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Message-ID: <30338asstr$990195004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "MARK  MERSEREAU" <m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 17 May 2001 02:58:02 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} { ASSM } NEW "Abducted and Enslaved"
Date: Fri, 18 May 2001 10:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Hi all you porn fans.  Attached is the first part of a multipart story that
looks to be of novel length if it generates enough interest.

For Rey, et al.  This is again in WORD format, but the foreign words are
nearly nonexistant.  Thus far.

Mark


{ ASSM } {Mersereau} New Story "Abducted & Enslaved" ( MF Mf FF
FM Ff Fm Mdom Fdom nc voy sm bd oral toys )  (1/?)
 
The usual disclaimers: This is strictly adult material;  all
characters are fictional.  No redistribution without attribution
to the above-named author.  No commercial use whatsoever of this
story.

From: Mark Mersereau (m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net)

Subject: { ASSM } Abducted & Enslaved  [Mersereau]  MF Mf FF FM
Fm Mdom Fdom nc oral sm bd toys

CHAPTER ONE: From College to the Big Apple

Eli embarrassed her by calling her a 'wet dream come true' with
his friends, but it secretly pleased her, just the way her
sorority sisters did when they told her their boyfriends referred
to her as 'the blonde knockout with the dee cup tits.'

Sheila was fortunate during the last semester to have a rep from
a new East Coast 
publisher interview the journalism students.  He was visiting his
alma mater for a class reunion, but he made it a hybrid
business-pleasure trip by interviewing kids from her class.  So,
luckily for Sheila, hers was the only college he visited during
that trip to the midwest.
 
The offer from New York thrilled her--it seemed that her hope was
going to be fulfilled.  A hick girl from the insignificant little
town of Rantoul, Illinois was going to the Big Apple to take a
dreamy job!

Perhaps the reason for the offer from his publisher were her
grades. But (she later learned) the rep had a reputation for
being partial to attractive girls, so she wasn't sure.  Since she
was prettier and was endowed with a much better figure than any
of the other female journalism majors, those qualties could just
as likely have been his motive.  

The publishers were launching a new magazine, a tabloid version
of `60 Minutes'.  It featured in each issue at least one prime
muckraking article.  The rep probably was exaggerating when he
told her that she would 'in time, get to be an investigative
reporter'.  He probably caught her vibes about that job; to
Sheila it was the plum of the journalism profession.

Eli was crushed when she told him she'd be leaving the midwest. 
He had accepted a job in Chicago; so it didn't look like they'd
see each other much after they graduated.

If ever.  Poor Eli.  Well, he's a hunk; he'll get over me.

She felt more regretful for him than for herself.  He was a
turn-on for any girl, with his taut muscular body (the runner-up
guard on the basketball team, and he worked out hard every day).
But he wasn't the dreamboat that she would go to the ends of the
earth for.

Eli was really down that last day; so much so that Sheila tried
to contain her excitement for fear he'd feel even worse.  That
night, with her roommate Sally gone, she arranged a love-fest in
her room.  Later, after they'd dozed for a couple of hours, she
had to go pee.  When she got back in bed, she topped their last
night with a blow job.  She prolonged it, and kept him on the
edge as long as her jaws would take it.  At the end, she jerked
him off with her fist the way he liked, with her mouth wide open
and the head on her stuck-out tongue so he could watch it shoot
in.  Eli told her it was the best he'd ever had.

So, they headed in different directions, Eli in his car to the
Windy City, and she 
(he was going to drop her off at the Peoria airport before
heading north) in a 
commuter two jetter to O'Hare followed by a 747 to JFK.   

As it turned out, her position when she began was something of a
gopher, but that didn't bother her.  Being fresh out of school,
she expected to start at the bottom.  

She was thrilled with her job, with her co-workers, who were all
helpful (and awfully smart!).  Her grades in college didn't mean
beans among the people she was working with.  Even though they
knew so much more than she, no one talked down to her.

She liked the city.  The crime she'd read about wasn't as bad as
she'd feared.  She took sensible precautions:  She put a "No
Radio" sign on her old car's dashboard, was careful to
double-bolt the door to the apartment she shared with Wendy
(who'd advertised for "somebody to share the expenses"); and was
careful about where she went after dark.  

The big problem in the beginning was finances.   New York was so
expensive!   Max arranged for her to get an advance, which she
really needed.  She slapped down a huge chunk to hold the
apartment.  She had to buy clothes:  The women on the staff came
dressed to kill.  Most of them.  It seemed like a competition. 

Sheila's hours were crazy--but so were everyone's.  Typically,
unless she had a special assignment,  she worked until all the
proofreading--which boring though it was, she always left for
last--was done.  Then she went home, took a hot bath, napped, and
went out with a friend to dinner.  

As for finding those friends, pas de probl**e9**me!  Just the
first week she had guys--as well as a few of the older
women--asking her out.  And, not just from the publishing house.
Most of the staff usually ate lunch in a nearby deli with tables.
 She met one guy there.  After a month she began going to a
workout gym with two other girls on the Zine.  She met guys
there, too.  That's where she first saw Edgar.  A real hunk, but
kind of old for her; she guessed he was at least thirty.    

Dates were a case of, "who do I turn down?  And, "when do I
sleep?"
 
She'd been working for a little over a year when the big break
came.  

Max, the Editor-in-Chief, called her into his office one morning,
along with that guy she saw in the workout gym, Edgar--with an
Irish surname that she could never remember.  About all she knew
about him was that he had one of the plum jobs she was hoping
for, that of  roving reporter.   He always wore a suit or sport
jacket, which was a bit weird  at the Zine.  Despite the snazzy
women's couture, all of the men, except for him, dressed
casually.  What made him seem even more out of place was his
build, which seemed suited to a roustabout, a construction
worker, or some other manual laborer.  

He was stocky and, as she'd seen him on the Nautilus machines,
muscular, with black hair.  His features, on the other hand, were
fine.  Old Irish, they told her.  He had one of those Bostonian
accents that sounded put-on.  But, she should talk, guys in the
press room bugged her by imitating her midwestern twang.  

Max handed her a manila envelope, with a  "Look these over,
Sheila."

The contents were a bunch of photos, each one of a girl or young
woman, six in all.

"What do you make of them?"

She wondered what he intended that she should come up with after
his Holmesian query.  But, this was something big, so she did her
best.

"Well,"  she said; "They're all of women--young ones.  Two of
them I would term  'girls', uh, these two.  They look sixteen or
so.  And . . ."  She shuffled through them, "every one is very
attractive.  Are they models?"

"For high couture?"

"Oh, no!   Their figures are too good.  I mean, models for
something like Playboy, or the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit
Edition."

He smiled.  He leaned back and unrolled a cigar, but didn't light
it.

"Not bad.  Not a bad guess.

"The brunette in the . . . uh, photo number two, has modeled for
men's magazines.  She's the oldest of the six--twenty right now.
The year she was missing she was seventeen.  The others . . .the
blonde . . . "  he glanced at the folder, "in photo four, is
seventeen.  She went missing at fifteen.  Gone for two whole
years.  She, and other four--who disappeared just over a year
ago--turned up a month ago.

"None of them will say much about their experiences.  We were
still able to obtain 
some information about their disappearances.   Enough to make it
a big  story.  
Very big."  
  
"What do the police say?  They must have interviewed the girls. 
It could be 
some cult that they got into and then couldn't get out of."
  
"Yes, our city's finest talked to them, but only with the girls'
lawyers present.  The girls didn't reveal anything.  They didn't
have to.  The police think, but can't prove, that a crime was
committed.  Unless one of them reveals that they were kidnapped
forcibly or that some other  felony was committed, the police
can't do a thing.   And won't.  About all the police can do is be
pissed off at all the work they did searching for the girls when
they went missing."
  
"You think they were kidnapped?" she asked, putting the photos
back on Max's  
desk..  
  
"We think so.  But as of now each one is just a missing persons
case.  A closed one. There were no ransom notes.   We have a few
other sources, including high school and youngish college kids
who freelance articles for us when we need a story on youth. 
Through them, we got a little more information about the  girls.
The older girl, the model, came back pregnant.  She wouldn't say
anything, but two of the younger ones told our contacts that they
were taken to some island, a tropical  one, where they were used
in a sex racket.  White slavery of some modern sort." 
  
"So the girls were sexually abused."
  
"Yes, but we couldn't get details.  All of them were  compelled
to do things that they wouldn't describe.  Moreover, they're all
concerned that if they say very much, what they did will become
known.    
  
"During their time on the island, they were videotaped.   The
girls  were told before they 
were freed that any publicity  about the island would mean tapes
would be sent to their 
employers, friends, family, and so on."    

"Blackmail, of course," Edgar said.    
  
"In a manner of speaking.  They aren't compelled to provide
money, or anything 
that's usually  involved in blackmail.  If they keep silent, the
tapes won't be used.  What 
makes it  particularly difficult for the police is that no one
seems to have an idea where the 
island is.   It's probably privately owned.  Lots of islands are
owned by the wealthy.  
Brando owns one in the South Pacific.  That slave island can't be
far off, but it's 
unlikely to be in an American area of  the world.  If it isn't
our police have no 
jurisdiction."

"I still don't see why at least one of the girls didn't agree to
testify," Sheila said.  "I mean, with all the x-rated videos
shown today, couldn't you find one of those girls who would be
willing to risk having herself shown on one?  Maybe not an
underage girl, but an older one?"

Max leaned back and lit his cigar.  I detest cigar smoke.  I hope
he opens the window.

 "What the girls had to do was a good deal more than you'll  see
in most porn films.  Have you seen any Japanese Hentai videos?"

"I've never even heard of them." 

 The only porn films I've seen are those that Sally and  I went
to on Fridays at Eli's fraternity.   

"I suggest that, before you take on this assignment--if you
decide to--that you see one or two Hentai's.  You take it from
here, Ed."

"Since Max assigned this to me three weeks ago," Ed began; "I've
found a few common threads.  The parents of the two younger
ones--one is seventeen now, the other, believe it or not, isn't
even that old, having been abducted at fifteen--were willing to
talk with me.  Not their daughters.  All their daughters have
admitted to their parents is that, essentially, they were raped."
 

"Essentially?" Sheila said.  "Either they were or they weren't."

"Well, they clammed up when their parents probed for details. 
The two of them probably agreed in advance to tell their parents
that they were 'no longer virgins', and limit it to that."

 "What else did you find out?"

"Well, before I get to that, I should mention that I did get
cooperation from those parents.  They want the perpetrators found
and exposed. I didn't mention the blackmail angle to them.  I
don't think they're aware of the videos."

He reached in his jacket and handed a clipping to her.  It was a
short classified ad.  "From 
last Sunday's Daily News."

"It's a notice for an 'Open House' sponsored by SMF, 'Swimsuit
Models of the 
Future'," Sheila read; "to take place next month at an address on
Central Park West.  

"It says that girls and women, ages thirteen to nineteen,
interested in a career or part time employment in swimsuit and
lingerie modelling are invited.  Current and future positions are
available. Free refreshments.  All interviews confidential. 
Highest salaries and fees in the advertising industry  utilizing
swimsuit and lingerie models.  Current high school girls and
college women welcome.'  

"They go on to say that they provide flexibility for weekends and
after school modelling.
They give a couple of numbers to call for more information."   

She returned the clipping to Edgar.  "So, what's the connection
between this notice and the kidnapped girls?"

"The parents of both of the two girls gave me this address as the
site of a party their daughters attended about a week before they
disappeared.  I think it's too much of a coincidence that both
girls, who never met before that party, attended it.  I went to
the address and found a notice in the window stating essentially
what's in this clipping.  The place was closed, but there was an
SMF stenciled on the door."

Max said, "We checked the owner of the building and the resident
of the SMF part of the building. They're the same guy.  He's a
temporary resident, a Colombian citizen.  He travels in and out
of the country frequently."

"So,  perhaps he's connected to the kidnappings."

"That's our assumption.  Our intention is to go to that open
house."

"I see. I suppose that's where I come in.  You want me to act
like a candidate for a modelling job."

He nodded.  "Ed mentioned that you're about the only female here
that could pass for a 
model.  I agree.  This is a big thing, and it could be dangerous,
so I don't want to coerce 
you into this.  The choice is yours.  

"If you do go along, Ed will go with you. You'll  pass as husband
and wife.  I don't think 
there will be any funny stuff, but it'll be safer if he's with
you.  Now, if this turns out to be 
a hot lead, you'll have to get more involved, and that has risks.
 So, I'm asking you if you're interested.  If not, we'll find
another girl.  Ed knows some actresses, especially those who work
Off-Broadway.  There are always a few looking for work."  

"Yes, I'm interested," she said.  

And scared.

This was a big opportunity, but a frightening one.  She thought
of a million things at once.  How far should she go with the SMF
people if she got an offer?

They probably won't allow Ed to go with me to a photo session. 
What if they kidnap me then? At least those six girls are back
home.  Only one pregnancy.  I'm on the pill, but I'd better get a
patch.  I wish he'd open that window.

What should I wear to the open house?  What does a girl looking
for a job modelling 
for sexy lingerie, or in the nude for a men's magazine, wear for
an interview?

"If we crack this sex slave racket--which is what I'm assuming it
is," Max continued; 
"it should be good for a big series, maybe a half dozen issues. 
I'd put my last buck on it boosting our sales to at least double
our current circulation.  Sex sells, and this looks like sex in
neon!"

"Uh, Max," Sheila interjected (it still bothered her to call him
by his first name, but everyone called him 'Max', so it would
have been childish for her to be the only one calling him 'Mister
Stedman'), "I'll have to dress up for the open house.  I'll have
to buy something 
appropriate.  May I have an advance on my salary . . . ?"

"Shit, Sheila, you must think we're cheapies. We'll pay the whole
bill.  Don't skimp!  Not on dress, shoes, lingerie, whatever. 
But get receipts so Accounting doesn't bust our balls about it  
Except for jewelry, make that costume stuff.  I don't want it to
run into real money."

Sheila told Wendy about the opportunity to get some `free
model-interview clothes,'
hoping Wendy could help her choose.  She wasn't at all confident
in her own ability to select an outfit that New York girls would
think suitable.  

"Jesus, Sheila!" Wendy laughed; "I'll be glad to go along, but I
don't see why you think I
should know.  You're the one with the sexy bod.  I'm too skinny
to buy anything of that 
sort.  Have you seen the padding in my bras?"

"You have nice boobs," Sheila responded.  "They're really cute. 
They just aren't big."

"Big is a hell of a lot better.  At least as far as men are
concerned."

"I'll bet Al never says they're too small."

"He's polite.  He'd much rather I had ones like yours.  You
should see how he looks at yours when you aren't looking!"

They bussed to Fifth Avenue.  Neither of them saw any point in
going to a bargain 
basement with Max picking up the tab.  It turned out that they
didn't have to search
far.  Between Sax's and Bloomies, they found everything Sheila
needed.

In discussing her underwear, they decided on black.  Of a kind
she could readily get out of.  The open house might  turn into a
lingerie or swimsuit tryout with photos, necessitating changes.
 

She found a really pretty spandex seamless plunge 36D with satiny
cups and stretch lace 
that she adored on sight.

"Wow!  What cleavage!," Wendy exclaimed.  "That should get
everyone to look at you!"

"Is it too much?"

"Naah!  I just wish it was me in that outfit. Get it."

She purchased three pairs of high-cut hipster briefs that she
could wear under most 
garments, despite how revealing they were, ones which had lace
that went well with 
the bra.

Still thinking of having to change, she didn't want the bother of
pantyhose or garters, so she settled on six pairs of black
support high thigh hose.

She found a sheath that, wonder of wonders, actually fit well. 
She thought it displayed her 
figure at its best.

She rejected red.  It didn't suit her.  She considered the dark
blue, a color that contrasted nicely with her hair, but she
settled on the black as more dressy.  Wendy told her it looked
cool with the black stockings.  It had enough decolletage to give
prominant display to her cleavage.

I can wear the accompanying  jacket if air conditioning makes me
too cold.

She bought a cloth clutch purse in gold, and black pumps with
contoured three inch heels. 

When she had them all on and was turning before the mirrors,
Wendy said, "God! you're a 
knockout, Sheila.  Don't wear that to an office party--for
certain you'll get your bones jumped!"

"Well," she smiled, thinking of a certain hunk.  "I might not
mind that."

She finished with the purchase of: a weighty but simple
gold-plated choke necklace with matching bracelet.





CHAPTER  TWO:  Six Months Previously

Crane looked over the latest catch.  They'd all been processed,
and the men had been taken downstairs for storage.  Their auction
would follow the one for the women.

The six women were naked except for their blindfolds and, with
one, a pair of glasses that hung from a cord about her neck. 
Each was fastened to the wall by cuffs about her wrists and
ankles that kept her arms and legs well apart.  This haul ranged
in age from the fifteen year old . . . He glanced at his
clipboard.  Her name was Crystal Glass, the dark-haired,
brown-eyed beauty on the left--a high school freshman and
cheerleader.  She was only about five-one or five-two tall.  Her
long hair had been undone and it dangled nearly to her hips. . .
. to the twenty-three year old blonde professional model, on the
right.  

He looked again at the blonde.  Her breasts were probably dee
size.  As soon as he'd had her conditioned, he'd use them. All he
cared for in big breasts was their suitability for a tit fuck. 
She would be good for that. 

He'd developed the program nearly into a science.  It now it took
less than three days to condition even the most reluctant female.
  Some, of course, were more pliable:  those, Crane theorized,
had an innate wish to be dominated and disciplined.  It was easy
to bring the tendencies in those girls into full bloom.  In less
than a day he transformed them into slaves.  They were easily
sold.

After that blonde was conditioned,  he'd have her delivered to
his bed, naked.  By then there would be no need for handcuffs.  
She'd be prepared to do anything.  He'd have her press those full
breasts about his thrusting cock, and she would obediently await
his nod, upon which she would raise her head from the pillow and
part her lips.  Probably, like most before her, she would also
close her eyes.

He looked at the girl whose glasses hung from a cord about her
neck.  Her name . . . he glanced again at his clipboard . . .
Sarah Thompson.  Tall.  More statuesque than the other five.  
Each girl had been picked for her face and figure.  His clients,
with their wealth, could easily obtain normally attractive
females.  What they desired, and what they got, were girls whose
attributes were exceptional.  Crane required that their faces be
at the very least pretty (in fact they were often beautiful); he
insisted that their figures, which he considered of critical
importance, be voluptuous.
											
By the time Crane delivered a slave to a client, she had been
`conditioned', prepared to do whatever the buyer desired.  Of
course that was true only of girls who the client wanted to be a
`slave'.  An occasional client preferred, and therefore was sold,
an untrained `raw' captive.  Crane had mixed feelings about such
deliveries.  They saved him time and staff personnel which
otherwise had to be used for training.  On the other hand, her
delivery to the client so soon after the auction meant that
neither he nor any of his staff would have the opportunity to
amuse themselves with her beforehand.  

Crane couldn't deny that the opportunity for enjoyment with a
fresh, untrained and unwilling captive lended a certain spice
that was impossible with a slave.

The motivation of a conditioned trainee was to please.  It didn't
matter very much what the client desired.  Some had unusual
tastes, that was true even of female clients.  In fact now that
he considered it, the women clients seemed more imaginative than
the men in how they utilized a slave.

Regardless of what the slave had to do, in anticipation of
performing it, she was taught to utter, "Oh, thank you, Master. 
I so want to do that!"  

Or, some variation thereof.

Slaves who fulfilled the buyer's sexual fantasies, that was what
Crane provided.   It was for a price.  Never less than ten
thousand U.S. dollars, the initial acceptable bid.  With this new
batch, small as it was but of superior quality, he doubted that
any would go for less than double that bottom bid.

He looked again at Sarah.  He thought of her long lashes, hidden
by the blindfold.  He 
liked her hazel eyes.  Her trim and shapely figure was
particularly attractive.  She had pert, moderate-sized teats that
projected firmly from raised aroelas, little hills atop the
larger creamy ones.  Most of his clients were addicted to
big-titted girls, but his own preference, unless he had the
specific urge for a tit-fuck, was for slender girls with
average-sized breasts.  Hers--Sarah's--were probably bee size,
ample enough for her girlish figure.

His new method of selecting candidates had succeeded better than
he'd hoped, at least with this batch.  Perhaps, of the six
manacled to the wall, only Sarah would not have made a girlie
magazine centerfold.  Personally though, he considered her the
most appetizing. of all.  Her figure, less voluptuous than the
others, appealed to him because her curves, while
well-proportioned and distributed, were subtle.  

I'll buy her myself!

In theory he could abuse his manager's role and simply take her,
but that meant doctoring the books.  Also, swearing unethical men
to secrecy.  His backers would find out--sooner or later--that
he'd pocketed an inventory item worth, at the minimum, ten big
ones, US.

He enjoyed trying out stock when they arrived, but it would be
nice to have an item for a longer period.  One he could mold to
his own specifications.  Sarah's mouth looked particularly
sensuous, and he imagined her on her knees with her full warm
lips--that she'd tinted with a maroon shade he found very
sexy--encircling his cock, her head moving up and down on it,
with those long fingers and nails stroking his balls.

Yes.

Crane could afford it.   After three years he'd accumulated a
sizeable hoard of cash, in U.S. dollars.  Still a long way from
the amount that was his goal, but he saw no reason to believe
that he wouldn't keep the operation running for two or three more
years, when he would attain it.  Then he would get out.  His
backers had the foolish notion that they would enjoy their
profits from this island indefinitely.  He knew better.  Some day
the entire edifice would come crashing down.  Well, he would be
wealthy before then, and be gone. 

He looked at Sarah again.

I'll enjoy training her myself.  I hope she's not too
experienced.

At present, the girls were subdued.  The girl beside the blonde
sometimes emitted a sob, 
but disruptions in the form of yelling or screaming had ceased. 
A few light whippings, applied to sensitive parts of their
anatomy, had ended those.  No application of a cattle prod had
been necessary.  Things had gone well.

Still, I'm a bit disappointed that not even one resisted more.

The girls were ready for their first indoctrination.  None had as
yet been given a thorough whipping.  Of course that had been
because he hadn't yet ordered any of the six to do much that was
either embarrassing or disgusting.  Three had objected to
undressing while he and the guards watched.  Upon his orders the
guards had stripped them naked and whipped them.  Not hard, but
strategically.  

It hadn't hurt them much, but that was unimportant.  Chiefly, the
women had been shocked by where the guards applied the whips.  
After that they became quite submissive.

He hoped none had been sexually abused prior to arriving this
morning.  Some of the 
thugs that he found it necessary to use for the kidnappings had
even fewer compunctions than he.  He knew very well one or more
of these six could have been raped, although none had yet raised
any such charge.   He didn't care much if a rape had occurred if
it had been been oral or anal.  Either would serve as part of her
indoctrination, an early example of what she was to be used for.

A pregnant slave would be a real nuisance.   Besides the manpower
adjustments it would cause, it would cut into profits.  He hoped
that this six would bring in a sum exceeding six figures.  These
were really that good-looking.  If any had a fault, being
pregnant was the only probable one.   That would be a
mini-disaster and would mean a refund of about sixteen per cent
of his gross.  

Well, tomorrow evening, when he'd allow each of them a little
food, they'd be getting Doc's prescribed contraceptive, which
would obviate the likelihood of pregnacies during their upcoming
use here.

A girl in blue entered the room.  The collar about her neck was
gold-colored, actually made of solid brass; riveted to its
circumference dangled a series of  rings.  She carried two bags.

"I have the indoctrination stuff, Master Crane."

"So I see.  Well, the women are ready.  Cleaned, inside and out.
Get started on them, 
Nina, and give me a call as soon as you determine which one is
the most responsive.  I'll 
want her in my room tonight.  Incidently, the brunette with
glasses appeals to me.  Keep a 
record of what turns her on.  I'll probably want her as well."

"Two untrained slaves?   That's foolish!"

Crane stopped.  He stared at her, frowning.  Back-talk from blue
girls was becoming much too frequent.  After a moment, he
meticulously withdrew his prod from his belt.  

"You aren't immune from being punished yourself, Nina.  It's time
to make an example of you.  Unfortunately, you aren't the only
blue girl who has the idea that she's no longer a slave.  You
know very well that I can do with you as I please.  I can whip
you anytime.  For no reason if I want to.  By now you've given me
more than I want.  Don't think that your cute ass will be the
only target of this cat . . ." 

He touched the stranded whip that hung from his belt with the tip
of his prod.

"On second thought," he said, pointing the prod at her; "I
believe it's time for this again.  But not on your tit.  You'll
appreciate it more in your cunt."

Nina gasped.  Frightened, the terrible memory of the last jolt of
electricity returned.  It had felt like a baseball bat against
her breast.  She began to tremble.

She went to her knees before him.

"Forgive me, Master!  I wasn't thinking!   I feared that two
untrained girls could injure 
you.   I beg you, please, please don't punish me!"

"It's necessary, Nina.  Stand up, pull up your dress, and spread
your legs."

"Please, Master!  I know I deserve punishment.  Here . . !"  

Still kneeling, she grabbed the top of her dress.  Using both
hands,  she jerked it open, 
popping the top button and undoing several lower ones.  She
opened the garment wide, 
displaying her body beneath it, devoid of any underclothing.  She
thrust out her bare 
breasts.  

"Please, Master--whip my tits.  I"ll--I'll hold them for you!"
and she cupped her hands 
beneath them, holding up the pert and creamy cee cup hills for
him.

"I should use this, you deserve it."  He slapped the prod in the
palm of his hand.

She felt some hope; at least he hadn't yet acted, either by using
the prod or by drawing his 
cat from his belt.  

She looked up contritely.  

She wheedled, "May I please you, Master?  

She abruptly leaned toward him, holding out her breasts, her head
thrust forward.

"Let me suck you!  I can  please you, I know I can.  I'll suck
you for as long as you want.  I'll do it all morning!  Please,
Master--come in my mouth.   Let me drink from your prick!"

Looking up at him, she drew her tongue slowly along the  circle
she had formed with her lips.

Crane was obliged to smile.

"Christ, Nina--What a turn on you are!" 

He shrugged.  "Ah, well.   I'll forget this little infraction. 
For now.  But, any more backtalk . . . "  He waved the prod; "and
you'll feel this in your cunt."

He slipped it back in his belt.

"No more shit, Nina.  Get to work.  Juice up this group and
report back to me."

He walked out.

Nina rose, breathing a sigh of relief.  She buttoned herself up.
The six prisoners had become remarkably quiet.  Not even a
sniffle from them.  

That little to-do I had with Crane scared them.  Good.  Makes my
job easier.  Not that it really matters if they're scared dumb or
scream their heads off.  Every one, quiet or loud, will soon be a
sex toy.

She brought the shopping bags to the table before the row of
girls and dumped the 
contents on it.  She took six plastic phallus-shaped vibrators
and inserted them in the dildo 
openings in six harnesses.

She carried one of the combinations to the girl on the extreme
left and positioned the 
vibrator vertically between the girl's spread legs.  She probed
the conveniently exposed 
vaginal vestibule with the plastic tip to assure herself that the
orifice was well lubricated 
and then, ignoring the girl's high-pitched  "What are you doing?!
Don't!  Please!" shoved it up, burying it in the girl's vagina. 

She fastened the harness about the girl, the waist strap around
the girl's hips.  A strong cord with strategically positioned
knots replaced the central crotch strap.  Nina 
looped this snugly between the girl's inner labia, assuring
herself that the two large adjacent knots straddled the girl's
clit, indenting the flesh just before and after it.  She jerked
the cord up between the girl's buttocks and hooked it tightly to
the waist strap.

Taking the butt plugs, Nina pulled the girl's hips away from the
wall far enough to get 
behind her.  She knelt, a plug between her teeth, pointed end
out.  She firmly grasped and 
spread the girl's buttocks, pulling aside the cord with a finger
enough to expose the girl's 
puckered anal orifice.  Wiggling her head from side to side, Nina
worked the plug in.   

"Oh god!" the girl exclaimed; "Stop!  Please!"
  
Nina ignored her cries.  And the subsequent ones.

When the last plug was firmly in the last girl's--the
blonde's--ass, Nina emitted a sigh of relief  Whoever the blue
girl had been that had prepared these, all six of the girls'
rears had been well-filled with petroleum jelly.  The difficult
part was over. Protests from the attractive prisoners had been
minimal.  She supposed they realized by now that however they
objected, preparing them for training--or, 'abuse' as they
probably perceived it--would continue.   

She returned to retrieve the butterfly vibrators and oval cups. 
Modified by male slaves in the machine shop, cords like those of
the harnesses but without knots replaced the vibrators' cunt
straps.  

The front and rear of each oval cup held an elastic cord that
terminated in a blunt hook for attachment to the harness belt.

Nina knelt in turn before each girl's spread thighs.  She
fastened a butterfly vibrator over a 
girl's clit.  "What are you doing!" came from the girl, Sarah. 
Nina looked up at the brunette's blindfolded countenance and
said, "You'll soon find out, and you'll  like it.  Now shut up! 
And, that goes for the rest of you, too."

She repeated the performance for the shop-modified cups,
fastening each so it enclosed the girl's furry labia as well as
the butterfly vibe.  She then pull-tested the cords to be sure
the cups were snug, its edges digging into the girl's soft flesh
in an oval about her pudenda.  Then she pulled and hooked each
cord onto the waist strap.

During storage the chains to keep the nipple vibes connected had
somehown become tangled into an irregular metal ball, and she had
to waste time undoing them.   When each chain and pair of clamps
had been separated and laid out, she clamped a nipple vibe onto
each breast, carefully tightening the screw until the girl's
nipple was squashed to half its normal thickness and the metal
serrated fingers of each device gripped the delicate flesh
tightly.  This induced some "Ow!"s and "Please!  Oh please
don't!"  and "Oh please, it hurts!"  It amused her.

She had heard it all before. The clamps were bearable, having
endured them herself.  She 
continued until, from each pair of attractive breasts projected a
pair of  nipple clip vibrators connected by a fine mesh chain. 
In the case of the blonde with the dee size tits and the buxom
black-haired oriental-looking beauty next to Sarah, with ones 
nearly as large, the chains were too short.  Their tautness
causing the victims' full breasts to squash together.  

Standing back, she smiled.  The effect on the girls' ample
breasts was to produce deep cleavages between them.  No doubt,
with those two girls, the trainers would attach their dog leashes
to the chains instead of  to the usual collars, well aware that
pulled nipples are very persuasive.
 
She withdrew her stopwatch from a pocket and set it face up on
the table.  Moving quickly from one girl to the next, she started
the vibrators, ignoring the `Oh!'s and `Jesus 
Christ!'s and other protests from the bound prisoners, until the
devices were all buzzing away.  Except for the butterflies, that
were set on low, all were on their highest power.

Nina clicked the watch.  She set her pad and pen on the table
beside it, drew a short 
leather whip from a bag and walked around the table to sit and
watch.  She decided to check after five minutes, just in case one
was an easy turn-on.  Crane 
would be pissed if she allowed even one to have an orgasm.

Jesus!  This slim girl that Crane is interested in is getting
turned on fast!  

Nina put a hand on the velvety muff, felt under the cup with her
forefinger.  

Wow!  what a hard clit!  

To be safe, she swung the cat, twice, whacking Sarah hard on the
inside of each spread 
thigh, as far up as she was able while keeping below the cup. 
From experience she was enhanced its sting by applying a last
moment up-down flick of her hand just as the knotted ends of the
whip met the smooth white skin.

Sarah emitted a loud, "Ow!  That hurt!

"What did I do?!" the girl blurted, bursting into tears.  She
twisted in the restraints as though to get her thighs away from
the blows.  It was futile, since Nina had already turned, to
check the next girl.

"You were about to come!" Nina replied.  

She looked from one to the other.  "None of you is going to have
an orgasm. If I catch any of you having one, you'll regret it. 
The whipping I gave Sarah is nothing compared to what you'll
get!"

The buxom raven-haired girl who she was now standing before
asked, "B-But, this--these things you put on me. . . .  I don't
know if I can take this.  for long . . .  without . . . without
coming.  Why are you doing this?!"

"I'm not supposed to tell you."  

She hesitated.  "Well, I don't think it's a big deal to tell you,
even if I shouldn't.  But, don't tell anyone I told you.  You'll
catch hell from me if I find out you told.  The reason for these
vibrators . . . "

"Oh my God!" big-tits on the right exclaimed.  "I'm afraid I'm .
. . I'm . .. !"

"Christ!" Nina exclaimed.  "Two hot bitches!"  

She ran to the right and, just as the blonde opened her mouth to
emit an "Aah . . .", she flicked the cat upward, striking the
blonde's thighs, repeatedly, first on one side of the cup, then
the other.  "Ow!  Please!  please stop!"  the girl cried.   She
began sobbing. 

Nina ignored her.  She was unable to swing her arm far enought to
provide a really satisfying whipping.  Not if she wanted to
strike her target, the sensitive part of the blonde's thighs
close to her cunt.

She swung the cat, continuing until she reached a dozen blows. 
Pulling down on the cup, she worked her hand under the girl's
muff.  With her forefinger she found that the girl's swollen clit
had shrunk back under its hood.

"Good!" she exclaimed, relieved.  

She proceeded to the next girl.  

I'd better play it safe.

She pulled down the cup and reached with her forefinger under the
butterfly.  The girl's clit was swollen, but not too hard.   She
gave it a wiggle which, to her satisfaction, induced  an
involuntary jerk of the hips and an "Ooh!" from the girl.

 Feeling devilish and smiling, she went on to the next..

* * *			

CHAPTER THREE:	Pickup and Delivery


The open house was a busy affair, and Sheila was surprised by the
profusion of attractive 
girls and women about them.   There were also several men who
were accompanying women, so Ed's presence wasn't unusual; besides
them, there were a few parents who chaperoned younger girls.   A
long table held a buffet of snacks and beverages, including wine
for those who passed carding. 

Two women and a man,  the latter apparently the manager of the
branch of SMF in New York City, were seated at tables,
interviewing the potential models.  Sheila, followed by her
friends, went to a table across from one of the women.  

"Hello, I'm Hazel," the woman said, smiling at each of them as
Sheila sat down. "You of course are the candidate.  Well, first
of all, let's get some information about you."

Sheila gave Hazel her name and the details she wanted.  She
introduced Ed as her husband and Wendy as her friend.  Hazel
questioned her about any modelling experience she'd had, why she
was interested in it, and did she hope for it as a career.  All
her questions seemed pertinent to a candidate for a career in
modelling.

Sheila began to have doubts about SMF being the criminal front
that Max was
sure it was.  Hazel was knowledgeable about modelling and even
raised negative points about it as a career--mentioning the
extensive travelling and long hours.  

When Hazel had most of the information she wanted,  the manager,
a Se**f1**or Hernandez, came over and said, "Hazel, our
photographer is available now if you want to use him."  

He handed the woman a note, which she glanced at and then
crumpled and dropped in a waste basket.  She looked up at Edward
and Wendy.  "Well, we would like to avail ourselves of a series
of promotional shots of Sheila since we have our photographer
here.  All right?"  

She stood up.  Sheila acquiesced in following her through a rear
door, leaving Ed and 
Wendy alone with Hernandez, with whom they engaged in small talk
about modelling.  
Wendy later told her that he, too, seemed quite informed about
modelling as a career.

Sheila found herself in a well-lit room provided with two large
mirrors on adjacent walls.  The photographer was a man in his
mid-thirties in shirt sleeves, with thick glasses.  Lights 
and a large tripod-mounted camera stood along the door wall.  In
a corner was a screen.  

"This is Charlie, Sheila," Hazel told her.

"Hi, Sheila!" he smiled at her, adjusting his tripod.

"We'll take a few shots of you dressed, a half dozen or so in
your underwear and a few 
nude.  You can take your clothes off behind the screen.  There
are hangers against the 
wall."

Although Sheila felt a little miffed that he hadn't asked her if
it "was O.K." to take
photographs of her nude, it didn't seem worth making a fuss
about, especially if she was going to pose for lingerie and
swimsuiits, which often hid very little anyway.

He did as he'd promised, and it actually wasn't embarrassing. 
Hazel left, and Charlie 
seemed only intent on posing her to her best advantage.  He did
remark, "Oh, nice taste in 
undies!" when she appeared in her bra, panties, stockings, and
shoes, but that was all.  
Actually, seeing herself naked in the two mirrors was more
disconcerting than 
when he was photographing her.

After she had dressed and met Hernandez in the reception room, he
told her that she'd 
hear from him or one of the women within the week.  "You
understand, we have to go 
over all the candidates' qualifications, availability, and their
photo proofs before we make 
any decisions.  If we make you an offer, you'll have to come in
and we'll take more shots, but at that time we'll provide
lingerie and swimsuits."

Three days later, there was a message on her machine: "Sheila,
this is Raoul Hernandez.  
Congratulations!  You are one of our candidates.  We would like
you to come in on 
Friday at five o'clock for more photographs.  Wear anything
comfortable and easily 
changed.  If you can visit a hairdresser's prior to then, it
would be advantageous but not 
actually necessary.  Our limo will pick you up then (at five
sharp--please don't keep the 
driver waiting)."

Sheila's anxiety about the Friday appointment was greatly
relieved when Ed told her he'd 
accompany her.  Wendy offered to go as well.  Sheila felt that
there had to be safety in numbers.  Max made a few preparations
involving her purse and shoes, "Just in case," as he put it.

She decided to go along with Hernandez's suggestions, and she had
her hair done the day 
before the limo came.  As for her dress, she wore a skirt and
pullover sweater, with socks 
rather than stockings.  She carried her necklace and bracelet in
her purse.

The limo driver, alone in the vehicle, was surprised when three
of them climbed in the 
back seat as he held the door open.  

"I thought only Sheila was to come," he said, but he didn't
object strenuously.  He said 
nothing more, but used his cell phone as they rode into the city.
 The glass partition 
between the front and rear seats prevented them from hearing any
of what he said to
whomever he'd called.

The driver took them north, nearly to the end of central park,
where it turned right into a garage that occupied the basement of
a large apartment building.  The driver parked close to an
interior doorway.  As he did, two men wielding pistols emerged
and opened the doors on each side of the three passengers.

"Not a peep out of any of you!"  one told them. He handed their
chauffeur a shopping bag, 
from which the driver extracted hoods and lengths of rope.  
While the two weaponed men stood guard, he tied Ed's, Sheila's,
and Wendy's hands behind their backs and slipped  the hoods over
their heads, knotting draw strings about their throats. 

They were led into the building, up an elevator, and down what
seemed like a hall.  They were stopped briefly, during which they
heard the sound of a door being unlocked.  They entered a room
and were ordered to sit on the floor, against a wall.  They sat
on the thick carpet, waiting for some hours.  Although they were
forbidden to speak, Ed eventually said, "I need to use atoilet."

Atter he returned from the bathroom, the rest of them pleaded
similar needs.  When it was 
Sheila's turn, a man gripped her arm and led her into the
bathroom.  He unceremoniously 
ran his hands up under her skirt and pulled down her thong
briefs.  He backed her onto the 
toilet.   "Do your business Blondie," he told her and,
suppressing her embarrassment, she complied. 

CHAPTER FOUR: Shipping to the Port, and Inspection

It was dark by the time they were led back down to the garage. 
The three prisoners were unceremoniously shoved into the rear of
a truck and made to lie down on its cold metal floor.   Something
that felt like canvas was thrown over them. 

After twenty minutes or so, another group of prisoners, including
at least two new girls--Sheila could hear their sobs--were shoved
onto the truck. Their guard, who lay down with them but closer to
the hatch, ordered them to remain quiet.  Shortly afterwards the
vehicle started up and left the garage.  Their ride was bumpy and
bruising, as well as long--lasting more than two hours.  They
could have been driven almost anywhere but, judging from the
sounds of waves and odor of the sea, they knew they were near a
large body of water.

"Probably the Atlantic," Ed whispered as they were led  in the
dark from where they had parked to a building that sounded closer
to the water.

They entered the ground floor where their hoods  were removed. 
Five armed men were in the room.  Besides their captors,  Ed and
the two girls found themselves in the company of six other
occupants, captives like themselves.  Two couples were of college
age.  Seated in chairs against a wall were a young married
couple.  They had been  abducted the previous night and had been
held in the building all day. 
  
They waited for about an  hour, when two more girls were brought
in.  These were followed by three more girls.  Finally, after
about two hours in all, two teenage couples, who had been at a
dance and had accepted an older couple's offer of a ride home,
were herded in.  Edgar counted eighteen captives, including
twelve young women and girls, and six males, two being teenaged
boys. 
  
At that point, one of the guards, a blonde man who sounded,
Sheila thought, more educated than the others, told them, "Each
of you will proceed, one at a time, into the next room.  My
friends in there will tell you  what to do.  Don't ask any
questions, either of me or of them."  He turned to Sheila and
told her, "You seem to be the oldest female.  I want you to go
first."
  
A guard grasped her arm, opened the door, and pushed her
unceremoniously into the next  room, closing the door behindher.
  
The room in which she found herself was essentially bare, except
for a long wooden bench 
against the far wall.  Another door, on the right and ajar,
opened into a bathroom, while 
there was a closed door on the left.  Suitcases were stacked
against a side  wall.  Over the 
bench she saw a rectangle of  heavy plywood covering a window.

A tanned man of about forty, with slightly graying black hair and
a neat mustache,  seemed in charge and was accompanied by two
much younger men..  He handed her a marking pen.  

"Bring one of those suitcases here and print  your name legibly
on its outside.  Then, open 
it and undress.  Put your clothes in it."  
  
Sheila's mouth felt dry.  "How much of my clothes?"  
  
The younger of the other two men, a well-built man wearing jeans,
a tee shirt, and  
sporting a crew-cut grinned at her. "We want you bare-ass naked."
 
  
She blushed.   Not looking at Crew-Cut, she asked the older man
if she could undress in  
the bathroom.  He shook his head.  "Undress in front of them.  I
realize it's embarrassing 
for you, but you'll soon get accustomed to being naked in front
of men."
  
Sheila nervously undid her buttons.   Besides her personal
concerns, she was afraid  they 
would examine her purse and her shoes, the heels of which
contained the two parts of a 
homing radio transmitter.  Her purse, its fastener containing a
tiny camera, was no longer in her possession, having been taken
from her the moment they'd exited the limo in the underground
garage.

However, it was soon evident that at least the younger men were
interested only in
watching her undress.   They ignored her shoes as she removed her
sweater and skirt, her 
shoes and socks.  
  
She removed her underwire bra and dropped it on the pile of other
clothing. 

Crew Cut  exclaimed, "Nice tits!"  He wet his lips, staring.  
Avoiding his eyes, she 
couldn't help noticing the bulge in his jeans.
  
She rolled down her thongs but, as she tried to retrieve them
from one foot, Crew Cut 
suddenly reached out and grasped her breasts.  His fingers found
her nipples and began kneading them in his fingers.   Sheila
gasped but was afraid to say anything.
  
Unable to reach the thong, which lay in a ring about an ankle,
she kicked it off.
  
"Jesus!  what a body!" he exclaimed.  "How about it Al?"  
  
The third man, thirtyish, with a slight paunch and thinnish blond
hair smiled.  "Yeah.
Shit!  She must be a model or something.  Her bod's giving me a
hard-on.  
  
"You're just gettin one?!" Crew Cut laughed.  "Look!" 
															
Releasing her breasts, he unzipped his pants.  His cock thrust
out and bobbed in the air.
  
"See this?" he grinned, holding it, pointed at her..

"I've seen them before," she replied, hoping he didn't detect the
quaver in her voice.
  
"Hey Ken!" the older man said.  "No fucking around.  We'll catch
hell if the boss finds  
us screwing any of the catch."
  
Crew Cut--or Ken, now that she knew his name--ignored the
warning.  He reached up 
with both hands.  He again gripped her nipples, this time so hard
that it hurt.  She 
cried, "Oh!"  She hoped the older man would stop Ken.  But he
said nothing, just watched.
  
"Hold her Al," Ken said.    
  
Hands gripped her hips. Al pulled down, hard.  Sheila cried out
again.  Perforce, she  crouched, her torso bent forward.

"On your knees, Baby!" he ordered.  
  
He pulled downward until the girl, to avoid falling as well as
from the pain, complied, hurting her knees when they struck the
wooden floor.  Unable to keep her balance, she nearly fell, but
the hands behind her moved up to her waist, and supported her. 
When she was on her knees, Ken grasped a clump of her hair like a
rope, holding it so close to her scalp that she was unable to
move her head.

Gripping his cock in his other hand, he pressed it to her face,
then slid it down to force it against her lips, pressing them
until they hurt.  The pain induced her to part them, but she kept
her teeth closed.
  
"Open your teeth Baby," he told her.  "I'm gonna give you a
snack."  
  
She was frightened, her heart beating fiercely.  What would he do
if she didn't obey?  
 
He released his hand from his shaft, only to put it about her
throat.  His thumb pressed against it and she couldn't breathe.

"Open up!" he repeated.

She parted her teeth, and he thrust his organ into her mouth,
sliding it over the length of her tongue and down.  She gagged,
and her eyes filled with tears.

She hardly noticed when his hand released her hair, and slipped
behind her head,

I can't believe this is happening.   It can't be.

The older man, approached.  Sheila couldn't see his face, but
heard his loud whisper, "Ken--you fucking idiot!  Mike is gonna
wonder why it's taking us so long!   That's enough--cut it out!"

"Wait a minute.  This won't take . . ."
 
"I said, `That's enough!'"  Hands pulled Ken away from her.

"Fuck 'em!" Ken replied, his hand holding his cock.  This job
gets me horny.  So what if I give her a little juice?  Nobody's
gonna believe anything this cunt says."
  
Sheila was sobbing, tears running down her cheeks.

"Come on, you two--get with it,"  the older man said.  "Start
searching her.  If that gets  
you horny, jerk off."  
  
He took two tubes from a bag; handed one to each of them.  He
grasped Sheila's arm and 
helped her up.  
  
Ken held up the tube, showing it to her.  "K-Y jelly," he said
with a smirk.   
  
The man behind her grasped her buttocks, spreading them.  She
felt fingers enter 
her anus--one, then two, and finally a third.  
  
Ken, in front of her, laughed. "My turn now.  Spread your legs
Baby!"  
  
Trembling, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she
complied.  She tried not to cringe, tried to ignore the fingers
in her rectum.  
  
Ken reached between her thighs, grasped her labia, and roughly
pulled them apart.  He 
began  probing her vagina.  Sheila's heart pounded, as the men
moved their fingers around 
in both  orifices.    
   
Ken flicked her nipples with his free hand.  After a while he
moved the hand to his cock  
and began pumping it; at the same time he changed his probing and
instead began shoving  
his fingers in and out of her vagina.  

Max was right.  Those poor teenage girls; what will this be like
for them?

"Haven't you done enough?," she  finally exclaimed.  "You know I
don't have anything hidden!"  
  
The two men laughed.  

"She's right, you two," the older man agreed.  "Al, take her into
the dressing room.  Don't fuck her.  That's an order!"

Al grasped her arm and led her to the door into the next room.

As they entered, she heard the older man behind her.  "I'm
staying here with you, Ken.  You're fucking lucky that Mike
didn't barge in and catch you."  
 
Al closed the door behind them.
 
The next room was nearly as bare as the one they had just left. 
Instead of a bench, the far wall  held about a dozen wooden
chairs.  In the center of the bare floor were two tables, both
loaded with garments.
  
"These are the women's," Al informed her, indicating the closer
table.  "Find ones that fit and put `em on."

He took a magazine that lay on a chair, seated himself, and began
flipping the pages.  He occasionally glanced at Sheila.  

"Don't bother looking through them like that.  Except for size,
they're all the same."  
  
The women's garments were halters or something like halters,
skirts, and soft pumps or slippers, all of them black.  Except
for the slippers, which she thought were velvet, all the garments
were sheer, either of silk or nylon.  She took three of the
skirts, and found one that was a decent fit.  It was very  short,
and when on and fastened, its hem reached barely low enough to
conceal her buttocks and pudenda.

It seemed appropriate for a  Victoria's Secret nighty--or a
stripteaser's garment.  Had the color been white or pink it would
have hid nothing.  Although it was black, the light from the
single bare light bulb in the ceiling was still sufficient to
reveal that she  was naked beneath it. 

Outdoors the slightest breeze is going to raise this.

When she bent over; the skirt crept so high that she was sure
anyone behind her would have a full view of her labia.

The blouse was a loose halter.  Of the same material as the
skirt, it was open below, draping over the breasts without
providing any support.  Despite its tendency to cling, any steps
or other motions that caused her breasts to bob made it creep up.
 If she wasn't constantly alert to pull the garment down, it rose
and revealed her nipples.

It seemed a long wait before the next prisoner, one of the
youngest girls, a brunette with ebon-black hair and a beautiful
figure, entered the room.  As naked as Sheila had been, she was
shaking and sobbing, her face in her hands.

Sheila rose and comforted her.  She put her arms about the girl
and held her.  "There, there . . ." she said.  "What's your name,
dear?  Here, I'll help you get some clothes."

"R-Robyn," the girl said, wiping her eyes.  I-I'm so scared! 
Y-You can't imagine w-what a man in there d-did to me."

"I know, dear.  Well, now you're with friends.  We'll help you. 
Let's find you 
some clothes."

Al, watched but said nothing.    

The next girl, the blonde of seventeen or so entered, also in
tears.

Wendy turned out to be the last of the twelve females.  She
looked at the seated girls.   "I see we aren't gonna be
overdressed," she cracked.   She pointed at the tables.  "Is that
where you got those so-called clothes?"

Sheila was relieved that her friend appeared more self-possessed
than the previous girls.  

Thank god Wendy is so cool.  I need some support myself.

It was a  long wait before the first man appeared.  By then
Sheila was exhausted.  She was 
dozing in her chair when Edgar entered.
.  
The men's clothing consisted of slippers like the women's,
leather loincloths attached in front by nylon cords about the
waist.  Nothing covered the rear.  When Edgar was dressed, it
concealed very little, hiding his penis only if he stood
motionless or happened to be seated.  From the rear, nothing was
hidden.

Jerry and his wife Anne had been abducted much as Sheila and her
friends had been.  Anne
worked as a model but, out of curiosity about SMF, had gone to
one of their parties, thinking that, as a new agency, it might
want experienced models and pay them at a higher scale than her
own agency.

Jerry's cock was the largest Sheila had ever seen.  Despite their
frightening situation,  Sheila found herself unconsciously
glancing at the men as they entered, in the way she'd done with
her grade school friends as,  slyly and giggling, they'd sneaked
looks at the classical Greek and Roman statues during class
visits to museums.  

Edgar's was substantial, although nothing like that of Anne's
husband Jerry.  She wasn't sure if any of her boyfriends' had
equalled it in size, but she was certain none could have compared
with Jerry's.  She wondered about its  size when erect.  What
made it more tantalizing, she would probably never find out.  

Now that I think about it, though, all my boyfriends got hard-ons
real easy.  With twelve beautiful and practically naked girls
here, maybe I'll find out.	

END OF PART ONE

Note to Readers:  This is a trial balloon; like other writers, I
write for readership.  Please let me know if you like this first
section.  I'll continue writing this, which could turn out to be
of novel length, only if I generate much more interest than I did
with "The Counterfeiters".  It was a dud:  Chapter One, three
responses.  Chapter Two, none.


m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net		



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