must tell them that Charlotte will be temporarily leaving the hotel for re-training. Let them know that they will be seeing her again soon."

"Of course Madame. And then?"

"And then bring her up," Francesca ordered. "We still need a maid for the party."

By the time Henri arrived with his cum-encrusted charge, the party was in full swing. Sherri was "entertaining" two crew members at once while being energetically spanked by a third, while the Captain exercised the privileges of rank on Debbie's ass as she stood, bent over the couch. The other crew members took advantage of the well-stocked bar, waiting their turns. There was no rush; the party was going to last all night.

Unexpectedly, it was the whore Debbie who reacted when Charlotte was led into the room. Having sucked off a good dozen or so men after her exploits in the penthouse, the young girl was again glistening with fresh cum. Her costume, never all that concealing in the first place, was stained and torn in a number of places, exposing large patches of abused flesh.

"My god," Debbie exclaimed (somewhat inappropriately) as the Captain fucked her from behind, "It is her. The one who gave us the trouble last week."

Francesca, grinning, walked over to the trembling girl.

"Trouble?" she asked.

"Mais oui," came the answer. "She got us kicked out of the hotel. She makes trouble for all the prostitutes." Sherri grunted her agreement around the cock in her mouth.

"You don't like prostitutes," Francesca laughed, running a long, sharp fingernail down Charlotte's face. The poor girl said nothing; she just trembled, looking at her tormentor with large, frightened blue eyes.

"Nothing to say for yourself? Ah... young girls are so shy. Well, you have had enough fun for one evening. For the rest of the night, you are to act as our maid, serving everyone at the party. Do you understand?"

Charlotte nodded, broken. It was not in her to refuse this woman anything. But still...

"M-madame," she stuttered, "After... after tonight; you will let me go?"

"But of course," Francesca lied easily. "I have spoken with the manager. He knows you are only to act as a maid for one night only. I have arranged for him to place you in a special position in the hotel as a result of your service to me."

Somewhat reassured, Charlotte began her evening's duties. She spent the next several hours moving about the room as gracefully as she could manage, taking empty glasses, pouring and serving drinks and generally acting the perfect maid while a veritable orgy raged around her. She was touched and fondled numerous times by the men, but she was not otherwise molested. Even Francesca ignored her, except for the occasional reminder to keep her legs straight and slightly parted when bending over.

The sky was visibly brighter in the east when the party finally died down. The whores were paid extra and sent away. Exhausted, Charlotte stood in the corner, waiting to be released as the men got dressed and filed out of the room, anxious to be gone with the tide.

At last Francesca turned to her.

"You have done beautifully tonight," she told the girl. "And, as I promised, I have arranged with Henri for you to be placed in a new position at the hotel. This position, however, will require some additional training."

"T-training?" Charlotte's lower lip began to tremble.

"Fortunately," Francesca continued, "I have had some experience in these matters, and have decided to look after your education personally. The manager has agreed."

"Noooo...." Unable to prevent herself, Charlotte burst into tears. It was not over after all. She was still crying when Francesca and the Captain led her out the back entrance and down to the docks, still wearing the cum-stained chambermaid costume.

Henri surveyed the wreckage of his penthouse and frowned. There were hours of work to be done here. Fortunately, the D'Abrette pockets were very deep, and would pay for the labour without even noticing the cost. Perhaps he would even add on ten percent or so as a "tip" for himself.

Sighing, he stepped to the window and looked southward to where a small launch approached the 'Monaco Nypmh'. If he had possessed a set of binoculars, he would have been able to watch his young employee, still crying and struggling, being fondled by Francesca D'Abrette in the back of the launch.

He didn't have the binoculars, however, and so turned away and back towards the penthouse and work. Life went on, and he would have to arrange for a new receptionist for the afternoon shift...

Ahh... and he must remember to inform his wife about dinner with Francesca next week.

EPILOGUE

ONE WEEK LATER...

Henri watched anxiously as Charlotte, still wearing the frilly maid outfit, obediently followed along behind Francesca D'Abrette as the millionairess strode confidently into his office in the hotel. The Captain, taking up the rear, came in after them and closed the door. The manager studied his young employee, looking vainly for signs of abuse. She was physically unmarked, but her demeanor had changed considerably. Rather than the self- confident young woman he had hired as a desk clerk just over three months ago, he saw a frightened, subservient girl, blue eyes cast downward, trembling body awaiting the commands of her cruel mistress.

Or, it immediately occurred to him, her master.

"Monsieur," Francesca greeted him brightly, "I have come to return your property. The training is complete."

"C-complete, Madame?" To his annoyance, the manager found his voice catching in his throat.

"Oh yes," she answered, smiling. "Quite complete. Perhaps a demonstration, while we discuss legal matters?" Henri started to ask what she meant by "legal matters", but fell silent when Francesca turned to the girl.

"Charlotte," came the order, "the last time you were with your manager you performed fellatio on him in a crude and ineffective manner. Show him how you have improved." Without a word or any other sign of objection, the girl moved forward, fell gracefully to her knees, and pulled his cock out of his trousers. Henri swallowed as he felt her lips, soft and warm, encircle his penis. He had enough experience to recognize the level of skill and effort she was expending; she had clearly had a lot of practice over the last week.

"Now Henri," Francesca continued, satisfied with Charlotte's performance, "we have a few matters to discuss." She handed over a piece of paper. "This is Charlotte's new contract."

Trying to concentrate, Henri scanned the paper. It was a standard "personal services" contract; the employee - Charlotte - was employed to provide "entertainment services" for certain guests of the hotel, in return for which the management would provide room and board; no salary was mentioned. The contract - perfectly legal as far as he could tell - required only the signature of the manager of the hotel to make it binding, as Charlotte had already signed.

Henri looked up from the document. "Entertainment services?"

Francesca smiled. "Charlotte," she said, "Tell your new master what your duties are to be."

Charlotte paused in her task and pulled her mouth from his cock. Lips glistening with drool and pre-cum, she looked up at him with her large blue eyes and began to speak. "Monsieur, I am to be attached to a special room which will be set aside for friends of my mistress; I will provide 'services' for them during their stay. When the room is empty, I am to live with the kitchen staff, cleaning their quarters and providing any other s-services they require."

The girl fell silent, still looking up. 'Waiting for further orders,' the manager realized.

"Very good," Francesca praised her, giving her head a pat. "Now back to work." Charlotte obediently slid her lips back over the manager's penis and resumed her labors.

"Special room?" the manager asked, suddenly short of breath.

"Check with Paris," Francesca told him, referring to the head office. "It's all arranged. Two friends of mine from Scotland - Nigel and Miriam Hammersmith - will be visiting next week. They have expressed an interest in young Charlotte."

The manager nodded his understanding. Twisting around as best he could without pulling his cock free of Charlotte's mouth, he set the contract down on the desk and signed his name with a flourish. There; it was done. Charlotte belonged to the hotel now, for... the next three years???

"Madame," he raised his head. "The duration of the contract..."

"Is the maximum legal length for such a document," Francesca told him. "Any longer and it would not be binding. After the three years are up, however, I have made other arrangements."

Smiling, she produced a second contract and handed it over. It was another personal services contract, identical to the first, except that it was dated as beginning the same day the hotel contract expired, and it was made for the benefit of one "Sherri La'Rou". The manager was puzzled for a second, but then he understood. "Schoolgirl Sherri," he exclaimed. "She will be working for a whore!"

"Indeed," Francesca agreed, accepting the document as he handed it back. "I have spoken to Ms. La'Rou, and our little Charlotte here will begin her new career as a whore after finishing here." She reached down and once again patted the poor girl's head as it bobbed up and down on the manager's cock. Charlotte groaned in humiliation, but continued her work. The manager was just about to cum...

"By the time her three years are up with Sherri," Francesca continued, "She will be such a hardened little slut that no one will take her for anything but a whore."

Despite the hellish experiences of the week-long "training", Charlotte wanted to say something - to protest - but just then, the manager came in her mouth. As she had been trained to do, the poor girl sucked it all down, letting only a small trickle escape down her chin for effect. By now, she had done this scores of times, and her technique was flawless.

Her efforts earned her a final pat on the head from her mistress.

Francesca turned to go. "Don't forget," she called back as the manager pulled his limp penis from between the kneeling girl's lips, "dinner tomorrow night."

"Of course," the manager answered after her, "my wife and I are looking forward to it."

The door swung shut. Henri fell silent, looking down as Charlotte delicately placed his penis back in his trousers and zipped them up.

She had indeed been well-trained.

"Well," he said, pulling her to her feet by her pony-tail, "Let's get you set up in your new home; I'm certain the kitchen workers will be happy to see you again." He walked out the door with Charlotte, still silent, still sporting the thin trail of sperm on her chin, following obediently behind. If he had turned to look at her as she hastened along behind him, he would have seen one, large tear well up in a sparkling blue eye, spill over and run down her cheek.

He did not, however, turn around.

There was no need.

THE END

The Serengeti Yeti

• Yeti's home

• Return to menu

• Previous part

• Next part

• Email Yeti