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Message-ID: <34865asstr$1011568205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "MARK  MERSEREAU" <m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 17:31:16 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} REPOST: Abducted and Enslaved Part 1
Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 18:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Hi, Moderator:

See the attached.

Mark







{ ASSM } {Mersereau} REPOST "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.  Events in this story are unethical,
immoral, and illegal.  Readers should understand that the story
is strictly fiction and many of the events and characters in it
have no place in a civilized society.  No redistribution without
attribution to the above-named author.  No commercial use
whatsoever of this story.

N.B. The author wrote this in MSWord and in that form contains
pagination and formatting to indicate of internal dialogue and
emphasis.  For those readers interested in obtaining this
original version, please contact the author at
mdotmersereau@aol.com. Please indicate whether you can unzip
compressed files with the .zip and or .exe extensions (the latter
not feasible with Apples).

A&E-Part 1 (Chapters 1-4)  Pages 1-25

From: Mark Mersereau (mdotmersereau@aol.com)

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 D 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 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 Hballs 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 lent 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 B 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 five 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 that 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 C 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 orifie.  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
somehow 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 D size tits and the buxom black-haired oriental-looking
beauty next to Sarah who had ones nearly as large, the chains
were too short.  Their tautness caused the victims' full breasts
to squash together. 

Standing back, she smiled.  The effect on the two amply-endowed
girls' 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 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 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 Edgar
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 behind her.   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 thong but, as she tried to retrieve
it 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.  Ken pulled her nipples down, hard.  Sheila
cried out again.  Perforce, she crouched with 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. 
She hurt her knees when they struck the wooden floor.  Unable to
keep her balance, she nearly fell on her face, but the hands
behind her moved up to her waist and supported her.  While she
was on her knees, Ken grasped a clump of her hair like a rope. 
He held 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 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 strip
teaser'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.  


To be continued . . .

The Author would appreciate feedback from Readers, especially:
What you'd like to see in future chapters (perversions, abuse,
body modification, or anything else.) What you liked. What you
disliked. Whatever you feel like suggesting. Anything I haven't
thought of.

Email the author at: mdotmersereau@aol.com




1


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