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FOUNDLING: NEW CLOTHES AND OLD HABITS [ part 2 ] Foundling was shaken awake and looked up into the hard eyes of an older man. "This one is our target. He said, to someone outside her field of vision. I knew it when we watched them from above eating that pizza. The same view as in that one wear she is blowing the photographer." Foundling had a slight inkling she had seen or met him before. An early client or one of her original masters friends? She tried to move, but found herself tightly bound, wrists to widespread ankles. The boards of a rough wooden floor against her lower legs told her she was in someplace old. Slight breezes across her almost flat chest told her she was both nude and probably near the outside. "Yes Dear you have told me I was wrong three times already" The man stepped aside to be replaced by a similarly aged female with even colder eyes. "So this is the prized preteen sex slave we have been paid to retrieve. She does not look like she is worth a cool hundred grand" "Then a demonstration is in order" The man replied, moving the female aside and standing close to Foundling he unzipped his fly, retrieved his semi flaccid male organ and ordered: "Get to work" Foundling leaned forward, opened her mouth and her tong began to caress his growing male organ. ""There are very few females, never mind pre-pubescent ones who can give a blow job like this one, they told me. Already three new owners are biding her up" "Ohh, Ohh, Ohh, dam but your are really good" The old man softly complimented. He ejaculated into Foundling's mouth as his hands held her head close and watched her swallow it all down. "In exchange for use of your mouth we will feed you on your trip east. The man told her. But if you bite, they will have to accept you with whip strokes across your body. Understand slave?" "Yes Master" A tearful Foundling replied. Her newfound life had obviously come to an end. The man then walked off and Foundling had a chance to look around. She was in a bare wooden horse stall with walls about her shoulders high. And, although the light coming through the rough vertical boards forming the walls was growing dimmer. It appeared she was in a corner of a big old barn. Slap, Slap, Slap, Slap. The sound of a leather strap hitting exposed skin came to Foundlings ears. And muffled female cries. She grew afraid for Mavis. Those two were obviously very cruel or even sadistic, especially the female one. "Do we have time for this?" The man asked. "This bitch spat on me! We are going to make time" His very angry wife retorted. "Slap, Slap, Slap, Slap, Slap. The whipping went on and on. "Light that oil lamp over there. Just DO IT!' The sadistic female ordered. "I want to heat up this bitches tits and then she can watch as the candles set the dry straw around her feet aflame" She told her husband. "We will be half way across the next state east with our prize before they discover her body in the burnt out remains of this ancient barn" Get her ready to be dumped into the cars trunk" The old man returned to were Fondling lay bound and reaching down unfastened first her ankles, then her wrists from her ankles and pulled Foundling to her feet. He dragged her, moaning from the pain of blood flowing back into restricted limbs, to the main area of the barn. She looked up and moaned for Mavis's predicament. Mavis was suspended, spread eagle by the wrists from a double horse yoke hung by thick rope from a rafter. Her Ankles spread punishingly wide to an old wooden wagon wheel. It's weight augmented by a huge pile of hay piled on top of it. The old woman, her blouse covered in her own sweat was swinging a belt against Mavis's tits and hips. Sweet was dripping off her victim's body and numerous welts criss crossed her sun-bronzed skin. She suddenly stopped, reached up with one hand and explored Mavis's quim. "This bitch is getting off being whipped. I thought her nipples looked hard. She turned holding out three fingers covered in female juices towards her husband. This one's been trained to perform under abuse just like the little one. No wonder they were together" "Then should we take them both with us?' Her Husband inquired. "And sell them as a mother daughter sex slave team?" His wife suggested. "Works for me and our bank account" The husband replied. He dragged Foundling over to their car, parked just inside the barn doors. Lifting Foundling inside secured her wrist to ankles in a classic hog tie and stuffed her into an old canvas bag. Foundling had been transported many times under similar conditions. Chris crossing the Americas without even seeing most of it. She drifted off to sleep, but was waked sometime later by, what she hopped was an alive Mavis being similarly bound and bagged. A few minuets later she felt the car start and drive away. Foundling retreated into her old well-ingrained habits. Maybe the old life as a sex slave, if she could be with Mavis, might not be too bad. |