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Subject: KLITZMAN - a free Paul Blades bdsm/bondage novel complete
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===================

Paul Blades is a superb writer of e-novels of erotic domination - here
is a complete book for free to prove it. You will find his library at
http://www.bdsmbooks.com/libraryblades/blades.htm if you want more.

THE KLITZMAN STORIES
VOLUME I
THE EDUCATION OF HARRY WIGGINS
and
THE FRENCH GIRL







CHAPTER ONE

THE FRENCH GIRL
A beautiful, pale skinned, slender young woman is lying unconscious on
a round carpeted dais in the middle of a large, dimly lit room. A
light shines directly above her, spotlighting her recumbent form. But
for leather bracelets around her ankles and wrists and a steel collar
around her throat, she is naked. She has long shapely legs, delicate
round hips. Her hair is long, straight and black. She is slumped over
on her side, her legs scissored, the right over the left. A dark patch
of hair peeks from between her thighs. The plush lips of her sex can
just be seen through the abundant thatch.
	Standing in a broad semi-circle around the young girl are three men.
The man in the middle is a heavy set, well-muscled black man. He is
tall, standing about 6'4".  His hair is close cropped. His face is
broad, thick lips, a large flat nose. He is wearing a reddish brown
robe of light cotton with dark red piping. It wraps around his middle,
tied by a yellow cord. The robe descends to just below his knees,
which are bare, along with the rest of his legs and feet. The robe has
short half sleeves, which flare out.
Standing on either side of him are two similarly outfitted men. The
one on the right is Caucasian, perhaps Latino. His hair is brown, and
is drawn into a short ponytail. His face sports several days of
growth, probably designed to hide the four-inch long scar along his
right cheek, as it partially does. He is not as tall as the man in the
middle, standing about 5'11"
The man on the left is slender and tall, almost 6'2". His slightness
of build hides a tightly compacted frame. The muscles on his arms are
well toned. As he stands, his poise and natural grace are apparent.
His hair is blond, cut almost to the scalp. He has no facial hair.
The men look admiringly on the supine form of the girl. Their visages
bespeak a firm sense of purpose. A feint odor of burning coals fills
the room.
As the girl begins to stir, the black man signals to the man on his
right. Nodding, the Latino steps up to the dais. A slender chain
descends from the ceiling. He quickly clasps the girl's wrists to the
chain and steps away. The tall, blond man has stepped over to the wall
and started a winch that will pull the chain upwards. He stops the
machine just as the girl's hands rise slightly above her body.
A groan emanates from the shapely young prisoner. Her eyes blink open.
She is still groggy and takes a few moments to absorb the strange
scene. She is unsure whether what she is seeing is real or a terrible
dream. Suddenly she realizes that what she is seeing and feeling is
not a dream. She is naked, her wrists are chained. Three brooding men
are standing over her, watching.
There is a moment when the girl is so surprised at her surroundings
that she stares blankly at the men. She moves to join her legs
together and cover her breasts with her hands. Recovering from the
initial shock, she speaks. She is speaking French. The men don't speak
French but the gist of what she is saying is not lost on them.
Certainly she is expressing her fear and shock at her unexpected
surroundings. Yesterday, she had been at a cocktail party. She had
worn her black, strapless dress and matching high heels. She had been
told that it would be an exclusive party. She knew no one there except
the young Italian boy who had brought her. She had a drink. She felt
dizzy. He had led her to a bedroom. She had lain down. And now this.
The black man, obviously in charge, motions the tall man to raise the
chain. The tall man restarts the winch, which begins to pull the
girl's arms up over her head. Seeing her hands rising, the girl
frantically tries to pull back on the chain. But the chain is strong
and the winch that is winding it is sturdy, able to withstand the
strongest paroxysms of fear and desperation that a young female can
exert.
The rising chain forces the girl first to her knees and then to her
feet. She continues to fight its inexorable rise, but to no avail. She
is speaking loudly, panic in her voice. Her eyes dart about the dimly
lit room. The poor lighting hides its full contents from her. The
spotlight that shines down on her further obscures her view. Dimly, in
the background, she can vaguely make out a large, obesely fat man
sitting in a brown leather armchair. He is smoking a cigar. His face
is hidden.
The thin man rejoins the others when the still struggling girl has
been pulled to her full height, her toes barely reaching the floor.
Two of the men step forward. The lithe young woman tries to shie away
from them. As they reach for her ankles she tries to kick at them, to
push them away. But the men are practiced and they easily imprison her
ankles in their hands. Besides, with her body extended so, her toes
just able to scrape along the carpeted surface of the dais, she is
unable to obtain any purchase to add force to her flailing legs. The
men quickly pull her ankles apart and affix them to chains on the
sides of the dais. She is now fully suspended, her body forming an
inverted 'y'. When they are done, the two men step back and observe
the now helpless form of the frail but well shaped female before them.
The men now can more fully take in her splendorous features. Her face
is long and narrow, with a delicate, slightly upturned nose. The lines
of her jaw are graceful and her eyes, somewhat wide apart, are a
luxurious green. The breasts, while small, stand out firmly from her
body, topped by long, dark, thick nipples. Her belly is taut, her hips
curvaceous. The muscles of the legs, which strain to fight their
confinement, are thin but well toned. The hairy bush at the center of
the girl's legs does not hide the now wide open cunt. Although young,
barely 19, the girl has no baby fat around her waist. Someone has made
an excellent choice.
The man in the middle, the heavy set black man, now moves forward to
the girl, stepping up on the dais. He runs his hand down her naked
hip, feeling the soft and supple skin. He stares into her eyes as he
fondles her breasts with both hands. The girl has stopped her futile
struggle and is silent. This man frightens her. He has the look of a
brutal, ruthless man, one who would enjoy hurting her. But he must
also have the answer to why she is here, how she got here, what is to
become of her. He does, but he says nothing to her.
The Latino steps up and hands the black man a tasseled whip. The girl
sees it and, knowing that it is for her, renews her pleas. The words
mean nothing to the black man. Although he cannot understand them he
knows what is being said because he has heard it many times before in
many languages. He rubs the whip tantalizingly along the girl's
breasts, her stomach and thighs.
Her words are now understandable since they are almost universal. "No!
No! No!" she cries. She sees that she is about to be whipped. She does
not know why, but she hopes that her pleas can dissuade this menacing
madman from inflicting harm on her. But the man will not be deterred.
He stands back, leaving ample room to swing the whip and exert the
strength of his thickly muscled arm.
"Whack!" The whip strikes the girl across her stomach. It leaves angry
red welts. The girl gasps. Before she has the chance to scream,
another blow descends.  This one strikes the inside of her right
thigh. The strands of the whip reach almost fully around her leg,
leaving a semicircular trail. She now has time to react and utters a
high pitched squeal, almost a screech. A third blow strikes her
breasts, which causes the girl to scream in pain.
The man is insensitive to her wailing complaints as he continues his
pummeling of her flesh. He strikes the inner portion of the left
thigh, the stomach and breasts again. He is moving around her as he
swings the whip. The two other men are standing back, enjoying the
spectacle.  A blow to the girl's cunt increases the pitch of her
complaints dramatically. The man moves to her back and repeats his
exertions there. The girl is crying now, her sobs interspersed with
wails and screams as each blow falls.
Finally, the whipping is done. Her body is crisscrossed with the
evidence of her suffering. The black man hands off the whip to the
Latino and nods to the tall blonde man. He quietly steps over to the
shadows and returns with a rod of iron. He holds it with heavy gloves.
Its tip is a fiery red. It is a branding iron. The Latino returns and
releases the ankles of the still sobbing girl. She does not see the
branding iron behind her and has no idea what new cruelty is in store
for her. She expects to be raped, and she will be shortly. But she
cannot conceive of being branded. She does not know that she has
become property. And property must be marked.
The Latino approaches the girl and presses his body against hers. His
chest mashes her small tits against her body. She can feel his stiff
member beneath his robe, smell the man's sweat. But this is not yet
part of the sexual assault that she is soon to experience. This is
something else.
Locking his legs around the girl, the Latino holds her tight. She is
immobilized; her ass juts out as the Latino presses his loins against
hers. The tall man acts immediately as he sees the young woman secure
and perfectly poised. With a sure hand, he pushes the red end of the
rod against the girl's skin, near the top of the right buttock. The
girl stiffens and screams at the unanticipated, excruciating pain. The
brand is held there for three seconds and then removed. It has left a
deep gouge in the girl's flesh. She has fainted.
The black man takes a small dollop of ointment, tinged in red. He rubs
it across the fiery wound. The ointment will disinfect and promote the
healing of the blistered flesh. The dye will seep into the raw skin
and color it. He steps back. The girl is limp in her chains, muttering
some prayer or plea, lowly. The Latino joins the others behind her. As
they pull off their robes, in preparation for this female's first
sexual use as a slave, they pause to admire the tall man's handiwork.
There, burned permanently and indelibly into the girl's flesh is a
bright red, three inch high, cursive "k".




CHAPTER TWO

WE MEET HARRY
Let me introduce myself. My name is Harry Wiggins. I am a man of
various talents, most of them illegal. I started out my adult life as
a petty thief, car burglaries and the like, all freelance stuff. It
wasn't long before I had graduated to second storey jobs and a few
small holdups. After a short spell at Vacaville State Penitentiary, I
was 'adopted' by an operator called Tony Bianco. He had a little thing
going in Atlantic City: gambling, a bit of prostitution, a loan
sharking business and some of the other cottage industries of
organized crime.
So I worked for Tony for a few years. The pay was good and the side
benefits were terrific. I had a free pass at his local whorehouse and
I got some trim there just about every day. And there were the
showgirls. Well, they didn't work unless Tony said so. Usually he took
the best of them, but even the girls in the second row were dishes.
Being nice to me and the other boys was a precondition to working.
 From time to time Tony would send a girl up to our clubhouse at the
north end of town for a little weekend party. What they didn't know
was that they would be the featured attraction at a gangbang. We saw
lots of those girls later at the whorehouse. Sending them to us was
Tony's way of breaking them in.
Every good thing has to come to an end. I got nabbed after doing this
guy, an ex-fighter with soup for brains named Jimmy Tiger, who had
screwed up a fix on a fight. He was supposed to get the local fighter
to take a dive. He didn't and Tony sent me looking for him. Right
after I put a bullet between his eyes, the Feds came storming in. How
was I to know the guy was wired? Too bad the Feds weren't a little bit
quicker. They would have saved me and Jimmy a lot of trouble.
 Seven months later, Tony, me, and a few of the boys, were all
standing before a Federal judge being sentenced on a racketeering
beef. Tony got 25 years, the other boys got 10 years apiece. Because
of the homicide, I got life.
Life in the Federal system meant life. I was not a happy camper. Tony
told me he'd take care of me, but that lasted about fifteen minutes,
since he was sent to a medium facility in Oklahoma and I was sent to
Atlanta, a max. Boy, had I graduated.
I had done about thirty months of my life bid when a bull told me I
had a visitor. I was working in the laundry and was very happy to
escape the steaming heat for a while. As he led me from the laundry, I
realized that we're not heading for the regular visiting rooms, but to
an office in the Administration wing. I shuffled down the hall, a
chain link belt around my wrists and shackles on my feet. When we
reached the door to a small conference room, the guard opened the door
and let me in.
There were two men in the room, both dressed in shiny grey suits. The
one was tall, with short blond hair, a heavy build, about 35 years
old. The other was medium height and had scruffy brown hair. He was
slender, his face was kind of pushed together, his nose sharp and
pointy. He was a little older, pushing 45. They were both obviously
cops. "Sit down, Harry," the tall one said. He motioned to the guard.
"You can take the cuffs off, we can handle him."
The guard eyed the plainclothes dick sullenly. He didn't like being
ordered around by pointy-toed Washington types. But he did what the
guy said and left the room.
A pack of cigarettes and my old Zippo lighter were tossed on the
table. "Have a smoke, Harry," the tall guy said. He seemed to be the
spokesperson.
It was kind of a kick to see my old lighter again. I had lost it when
I got arrested. I tooled up a smoke and fingered the lighter gently.
My former life. These guys were smart. This was a good way to start
off, getting me to think about the outside. Whatever they wanted, I
figured that it might mean a ticket out of here.
"Thanks," I said nonchalantly.
"Harry, I'm Agent Bederson and this is Agent Mulattieri. We've come
all the way from Washington to see you."
"I'm real honored," I said.
"Yeah, I suppose you would be, Harry. After all, you're doing a life
stretch and haven't had a single visitor for almost three years. I
guess Tony hasn't come through for you, has he?"
"Well, he's busy," I retorted. I took a deep drag off of the smoke. I
was hoping they'd let me keep the pack.
"You might say so." The big guy walked around the table and put his
foot on the side rung of my chair. His right hand was in his pants
pocket and his other hand was on the table. He was almost leaning over
me. "Did you know that he's at the minimum in Jarvis, Texas? Nah, you
probably didn't. Last I heard he was even getting laid on Sundays.
Seems he bought himself a hooker and had her marry him so that he
could get conjugal visits. They say she's quite a number."
 "That's good for Tony," I said. "He was always a lucky guy." My
cigarette was almost finished and I looked around for someplace to put
it out. I had been flicking the ashes into my hand. Last thing I
wanted was some bull getting on my case for dirtying up his conference
room.
The little guy pulled a small tin out of his pocket and dropped it in
front of me. It was an old Sucrets tin. I popped it open with one
hand, tossed in the ashes and stubbed out the butt.
"You know," I said, "I'm really happy to get the news about Tony, but
something tells me that that's not what you came here to talk to me
about."
"Ah, Harry, they were right about you. You're smart. Real smart. And
that was a neat shot when you put the Tiger away, right between the
eyes. Like you'd been doing it all of your life."
"Yeah," was all I replied.
"Well Harry it just so happens that agent Mulattieri and I have come
to make your day. We're going to make you an offer you can't refuse."
Bederson chuckled at his Godfather reference, all too appropriate in
my case.
"You see," he continued, "we need a guy like you. We need a guy with a
certain cachet. A tough guy with some brains. And that's you Harry."
Bederson stepped away from my chair and took a seat across from me.
"You ever hear of a guy named Klitzman, Harry?"
"Can't say that I have," I answered.
"Well let me say that if there were such a thing as a criminal
mastermind, this guy Klitzman is it. He runs a criminal enterprise
that is international in scope. He trades in just about every form of
contraband you can think of and he's got a hold on some very highly
placed people." Mulattieri had taken a seat at the table and was
scrutinizing me intently.
"So what's this got to do with me," I asked, lighting another
cigarette.
"You see Harry, your Uncle Sam is really interested in this guy
Klitzman. Not too much is known about him, but we do know that he's
been able to, let's say, 'influence' U.S. policy in rather strange
ways. The State Department has called Klitzman's little island
hideaway off the coast of Africa forbidden territory. And there are
certain activities that he engages in in this country and around the
world that go pretty far beyond the pale."
"Okay, so?" I interjected.
"So, we want you to become friends with Mr. Klitzman."
"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?" I asked incredulously.
"Have faith, Harry, we can arrange it."
"So the FBI's going to get me out of here, send me to Africa so I can
buddy up with some guy who would probably smell a rat from about a
hundred miles away. You gotta be nuts." I stubbed out my cigarette.
"You're wasting my time." I started to get up to leave. Bederson put a
hand on my shoulder.
"Harry, we're not from the FBI," he said.
"What?"
"We're not from the FBI," Bederson repeated.
I looked over at Mulattieri and he just shook his head.
"Right now I can't say who we work for, but let's just say we have a
lot of juice. We can make things happen for you, Harry. How'd you like
to get back in the saddle, get outside, get back to work?"
"You want me to go out and commit crimes?" I was really flabbergasted
now.
"If it's in the national interest Harry, we can justify almost
anything."
"Okay, okay," I said, "let's suppose I agree to this. First of all,
I'd be risking my neck every day. If this guy Klitzman is as big as
you say, he'd have my skin up on his wall if he even had a suspicion
that I was a rat. Second of all, I'd like to get out, yeah, but where
is this all going to lead? How would I know that you have the juice to
get me off any beefs I get into for this guy Klitzman? And how long
would I have to do it?" I paused. "Jeeze, I'm talking like this thing
could actually really happen."
"Harry, listen to me," Bederson said.
And he explained to me that Klitzman loved to recruit from Federal
prisons, that he liked tough guys who were doing life bids. He had the
juice to spring them on some fake pardon or something, and then he set
them to work for him. The guys he picked tended to be very grateful
and eager to do just about anything Klitzman asked. Bederson said that
his people knew of this guy who was on the inside, who scouted for
Klitzman. Bederson wouldn't tell me who he was. But this guy had been
looking at my records. Bederson's people believed that he was going to
recruit me.
I gave the scenario that had been painted to me some thought. I had
nothing to look forward to in the joint other than either someday
getting a shiv in my ribs for some real or imagined slight to some
other con, or breathing my last staring at the ceiling of the hospital
ward after another thirty or forty years of excruciatingly repetitive
days.
But if I took Bederson's offer I could get out, breathe some real air,
maybe put on some moves. If I got away with ratting out Klitzman,
good. If I didn't and ended up as shark bait, well I would still have
had some fun. And there was a third possibility, one that I was sure
had occurred to by erstwhile benefactors. I could meet up with
Klitzman and 'go native', that is, really become one of his boys. I
might not last long, but I would be living on my feet and not on my
knees.
As I saw it, there was really nothing to lose. I agreed.
Bederson told me that, when Klitzman's man contacted me, I was to
alert him by sending a letter to this lawyer. They would work out a
means for me to stay in contact. He also reminded me again that they
were not the FBI and that they were not limited to purely lawful
remedies. I caught his drift.
Two weeks went by when I was approached by one of the 'tough' guys
from the white power gang at the prison. Prison life revolved around
gangs and protection. I was kind of protected through my relationship
to Bianco, but that was fading fast as time went on. To make a long
story short, this guy thought it would be a good idea if I did a hit
for his group. My benefit would be protection from the other gangs.
They didn't want to have the hit done by someone already known as a
member because they would immediately be identified as suspects.
The guy they wanted me to hit was well known as a snitch, so I had
little qualms about doing the job. It was not getting caught that was
the trick. Friday night was movie night and everyone would be in the
mess hall. I knew that was when this snitch would take a 'tour' of
certain work areas that were well known as hiding places for
contraband. I knew that he would be searching the kitchen area of the
mess hall, and so I quietly slipped into the kitchen and waited. I was
armed with a sharply honed knife made from a part from somebody's bed
frame and covered with tape at the handle.  As the snitch passed by, I
jumped behind him, held his mouth closed, and drew my knife across his
throat. In 15 seconds I was back in the mess hall watching the movie.
There was a big hubbub about the death of the snitch, but it all died
down after a week or two. After a while, the tough guy let it be known
that he wanted to talk to me. I met him in the prison yard. We walked
out of hearing of the other cons. He congratulated me on my success
and told me that he had another proposition for me.
"How'd ya like to get outta here?"
I knew what was coming but had to play dumb. "Fuck you," is all I
said.
He insisted that he was on the level and explained to me roughly what
Bederson had told me. He left out his benefactor's name and where I
would be going. All he stressed was that I would be out of the
country, given a new identity and would be rolling in clover. I told
him that if he could pull it off, I would jump at the chance.
Another two weeks went by and I was advised that I was being
transferred to a medium joint near Huntsville, Alabama. I had sent the
letter to the lawyer who was supposed to be my contact, but had
received no word back.  I packed my stuff, what little there was of
it, said so long to my cellmate and followed the guard to the sally
port. My stuff was checked; I was bedecked in chains and then led out
to a waiting van.
It was a normal prison van, basically a minivan with reinforced
windows, double locks and a heavy steel screen across the rear of the
front compartment. Two green uniformed Federal prison guards were
waiting for me. They loaded me up and we were on our way.
About five miles outside of Atlanta, the van suddenly veered off of
the expressway, went about three miles down a small two lane road, and
then turned into a gravel driveway that snaked deep into the woods. We
stopped in front of an old, apparently abandoned, garage. The guard on
the passenger side hopped out and opened the side door of the van.
"Get out," he said in a gruff voice. It was the perfect place for a
hit and I assumed that somehow this guy Klitzman had smelt a rat and
was having me put in a hole. But when I got out, to my surprise, the
guard freed my cuffs and ankle chains. The other guard threw me some
civilian clothes and told me to change. I didn't know what was up, but
I didn't need to be told twice. I changed quickly. While I changed,
the first guard drove the van up tthe garage. He opened the double bay
door and then drove the van in. On the other side of the van was a
brand new looking black Lincoln. He tore off his uniform and put on
some clothes he found in the front seat. The other guy ran up and did
the same from the passenger's side. I was stunned, and stood in the
middle of the driveway in my new clothes ogling the two men. One
yelled back at me.
"For Christ's sake, get in the fucking car!"
I ran over and got into the back seat. My prison garb was thrown into
the van along with the guard uniforms. The Lincoln pulled out, the
door was closed and we were out of there. It all took less than three
minutes.
Three hours later, we pulled into the parking lot of a small commuter
airport near Columbus. A small plane was waiting for me. I was hustled
over and climbed in. In two minutes I was in the air.
The pilot didn't tell me to shut the fuck up, but he made it clear he
had nothing to say. He handed me a bag that had a sandwich and a Coke
in it, and just kept his eyes on the sky and clouds ahead of us.
It was almost dark when we flew into Miami International Airport. When
the plane stopped, the pilot handed me 9" x 12" brown envelope. In it
was a slightly worn black wallet, about $250 in cash and, a driver's
license and passport, both with my picture on it, and both in the name
of Robert Cox. There was also a plane ticket to Caracas, Venezuela.
The pilot spoke to me.
"Now, don't fuck this up. Go into the terminal. Go to gate 12. Check
in and wait. Don't go anywhere, don't do anything, don't talk to
anyone, got it?"
"Sure," I said.
"You'll probably be watched. You'll be met in Caracas. Just do what
you're told."
"Okay, okay," I said.
I got out of the plane and walked over to the terminal. The pilot had
handed me a small suitcase, which, I supposed, contained some clothes
and other travel stuff. I did what I was told. I stopped only to buy a
paper and a cup of coffee. I was spooked when I saw the metal
detector. I had no idea what was really in the suitcase. But I had
gotten this far without a hitch and figured that Klitzman's boys would
make sure that the bag and its contents would pass muster.
In fact, I sailed through the checkpoint. I then walked down to gate
12, checked in and waited. My flight was in an hour.
About forty minutes later I boarded the plane and found my seat.
Business class. There was some shitty film and crap food.  I wiled my
time away listening to jazz on the earphones. I must have nodded off
because the next thing I knew the plane was landing. I breezed through
customs. When I entered the airport proper, I saw a man holding a
cardboard sign with the words "Mr. Cox" written on it. I walked up to
him. "I'm Cox," I said.
"Please to come with me," was his only reply. He took me to a taxi and
then drove me, again without a word being spoken, for about an hour.
We stopped at yet another airport, a small one, with, again, a plane
waiting for me. In a minute I was back in the air.
Now this guy was talkative. In fact I couldn't get him to shut up. He
told me all about this tourist he fucked the night before, his car,
how much he loved flying, how the weather sucked down here and on and
on and on. When I asked him where we were going, he said only, "You'll
see."
This flight was about another four hours. The only food the pilot had
was a bag of peanuts. He let me have half.
I could see that we were flying mostly southeast over a long expanse
of jungle. I thought to myself that it would be a rotten place to have
to land, when suddenly the plane took a dive. For a moment I
visualized myself as crocodile meat. But as I looked ahead, I saw a
small clearing. Gabby circled the plane and prepared to land.




CHAPTER THREE

THE FRENCH GIRL GETS FUCKED
	The men release the hands of the softly moaning, barely conscious
girl from the chain and drag her over to a wooden apparatus standing
not far from the dais. It has four legs spread about four feet apart,
and stands about waist high. The legs support a small padded platform
about three feet square. There are two round cuts on one side.  The
limp girl is draped stomach down onto the platform. Her ankles and
wrists are affixed to rings in the legs. Her breasts fit neatly into
the two holes.
	The placement of the girl leaves her head at waist level and her legs
spread wide, exposing her cunt and ass.  The bulky black man, who
answers to the name of Rukimo, waives a small, pungent smelling vial
under the girl's nose. She shakes her head, seeking to avoid the
piercing odor. Rukimo grabs her hair and forces her to inhale the
sharp scent. When he is sure that she is fully awake, he withdraws it
and releases the girl's hair.
	The girl is startled by her changed confinements. She pulls futilely
at the fixtures to her wrists and tries to kick her ankles free. The
apparatus, constructed of a heavy wood, is stained a dark mahogany and
is anchored to the floor. There are heavy scratch marks on the legs
where the young woman's hands are affixed, the claw marks of other
desperate young women anxious to avoid their fates. The poor woman's
exertions barely make the apparatus sway.
	The Latino man is gently stroking the girl's ass. His name is Luis
Santana, but everybody calls him 'Cholo'. The girl tries to see who is
touching her and twists her neck around. She sees Cholo smiling at
her. He is naked, as are the other two men. All the girl can do is
attempt to wriggle her hips to shed the unwanted caresses, but the
effort is wasted. She turns her head forwards and sees Rukimo holding
his thick, jet-black cock in his hand. She knows better than to beg.
These men are going to rape her and there is no way to stop or
dissuade them. She can't help but emit a tiny whine as she grimaces
and tries to withhold her tears.
	Rukimo has in his other hand what appears to the girl to be a strange
instrument. Her mostly chaste upbringing has not familiarized her with
the idea of a ring gag. But she sees the round ring of rubberized
plastic and the straps affixed to it and knows that, whatever it is,
it is meant for her. Rukimo momentarily pauses in his caresses of his
cock to grab the girl's cheeks. His massive hand presses hard, and the
girl's mouth opens. He pushes the ring gag into her mouth. She needs
to open wide to admit the large ring. Rukimo jams the ring in
forcibly. The girl is crying and kicking as she resists. But Rukimo is
an expert.  He has applied many a ring gag into an unwilling mouth. He
presses the girl's cheeks harder causing her to squeal in pain.
Ultimately, she surrenders by stretching her lips widely apart and
admitting the heinous instrument.
	It is obvious to her what is going to happen. Rukimo is going to
shove his thick black cock into her mouth. That cock has hardened now
and Rukimo steps nearer. He says something to the other men that she
does not understand, but they all laugh. The girl is determined not to
give these brutal and callous men the satisfaction of seeing her fight
and protest against the rape of her mouth. She holds her head still,
not struggling, as Rukimo holds her hair with one hand and, with the
other, aims his steely rod at the hole in her mouth.
	But Rukimo wants to play first. He rubs his cock across her
outstretched lips, against her cheeks. She is disgusted by his antics.
She has closed her eyes to shut out what is happening, and Rukimo rubs
his cock there too, pushing against her eyelids with its tip. Her body
is taut with tension. She feels someone stroking her exposed sex. She
cannot turn to see who it is.
	It is the tall, thin man, who is called Thorndike. He uses no first
name and no one has ever asked him what it is. The name Thorndike is
probably fictional anyway. He has been stroking the lips to the girl's
cunt, watching it slowly respond. The girl tries to clench her thighs,
but that is impossible. A small glistening of moisture appears and
Thorndike makes a joke. There is more laughter.
	Rukimo has decided that the time has come to push his cock past the
ring of hard rubber inside the girl's mouth. He feels her tongue
retreating from this harsh invasion. The girl's face registers her
displeasure and a small moan escapes her lips. Rukimo presses forward,
seeking entrance to the girl's throat. As she realizes what is
happening, the girl panics. Her airway is obstructed by the huge, hard
tube of meat. Her eyes open. Rukimo is staring down at her, amused. He
is gently rubbing his cock back and forth across the opening to the
girl's throat, just enough into it to prevent the passage of air.
	The girl now is coughing and sputtering. Despite her earlier
resolution to remain passive in the face of the invasions of her body
to come, she is now jerking her body frantically, trying to twist and
turn her head to expel Rukimo's member. From her throat comes
plaintive wails.
	Ultimately, the point comes where the girl is afraid she will die
from lack of oxygen. Her head becomes woozy and her eyelids flutter.
But Rukimo is experienced in these things and pulls his cock back just
enough to permit the flow of air. The girl breathes in deeply, or as
deeply as she can with Rukimo's cock in her mouth. Rukimo now presses
forward again.
	Having experienced the sensation of Rukimo's big black cock down her
throat once, the girl is ill disposed to receive it again. But the
choice is not hers. This time, Rukimo glides his piece in slowly,
relishing the widening eyes of the helpless female. He presses firmly
on the back of her mouth, seeking entry to her throat. With a little
pressure, it slides in, the bulging head blocking the entire
passageway.
	The helpless girl is gagging and choking. Her body convulses with
panic. She believes that she will die, that she will be choked to
death by a cock. The girl has not eaten or drunk for many hours.
Otherwise, the heaving of her stomach could lead to disastrous
results. Even so, the bile from her digestive tract leaps up and coats
her esophagus, irritating the tender membranes.
	Rukimo pulls out once more. He allows the girl to choke and moan.
Tears are flowing down her face. She tries to speak, to beg the black
man to cease his torture of her. But that is not in the black man's
mind. He needs to discharge his seed first and he intends to discharge
it down her throat.
	Four more times the girl is forced to swallow Rukimo's hard tube of
meat. Finally, Rukimo gives in to the pleasure of the constricting
muscles around his cock. His eyes roll back as his cock throbs and
jerks within the girl's throat. She can feel the convulsions of the
flesh within, feel the warm jet of his spunk. As Rukimo pulls his now
softening cock from her mouth he pats her on the cheek. "Good girl,"
he says, smiling.
	It is now Thorndike's turn. He has been fondling the lips of the
girl's vagina all along and she is unwillingly wet. He gives his cock
a few tugs to stiffen it and presses it between her legs. The girl is
no virgin, but she is young and her cunt is tight and hot. She had
barely recovered from her ordeal at Rukimo's hands when she feels the
lips of her pussy being spread open and the unmistakable pressure of a
prick in her tight sheath.
Logically, she should be resigned to being fucked. After all, she has
just experienced a most savage rape of her mouth. But logic is rare
when desperate times are at hand.
	Although she can form no words, the girl wails loudly. Only two boys
had had her there. One she loved and the other loved her. Their use of
her had been tender, sweet. Her whole body had tingled with pleasure
as she was entered, that is, after the initial tearing of her virginal
wall.
	But now she is being entered by a hostile cock. She can't even tell
which of the men it is. She tries to rock herself free, strains
mightily to close her legs. It is useless. The device has been well
tested.
	Thorndike pushes himself into the girl all the way to the hilt. He
sighs with enjoyment as its warm moisture and tender pressure causes
his cock to transmit signals of pleasure to his brain. He has his
hands on the girl's slender hips as he rocks back and forth. The
girl's moans have subsided now as she has surrendered to the
inevitable. But as Thorndike's hot tool agitates her nub of pleasure
and caresses the tender walls of her vagina, she feels something that
she wishes to deny. Her loins are starting to burn with passion. Her
rocking and jerking on the wooden platform has begun to excite her.
Thorndike senses this shift in the girl. His hands now rub her fleshy
rear orbs and the inside of her thighs. Leaning into her, he is able
to reach around and grab her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. The
girl feels this and, unwillingly, abandons herself to the rising urges
inside her. She knows that she will soon come and she hates herself
for it. Yet she cannot ignore the pressure on the apex to her sex, the
piercing of her loins by Thorndike's flesh, the rubbing on her
nipples. She makes a futile effort to hold back her climax. Then the
orgasm is upon her, her whole body shudders, she is moaning loudly
through the gag. Her hands are tightly clenched and her toes curl.
It is the moment that Thorndike has been waiting for. He explodes as
she does, calling out words that she cannot understand. When his
ejaculation is finished, he sighs deeply and presses his chest against
the girl's back. Her cunt is still twitching with small waves of
pleasure and he can feel its contractions as they slowly subside.
Cholo is anxious for his turn.  There is one more hole to explore. The
girl feels Cholo's hands on the cheeks of her ass. She is exhausted
and it slowly registers on her that another assault is about to begin.
She is too forlorn and abject to protest. But her face tightens when
she feels Cholo's finger trace the outlines of her pursed rear hole.
The men are watching her face and laugh when it dawns on the girl that
she is to suffer what she has only read about in books. Cholo has
leaned around the girl to see her expression as he pushes his finger
slowly inside. She can see him as she is able to turn her head
slightly. He smiles at her. He says something in Spanish that sounds
soothing, friendly. But the pressure of his finger on her anus belies
the tone of his voice.
The girl begins to sob softly. She makes no effort to avoid the
inevitable. Her eyes are crammed shut, her body limp. Cholo penetrates
her ass to his knuckle and then inserts another finger. The feeling
has gone from a strange and annoying sensation to a modicum of
discomfort.  Cholo stretches his fingers wide, preparing the entrance
for the insertion of a thicker object.
The fact that the girl has let herself go limp, has surrendered to the
inevitable, lessens the resistance to the entry of Cholo's third
finger. The sensation of Cholo's fingers in her ass is mildly
stimulating. A strange tingle flows from the tender tissue of her anus
to her vagina. Maybe if she just relaxes and lets him have his way,
the girl thinks, this will not be so bad.
But what she does not know is that Cholo's tool is the thickest and
widest of the three. And the flexible width of three fingers does not
approximate what she will soon feel.
Cholo speaks to Rukimo. It is a question. Rukimo assents and Cholo
grins. He withdraws his fingers from the still virgin portal and
retrieves the whip that had been used on the girl a short while
before. She cannot see it and is not prepared for the slash of the
whip against her upturned buttocks. It is as if a trail of fire has
been lit across her skin. The girl shrieks with pain. Cholo wants to
rape this girl, not fuck her. He wants her screaming and begging, not
supine and abject. Again he strikes her haunches with the whip. The
girl's cries emerge from her gag, rounded and deep, almost like the
mooing of a cow. Thorndike points this out to the others and they
laugh again.
Three more times Cholo strikes the poor girl's behind. The whip is
many tasseled and so the pain is spread across her now reddened rear
cheeks. She is still screaming when Cholo presents his cock to her
smallest opening. Now she is protesting, her cries of "no, no, no,"
are distorted by the ring of leather in her mouth and emerge sounding
more like "oh, oh, oh!"
Cholo wastes no time in pressing hard into the girl's bowels. He is
tearing her delicate skin, but that's okay. She will have to get used
to ass fucking anyway and the rear hole will have to be widened. The
Hispanic continues to rock back and forth in the girl's ass while she
continues with her frantic complaints. He is building to a crescendo,
as his thighs tighten and his eyes close. He cries out some words in
Spanish as he pumps his sperm deep into the girl's bowels. He
withdraws only when he has felt his cock diminish to its ordinary
size.





CHAPTER FOUR
HARRY MEETS TWO LADIES
The pilot descended quickly to the tiny field. As we got closer, I
could see that it was not quite as tiny as it first seemed. The plane
easily rolled to a stop, well within the limits of the hard baked clay
runway. After the plane landed, I was hustled off by the pilot.
"Got to make it back to civilization," he said.
I was left standing by the dirt runway by myself, my little suitcase
at my feet. I watched the plane disappear over the treetops with some
dismay. Where I was and what I was supposed to do here was totally
beyond me. The landing strip was surrounded by jungle. A small road
led off to the south. There was a small hut in the middle. After
waiting a requisite time, and seeing no one else around, I walked over
to the hut. The weather was sweltering and by the time I had walked
the several hundred yards to the hut, I was drenched with sweat.
The hut was locked. It had no windows. I tossed my bag aside,
frustrated. What the fuck was going on? First I had been hustled
thousands of miles from the U.S. and then nothing. I didn't expect a
welcoming committee and a band, but I did expect someone to at least
meet me. I had no idea where I was, how I was going to get food or,
more importantly, water, and where I was going to sleep.
Darkness fell swiftly. I was weighing the thought of taking a chance
and walking down the dirt road to see what I could find when I saw
what could only be the headlights of a car coming up in the distance.
I heard the rumble of an overtaxed engine. Then I saw it, a battered,
old style jeep rumbling and tumbling over the rough dirt road. There
was only the driver in the jeep and I hoped that it was meant for me.
The jeep pulled up to the hut with a roar and screeched to a halt. The
driver was a small dark haired kid, no more than 14. He was smiling at
me and he spat out words that were incomprehensible. I got the gist
though; he was telling me to get in. Having seen his driving skills
first hand, I hesitated at first to hazard life and limb with him at
the wheel. "Americano, Americano," he yelled gleefully. "Come een,
come een!"
I had no other choice. Well, I did have one. I could have tossed this
kid out of the jeep and driven the thing myself. But, it was dark, I
didn't know where I was going, and someone, probably with a little
weight around here, would miss the kid.
And so I climbed aboard with my little bag and off we went. It was
about a twenty-minute journey of hair-raising proportions. As we
bounced and swerved along the road, the kid was having the time of his
life. I held onto the crash bar that someone had considerately affixed
to the top of the vehicle. I had my bag tight between my knees.
We finally reached a small village. There did not seem to be any
electric lights as candlelight flickered through the windows of some
of the huts. There was a large wooden house at the end of the street,
torches burning in holders affixed to the columns of the porch. It was
here that the kid pulled up. "Go een, Go een," he said. I stumbled out
of the Jeep and the kid rapidly sped away, kicking up dirt and stones
as he spun the tires. I hopped out of the way of the effluvia from the
Jeep's wheels and stepped up onto the porch. It was broad and wide,
running the length of the house. There were bags of some vegetative
product strewn about, benches and a dilapidated easy chair. A dim
light could be seen through a screen door. I knocked.
A loud scratchy voice called something hostile in Spanish or
Portuguese. I didn't know the difference. I yelled back, stupidly,
"Hello!"
I heard a low muttering and then heavy footsteps as from booted feet.
A swarthy black haired man appeared at the door. He was dressed in a
brown and red floral patterned shirt that was open to reveal a taut,
hairy chest and a flat stomach. He wore a dark beard along his chin
and a thick black mustache. He was slender, but carried himself in a
way that you would want him to be on your side in a tussle. He wore
faded jeans and, as I had surmised, cowboy boots.
"Oh," he said, "the Norte Americano. The boy pick you up, yes?"
	"Yes," I replied, exasperated. "The boy pick me up."
	"Come in, come in."
	I opened the screen door and stepped into the dimly lit room. It was
a small foyer, lit only by the reflected light of the room beyond. The
man led me into this room. I was startled by what I saw.
	 Lying on the floor, her hands tied behind and hogtied to her ankles
was a young brown haired woman. I could tell that she was not a
campasino by her pale complexion and the American style clothing that
she wore. She had a cotton knit polo shirt on top and a pair of khaki
shorts. On her feet were a pair of Rebocks and frilly white socks. She
looked up at me forlornly as I entered. Her mouth was pulled into a
tight grimace by a red bandana that had been tied around her head.
	As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw another woman, her hands tied
to a rope that was thrown over one of the rafters. She was also
gagged. She also had brown hair, but hers was much longer, reaching
down to the middle of her body. Her flowery cotton blouse was
unbuttoned and her bra had been pulled beneath her breasts. Her shorts
were around her ankles. Her pussy was still covered by the white vee
of a pair of thong panties. She looked at me too.
	The contents of two backpacks lay scattered around the room. Two
cameras, two wallets and two passports lay in one pile. A tangle of
women's clothing was jumbled into semblances of piles. There were some
books, two canteens and two cell phones.
	The thin Hispanic man nodded at the two forlorn girls. "They were
snooping around. Now they will snoop no more," the man chuckled
sneeringly.
	"My name is Morianos," he said. "You are the guy for the plane
tomorrow. Come in and have a seat." He shouted something loudly in
Spanish ending in the words "dos cervazas!"
	A small, heavy set, gray haired woman came running in with two
bottles of tepid local beer. Morianos grabbed one and nodded towards
me to the peasant woman. She slid over to me and handed me the other
beer. It was only slightly cooler than the tropical heat.
	Morianos must have known what I was thinking. "Generator's out. Fix
tomorrow. Tonight we use lamps."
	There were two oil lanterns on small tables in the room. The
flickering, pale yellow light they threw off gave the room a movie set
quality.
	"What are you doing?" I asked Morianos as I sat down in a rattan
rocking chair.
	"Looking for stuff, what else," he replied. He dangled a gold plated
watch in the air. "Rolex," he said with a grin. A gold tooth glistened
from his mouth. Two other teeth seemed to be missing.
	"Not much cash," he commented. "These fucking cunts were carrying
traveler's checks."
	"How disappointing."
	"Yeah, it pisses me the fuck off. Where the fuck did they expect to
cash traveler's checks around here? Idiatas gringas!"
	I sipped at the lukewarm beer. My stomach growled. "Is there any
food?" I asked.
	Morianos yelled out in Spanish again. About thirty seconds later the
woman returned, this time with a plate of chili and a swath of bread.
I knew that it was probably as spicy as hell, but I was famished, and
I did have the beer.
With the combination of the bread and the beer, I was able to eat
about half of the plateful. Morianos had given up searching through
the contents of the backpacks and stood up from the floor.
"Amigo, help me with this one. The other one almost broke my back."
I wasn't sure what he meant. He stepped away for a moment and came
back with a rope, one end of which he flung over the rafter.
"Come on, buddy, we've got to string her up." He pointed to the woman
on the floor.
"What the fuck for? I asked.
"To search her, man. You know, strip her."
The girl on the floor attempted to make a remonstrance at this idea.
Her voice came out as a garbled whine. I looked at her pleading eyes.
Well, I thought, if stripping was the worst thing that happened to
her, she would be lucky.
"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."
Morianos stepped over and released the girl's ankles from her wrists.
He looked over to me and smiled. "This is the tricky part," he said.
He pulled a thick hunting knife, about 8 or 10 inches long from a
scabbard at his waist. He spoke to the girl. "If you give me any
trouble, I cut you up with this. Understand, you piece of shit?" His
voice was menacing. I certainly didn't doubt his words. I was sure the
forlorn girl didn't either.
Morianos motioned to me. "Help me get her up."
We each grabbed an arm and lifted the girl to her feet. Once she was
in a standing position, Morianos said to me, "Untie the bitch's hands
and tie them in front. Do it good!"
I complied with Morianos' instructions. The girl's wrists had been
tied tightly. That and the added pressure of the hogtie had left harsh
red marks. She was whimpering as I retied her hands in front of her. I
was a novice where tying women up was concerned, but I figured I could
handle this.
Once her wrists were tied to each other, Morianos put his hunting
blade away and stepped over to the girl with the end of the rope that
hung from the rafter. He pulled her arms up swiftly, causing the girl
to cry in surprise. Once she was dangling on her toes, he crossed the
other end between her ankles and tied it off. The girl's own weight
was keeping her hands aloft.
The sneakers came off first, then the dainty socks. Nothing there.
Stripping the other girl was a little bit easier because of her
blouse. But this one wore a polo shirt. Morianos pushed it up past her
breasts, but it kept falling down. The girl wore a lacey white bra
that covered small but firm tits. I could see the tops, almost to the
nipples, pushed up over the upper edge of the bra.
Morianos swore and pulled out his knife. Without further ado, he
sliced the shirt from the neck down. At this impetuous act, the girl
stiffened in fright. A small line of blood appeared at her stomach.
Morianos took no notice. Putting the knife away, he pushed the bra up
over the girl's tits. Now all was revealed. Her short, pert, nipples
were hard with fear. A pale areola surrounded each of them. Her eyes
were clenched shut and her whimpering increased.
Morianos, having satisfied himself that the girl hid nothing in her
bra, took notice of the whimpering. He grabbed a nipple and squeezed
hard. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled.
The girl's eyes lit up. She cringed woefully. Her whining subsided,
replaced with a mere sniffling. I tossed back the rest of my beer.
"Any chance of a refill?" I asked Morianos.
He yelled in Spanish to the back room and two more cervazas came out.
He took a swig and peered into the eyes of the captive girl. "Any
little surprises in your pants, gringa? Anything besides your precious
pussy?"
Sweat was dripping down the face of the girl, more than could be
accounted for by the heat. Maybe Morianos was on to something.
He unbuckled her shorts slowly, his eyes on the girl's face. She
stared back, as if mesmerized. The room was silent except for the
sound of a zipper being lowered. Lacey white panties appeared.
Suddenly Morianos gave a shout of glee. "I knew it! I knew there had
to be something!" He stepped back to show me.
There was a thin pouch taped to the inside of the right pocket of the
young woman's shorts. Morianos tore it off and, checking the left
pocket, pulled another packet free. He then pulled the shorts down to
the woman's ankles. Quickly, he opened the first package. Several
sheaths of dark green paper emerged. They were 100 dollar bills, at
least ten of them. Morianos stuffed them into his pocket. The he tore
opened the other. Another four or five hundred-dollar bills emerged,
along with a small, embossed card.
Why would a young girl, ostensively a tourist, carry an official
looking card secreted in her shorts? This was obviously the source of
the woman's fear. Morianos gave a hoot when he read it. He showed it
to me. It was an official press pass issued by the Republic of Brazil.
"So that's where we are," I thought.
Morianos spit in the girl's face. "A journalista!" he cried. He spat
again.
He pulled his blade from his hip. "I should cut you up, you fucking
whore!" he yelled. He brandished it in her face. He ran some words at
her in Spanish. The only word I caught was 'puta'.
Now he commenced cutting the remnants of the girl's shirt from her
body along with the bra. She struggled and whimpered as every last
shred of clothing was stripped from her. She was curvaceous and a
delight to see, especially for someone who had been locked up for as
long as me. I stood there watching the show. When he was done
stripping the girl, Morianos commenced slapping her tits repeatedly.
The helpless woman let out little squeals of pain every time he struck
her. All the time he kept yelling at her in Spanish. The girl swayed
on her rope at the force of each blow. Morianos timed the blows
perfectly so that her tits felt the full force of his hands. I had
never seen a girl's tits slapped around like that and I was mesmerized
as they rocked to and fro.
I did nothing to mollify Morianos' outburst. This was not my game. I
was as much at Morianos' mercy as these two young captives. I had
bigger fish to fry.
Finally, Morianos tired of slapping the weeping girl's breasts. They
were pink and raw from their ordeal. The girl kept whimpering as she
tried to halt her swaying body by jamming her toes into the floor.
Morianos grabbed his beer and took a long pull at the bottle. He
removed the money he had taken from the girl from his pockets and
slowly counted it. "$1,500," he noted. "Okay, now that's something."
He stuffed the money back into his pants. "And tomorrow, you and your
girl friend here are going to take a little trip. But tonight, I'm
going to fuck the shit out of you." He was pointing his knife at the
reporter.
Morianos turned to me pointing at the other girl. "You can have her."
Now I had been locked up for a little under four years: seven months
awaiting trial, three years at Atlanta. I thought that I would never
feel the soft squeeze of a pussy as long as I lived. The girl was
attractive, nice sized tits, wide sensuous hips. But rape? I had never
done that before, well, not actual forcible rape. The girls at Tony's
clubhouse, they were sort of convinced into it. They were paid
afterwards, too. Not that I was a purist, mind you. But an actual
forceful rape?  That was something else.
The Latino must have sensed my reservations. "What's the matter, man,
you don't like pussy?" He laughed, "Don't worry, she'll never tell
nobody, not where she's going. And by this time next week, she'll have
had a hundred cocks up her twat."
I looked over at Morianos inquisitively.
He looked at me surprised. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?" I answered.
"Know where you're going man!"
"Actually, I don't"
"You're goin' to Kliztman's place, man! Pussy galore!"
"And so?" I asked.
"So none of them girls are volunteers, you know what I mean? They're
like sex slaves, man. Do anything you tell them."
The words of Bederson came back to me. He had said that Klitzman was
into 'every form of contraband you could think of". Why was he so
deliberately vague? If I had known that Kliztman was a flesh peddler,
I might not have taken the bait. Kidnapping and raping women were not
my thing. But I guessed they were now. Here I was, hopefully on the
last leg of my journey to Klitzman's island fortress, stuck out in the
middle of the jungle with this fugitive from a B movie. There was no
way to back out. Even if I could get back to civilization, what would
I do? I had $250 in my pocket, not enough for a plane fare to Miami.
All my connections were still in the joint and, most importantly, my
protection. I looked at the comely, but forlorn girl. Do I fuck her or
not?
Then I remembered another thing I had been told, both by Bederson and
by the guys who had lifted me from Atlanta. The gist of it was, "Do
what you're told." Nobody had told me to fuck this broad. I doubted
that Morianos' say had any weight. If these girls were headed to
Klitzman's island, they were, or would be shortly, his property. Maybe
he wouldn't want me fucking around with his property? I had waited
almost four years; I could wait another day, if what Morianos said was
true.
So I decided, very reluctantly, to hold myself in check. That didn't
mean that I couldn't relieve myself though. The girl was staring at me
quite forlornly. She was probably contemplating her upcoming rape and
ravishment. I didn't need to dispel that notion immediately and so I
let her enjoy the prospect a little longer. I stepped towards her and
ran my hands over her breasts. They were warm and wet with the sweat
of the girl's fear. She whimpered slightly as I caressed them,
enjoying their heft, their softness and smoothness. I flicked the
nipples with my thumbs, encouraging them to hardness. The girl's
breasts fit nicely in my hands, just the right size. My cock was hard
as a rock and I worried that I might shoot my load right in my pants.
I took a moment to calm myself and then slipped my lips over the
girl's taut and neat left nipple. I almost swooned. Four years! It was
a long time not to have been able to suck on a tit. I grabbed the
girl's ass with my hands and pulled her body into mine. As I did, I
increased the pressure on her hands from the rope above and she gave a
little squeal of pain. I ignored her complaint and moved my lips to
her other breast. I knew that I could not hold on much longer.
Leaning back, I pulled the girl's panties to her knees. Her bush was
wiry and tangled. Her cunt lips were hidden, confined by the creamy
thighs that were held together so closely. I didn't think I could hold
myself in check if I explored any further and so I stepped back. I
pulled my zipper down and freed my hard little boy. It was anything
but little now and I encircled it with my right hand. The girl's eyes,
wide as saucers, were fixed on my rampant cock. She looked as if she
expected a show and so I gave her one. It took about three tugs and my
Johnson exploded. I was close enough to her that three pulsing streams
of cum landed on her stomach. My cock throbbed with pleasure. I could
barely stand as my knees weakened with my climax. I let the sticky
flow cover my hand as I encouraged my joint to greater exertion.
Finally, it had had enough, and I slowed my efforts to a tender
caress. "Good boy," I thought.
The hanging girl looked disgusted and surprised at the same time. I
wiped my hand on her tits. "Sorry honey, that's all I can give you
tonight. Maybe soon we'll get to know each other better."
I zipped my fly, careful to avoid nipping my small friend and then
downed the rest of my tepid beer. Morianos had said nothing about
where I was to sleep and I didn't want to go exploring, so I decided I
would camp out on his couch. First I went outside and took a long,
gratifying piss over the edge of the porch. The dull flavored cervazas
had gone right through me. I shook the last drops free and returned
inside. I looked at the girl. She was quite a display. I didn't know
whether I should let her hang or untie her so she could spend the
night in some form of comfort. "Nah," I thought. Why take any risks
with her? She was apparently in for far worse and I didn't want to be
responsible for her escaping. I stood and admired her pleasing form.
As I did, I could hear a whining female cry from the next room. My
girlfriend heard it too, her eyes darting about. She looked at me
pleadingly. She tried to talk, obviously to plea for release. Well, no
dice, not tonight. I would be up to my eyeballs in shit if I did
anything like that. I just patted her cheek and told her good night.
Then, after dimming the lanterns, I lowered myself to the couch. For a
while, the moans and cries of a helpless female kept me awake.
Morianos at play. But then the wails and shrieks subsided and all that
was left was the soft moans of the brown haired beauty next to me,
swinging at the end of a rope. I dozed off.




CHAPTER FIVE

HER ORDEAL CONTINUES
	The three men take a respite from the torment of the young French
girl. They don their robes and drift over to a small bar where they
pour themselves some drinks. There is laughter and the exchange of
ribaldries among them.
	The girl hangs limply in her bonds. She has no choice. She tries to
imagine what is going to happen to her. She cannot let go of the idea
that there is some mistake, or that somehow she will be freed once the
men are done with her. Her ass still burns from the combination of the
whip and the forced invasion of her most private place. She can still
taste in her mouth the residue of Rukimo's discharge. She is ashamed
that she orgasmed when she was fucked by the thin man and closes her
eyes and grimaces at the thought. She cannot close her mouth because
it is still filled by the ring gag installed by Rukimo.
	The men return to admire the girl's well-toned and curvaceous form.
Rukimo reminds the men that they have yet to abuse her tits. They
agree that that must be done.
	The female's bonds are loosened and she is drawn down from the
apparatus. She is grateful at being untied, but her feeling of relief
is short lived. Once she reaches her feet, she is spun around and her
arms are stretched backwards over the top of the device. Her wrists
are affixed to the straps there on either side. A simple pumping
mechanism, operated by foot, cranks the apparatus higher and higher
until it presses up against her underarms and lifts her up. She is now
dangling with her weight borne by her shoulders. Her toes barely touch
the floor. As her arms are stretched back behind her, her breasts jut
out like twin offerings.
	Rukimo takes from the wall, where it and a variety of other
instruments of torture are displayed, a 30" long bamboo cane, wrapped
in leather. He bends it to ensure its suppleness and swings it quickly
in front of him, creating a whooshing sound. Thorndike and Cholo stand
on either side of Rukimo, glasses in hand, poised to enjoy the
upcoming spectacle. As Rukimo raises his hand to strike, there is a
command issued by the fat man who has been sitting in the darkness all
of this time observing the abuse of the girl.
	Nodding his assent, Rukimo removes the girl's gag. It seems that the
fat man wants to hear her scream. Thorndike has another suggestion,
and Rukimo nods. Thorndike takes two long leather thongs from a
cabinet and brings them over to where the girl is affixed. She knows
she is to be beaten again and her eyes are watering in anticipation of
the pain she is to suffer. Thorndike has a plan that will make the
pain more intense.
	He approaches the girl, who tries to shy away from him. Her lips are
moving and a tiny whisper for mercy escapes. Thorndike looks at her
and smiles. He has tied one of the straps into a loop and her circles
the girl's left breast with it. Drawing at the thong's loose end, he
draws it closed until the breast is captured in a tight ring. He
confines the other breast similarly. Then he runs the loose ends of
the straps over the girl's shoulders and ties them off behind her
neck. The tension of the straps pulls the breasts up, a more
delectable target for the whip.
	The men wait and watch as the breasts begin to swell under their
confinement. They are turning a light shade of purple as unrefreshed
blood becomes pooled there. The breasts are now like little purple
balls extruding from the young girl's chest.
	Thorndike amuses himself by pinching and pulling at the nipples and
softly slapping the breasts so that they swing side to side. Realizing
the pain that will accrue from the whipping of her swollen tits, the
girl now begins to plead again for mercy. Her resolve not to beg has
dissolved. For the men, this is a good start. She will be screaming
and begging for mercy in greater earnest in one moment.
	Rukimo lifts the cane again. This time no command issues for him to
halt or delay, and he strikes the girl's left breast with the supple
cane. The sound that the cane makes as it strikes her flesh is akin to
a 'whump!' as the breast absorbs the blow. It is followed by a
screeching yell from the girl. Rukimo delays, waiting for the pain of
the first blow to subside before striking again. This time it is the
right breast that is struck. The girl has never really stopped crying,
but the volume of her sobs and wails had tapered off during the brief
pause. Now they rise in a crescendo again.
	The girl's whole body reacts to the blow. Her head turns side to side
as she screams in pain. Her legs contract and she places her feet on
the sides of the frame pushing as if she could propel herself off of
the device to which she is cruelly strapped. Her chest heaves as she
draws in the breath to scream her protests and her pain.
	Rukimo waits again. This time the girl knows that the pause is a
deception. Another blow will soon follow. There is no reason to cease
her loud pleas for a desistance in her torture.
	She is telling the men that she will do whatever they want. She
offers to suck their dicks, fuck them. She knows someone with money;
she can get it for them. She protests her innocence of any wrongful
deed. Finally, she invokes the name of her deity. It is all absolutely
useless. None of the men have understood a word.
	Rukimo has decided that he will speed things up a bit. He strikes a
third blow, which is rapidly followed by a fourth and a fifth. The
girl's agonized contortions threaten to injure her, as she twists and
turns her torso to the detriment of her shoulders and arms. Rukimo
decides that she has had enough for now. She will remember this day as
long as she lives. It is her introduction into her new life. She has
been given fine examples of the body's ability to absorb punishment.
	The men are randy again, having watched the delightful performance of
the young girl. It is agreed that they will all fuck her again. It is
a simple matter to raise the girl's ankles and affix them to the top
of the frame. She is now doubled up, her ankles by her ears. Her cunt
is splayed open at just the right height.
	Cholo claims first rights, as he was the last to enjoy the girl's
body previously. All agree that this is appropriate and so Cholo sets
himself in front of the girl, his cock poised at the entrance to her
pussy. She opens her eyes to see the grinning face of the Latino. He
has a gold tooth that gleams in the light. The girl has absorbed so
much punishment that she has no strength to protest this new invasion
of her body. As Cholo pushes himself deep inside her, she gives a
little moan. Cholo is an expert cocksman and is not satisfied at the
passive acceptance of his cock by the girl. And so he slowly ploughs
the girl's deep shaft, making sure that his cock rides gently over the
apex of her sexual organ. It takes a while, but the blood begins to
stir in the girl. She doesn't want it, but nature must take its
course.
	When Cholo sees that she has begun to breathe heavily, he redoubles
his efforts. He holds her head with his hand and jams his tongue into
her mouth. She tries to twist away, to close her mouth, but Cholo has
gripped her cheeks with his strong right hand and he forces her still.
The girl is issuing little whining noises as she tries to fight back
the surging lust in her loins. Ultimately, she can hold back no more
and she begins to come, jerking her torso wildly. Cholo comes too,
slamming his cock home repeatedly, as if to force out his discharge.
	Thorndike supplants Cholo immediately. He wants to keep the girl on
the boil. His long, thick cock slides in easily. The girl gasps at the
new invasion and she is soon pumping her hips in a passionate frenzy.
She comes twice more before Thorndike does.
	Rukimo steps up for his turn. He holds his hard cock in his hand and
waits for the girl to calm herself. When she looks up, she sees his
broad, jet-black face staring at her. Rukimo takes his hand and rubs
the girl's pussy, capturing some of the combined discharges of the
girl and the two men who have just filled her cunt.  The girl's anus
is equally available as her cunt and Rukimo spreads the slime over
that tender hole. The girl barely notices at first. But when Rukimo
presents his thick cock, she tenses. She remembers the pain of the
assault by the Hispanic man and she tries to dissuade Rukimo in the
form of mild but piteous pleas.
	But this time, to her surprise, Rukimo's cock slides right in without
obstruction. Her widespread legs, the lubrication Rukimo has applied
and the fact that her muscles there have not yet retracted to their
former state following the assault by Cholo, ease the penetration. It
is a whole new experience. The girl discovers that the friction on the
ring that surrounds her bottom hole is translated directly to her
pussy. The feeling of fullness that Rukimo's large hard cock is giving
her is an indescribable sensation. As Rukimo plows away, slowly, but
steadily, the girl's passions are aroused once more. She can't believe
that she is approaching orgasm in this fashion, but there is no
denying her extreme arousal. In the months and years to come, this
will become her favorite form of copulation.
	As her breath becomes rapid with her approaching orgasm, Rukimo
increases the speed and intensity of his strokes. He too is near his
peak, but he is holding out so that he can enjoy the girl's mutual
release. As she begins to cry out in short, little exclamations, he
penetrates her deeply. His cock pulses and spurts its load deep within
her. Her eyes have rolled back and she shudders and trembles as the
waves of forced pleasure stream over her.
	When he is done, Rukimo wipes his cock on a handy towel, removing the
brown stains from the girl's bowels. She lies suspended by her legs
and her arms, limp and fatigued. Another round of drinks is called
for.
	 While the men refresh themselves, the girl stirs slightly. She is
mortified and ashamed of her wanton responses to her rape. She looks
up. She sees the glow of the fat man's cigar. She cannot make out his
features, but can see the outline of his massive form. She realizes
that he has been watching the entire time.  Rukimo walks over to the
man and asks him if he can get him a drink. The man declines. But he
instructs Rukimo to have the girl cleaned up and presented to his
quarters in an hour. Rukimo responds, "As you wish, Mr. Klitzman."

CHAPTER SIX

TWO WOMEN TAKE A TRIP
	I awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing on the porch outside. It
wasn't exactly cool, but the sun had not yet heated the muggy air and
so it was a comfortable time of day. I saw that the girl still dangled
from her rope. "I bet she's got to piss like a race horse," I thought
to myself. Well, I did. I stepped back out to the porch and let loose
a stream over the balustrade. I didn't know where the cultured
gentleman I had met last night usually took his morning ablutions, but
this was good enough for me.
I returned inside the house and saw that Morianos was up. He led his
'guest' from the night before by a rope around her neck. She looked
much the worse for wear. Morianos looked up at the other girl, still
hanging from the rafter.
"Cheeze, gringo," he said. "Didn't you fuck her?"
"I wasn't in the mood," I replied.
"Well, that's your business," he mumbled. "I got to get these bitches
ready for the plane. It'll be here in an hour." He pulled out his
knife. "Help me get this one down."
I helped Morianos release the well-stretched young woman from her
bonds and she slid to the floor. She moved her arms stiffly and looked
up at me with disdain. I didn't know if it was because I made her hang
there all night or that I had jizzed on her tummy. Either way, she
would probably have to keep those kinds of looks to herself in the
future.
"Get up you cunt," Morianos yelled at her, kicking her with his foot.
"Take off the rest of your clothes. You don't need them anymore."
Less brave now, the girl readily complied with Morianos' orders. She
drew her socks and underwear off of her feet. Since her hands were
still tied, Morianos assisted her by tearing through her open blouse
with his knife. He snipped off the remnants of her bra.
"I'm taking these cunts out to the shithouse. Get yourself some
breakfast, you'll be leaving real soon."
The old lady appeared mysteriously with another plate of chili and a
huge hunk of bread. She also brought two more beers. A breakfast for
champions.
A half hour later, we were heading back to the landing strip. The
women were bound hand and foot, naked, in the back seat of the jeep.
They were buckled in to prevent escape. Morianos drove. As we arrived,
I saw frantic activity at the airstrip. I could now see that the field
was a scar cut out of the surrounding jungle. It seemed strange in the
early morning light, like some bomber strip hacked out of the jungles
of Borneo or New Guinea. While the night before the runway had been
deserted, this morning three large trucks had arrived and men were
unloading them. From two I saw large wooden crates being unloaded.
>From the third came bundles of plastic covered blocks of white powder.
Cocaine.
Within a few minutes of our arrival, a worker pointed up to the sky.
We all looked up and saw the large transport circling the field. You
would have to be a pretty good pilot to land that thing on this short
runway. I assumed that that was what they had.
The plane landed uneventfully. As it taxied up to the loading area, we
walked over. Morianos was leading the two stumbling, reticent
prisoners by long leather leashes that had been tied around their
throats. Their mouths were gagged as they had been the night before
and I could hear their muffled whines and cries as they were pulled
along. When we reached the plane, a lanky blond haired youth emerged
from the cabin door. Naturally, he was chewing gum and wearing an
obligatory short leather jacket.
"What you got there Morianos, some new customers?" he quipped.
"Yeah," Morianos replied. "Two gringas who made a wrong turn. I think
the boss will want a word with them."
"Well, bring 'em aboard, we got plenty of room. Is this my other
passenger?"
"Yeah, he's a charmer too, like you."
The two men exchanged the banter of workmates. Obviously this guy had
made this run many times before. He was not nonplussed at the vision
of two naked, bound women and so was obviously aware of the nature of
their odious future. He also had to know that the men were loading
what looked like a ton of cocaine as well as twenty or thirty large
wooden crates on his plane. I didn't know what was in the crates, but
I was sure that it wasn't anything good.
"Let's get that stuff loaded and gas me up" the blond kid remarked.
"I'm on a schedule you know."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Morianos. "They'll be done quick. In the
meantime, why don't you get these two bitches settled?"
Morianos handed the kid the leashes that led to the necks of the
women. They must have realized that this was the last opportunity they
would have to escape and that getting on the plane would spell their
doom. They both dug their heels into the dirt in an effort to resist
being pulled into the plane.
Morianos got pissed and started yelling and slapping the girls.
"Cool it Morianos," the kid interjected. "I've got just the thing."
He disappeared momentarily into the plane and emerged with a three-
foot long wand. He fiddled with some controls on its side. The women
were still resisting and so he reached out with the wand and jabbed it
into the rear end of the nearest one. There was a loud 'zap!' and the
girl fell down in agony. The other girl stood, shocked, so to speak.
"You all coming in girls or what?" the kid said to the women. Seeing
that the alternative to boarding the plane was more of the wand's
painful jolts, the women climbed the steps into the plane sullenly.
"That's the good girls," the blond kid said. "Now we'll get you all
comfy."
I followed the two women in, carrying my small suitcase. The kid held
out his hand. "Jimmy," he said. Jimmy! It just had to be.
"Yeah," I grumbled back. "Harry." I shook his hand.
The cabin of the plane was small, sitting about ten people at most.
Jimmy sat the women two seats apart from each other in the front row.
He pushed them back uncomfortably on their tied hands and belted them
in. When he had them settled, he looked at the primitive gags around
their mouths. "I've got something better than that," he said.
He went to the back of the cabin and returned with two rubberized
hoods. Each sported a spherical tube.
"Watch this," Jimmy said. He removed the gag around the mouth of the
first girl, the one who Morianos had tormented the night before. The
now desperate woman took the opportunity to beg and plead with this
seemingly all American kid.
'Oh, please don't take us. We'll keep quiet. I'm sorry I came here. I
won't talk to anyone....."
Jimmy cut her short with a slap across the face, and the woman
quieted, a bright red mark on her cheek. Her eyes were brimming with
tears as Jimmy settled the hood around her head. He had some
difficulty getting it over her hair, but, it was flexible and he was
able to stretch it sufficiently. Once over the top of the head, the
hood was pulled down. The woman's frantic eyes disappeared behind the
face of the hood. There was a hole for the nose and the rubber sphere
was pushed into the girl's mouth. Jimmy linked the straps behind the
gag and tightened it in place. The girl was covered from the top of
her head to her chin. She shook her head in terrorized frustration. I
could hear her mumbled begging and pleading from behind the mask.
Jimmy took a small hand pump from his pocket and attached it to a
nozzle in the front of the gag, just opposite the mouth. He gave it a
few squeezes and the girl bolted upright. Her pleas became panicked
murmurs and then were extinguished completely. Jimmy had blown up the
rubber ball in her mouth, filling her oral cavity. He snipped off the
pump from the nozzle and said, "Voila!"
Only a slight hum could be heard from inside the hood as the girl
undoubtedly was attempting to scream frantically from within. Her
breasts jiggled nicely as she shook her head and torso futilely.
"Relax, honey," Jimmy told her. "You'll be okay. I promise." He patted
her rubber-coated head in reassurance.
Jimmy then turned to the number two girl and removed the cloth gag
from her mouth. She said nothing, but she was wide eyed with alarm and
shied away as best she could when Jimmy went to apply the hood. She
shook her head right and left, making it difficult for him to draw it
over her face. Jimmy stood up.
"I'm disappointed in you, honey," he said. He reached over and picked
up the electrified wand. That was all he had to do. The girl stopped
moving her head and whispered plaintively, "Please don't. I'll be
good."
Jimmy looked at the girl and then back at the wand as if he was trying
to make up his mind whether to zap the girl anyway. She cringed in her
seat, expecting the worst. But Jimmy was magnanimous and put the wand
down.
When the hood was placed on the second girl and the gag pumped up,
Jimmy patted her head as well. He then reached down and took her pale
round breasts in his hands. He squeezed them gently, assessing their
worth. "Nice tits," was all he said.
He turned to me and told me to make myself comfortable anywhere I
wanted. He pointed out the wet bar, a rack of old magazines and a TV
and DVD player mounted on the ceiling. "There's some movies in the
cabinet there. Help yourself. I've got some sandwiches up front when
you get hungry. It's a six hour flight and you may get bored." He
started to step into the cabin then stopped and turned around to me.
"Let me give you a piece of advice. Don't fuck with the merchandise.
Klitzman don't like free lancers. Know what I mean?"
I got Jimmy's gist and nodded my affirmation. As I went to pick out a
seat, Morianos came aboard and handed Jimmy a small valise. "This is
something special for Rukimo. Don't let anyone else have it or you'll
be dead meat," Morianos told him. He also tossed aboard the girls'
backpacks, restuffed with their impedimenta. "He'll want to take a
look at this stuff too," Morianos added.
He stepped from the plane and closed the outer door. Jimmy went up
front to warm the engines. I heard the vast cargo doors to the plane
shutting. The engines, twin props, began to roar and the plane started
in motion. I picked out a chair as it lumbered down to the edge of the
field. Jimmy made a wide turn at the end of the runway and stopped the
plane. He looked back at me through the cabin door.
"Here's the fun part," he said. "Hope you've made a Will."
The engines began to roar mightily. I could feel the plane trying to
move forwards, held back I supposed by the brakes. Suddenly, with a
jerk, the plane lurched forwards and started its run. I decided I had
to see for myself and so I crept forwards to the door of the cockpit
where I could see out the windscreen. The trees at the end of the
runway were getting closer and closer. The plane was going faster and
faster. And yet I felt no rise in the wings, no lifting off of the
ground. I grabbed the edges of the doorway and held on for dear life.
My knuckles turned white, my mouth got dry. Suddenly, the plane jerked
upwards. Jimmy had lowered the flaps. Almost as if in slow motion, the
plane rose steadily. I swore I could hear the branches of the trees at
the end of the runway scraping our wheels as we got fully into the
air.
"Well," Jimmy laughed, "I did it again!"




CHAPTER SEVEN

A GIRL IS SOLD
The French girl's body was being meticulously examined by a tall,
thin, dark skinned man. He wore a long white cotton caftan and a
maroon turban on his head. He was accompanied by a small fat fellow
who was similarly dressed. The girl was naked, her hands held behind
her head, her legs spread.
	It had been several months since she had found herself a captive of
the cruel men who had whipped and raped her. Her brand had healed and
the bright red "K" on her ass was now a permanent fixture on her body.
The slight baby fat she had exhibited on her first day was gone,
replaced with taut, firm muscles. Her slight tan had faded, and her
skin now was as white as alabaster.
	The thin man lifted her breasts, squeezing them gently. He spoke some
words in Arabic to his partner. The partner, meanwhile, was rubbing
his hands over her ass, remarking the deep gouge that had been made by
the brand. He reached from behind the girl and rubbed the now hairless
sex. The girl made no protest at his handling of her, only a slight
intake of breath as the fat man jammed a finger into her cunt.
	She had been well trained. It had taken much pain and suffering on
her part to understand that her old life was over forever. She had to
acknowledge her new status as owned property. She had to open herself
to all who desired her and to engage in whatever acts they demanded.
She had, at the urging of a whip, learned to take cocks down her
throat, to lick and suck on them as if every moment that one violated
her mouth was a moment of ecstasy. Her ass and cunt had been plundered
uncounted times until she learned how to move her body to give maximum
joy to her possessors. And she learned to stand still, when ordered
to, to remain silent unless spoken to, and to address all males as her
master.
	Her English lessons had been perfunctory. "Spread your legs", "open
your mouth", "kneel", were some of the few words of English that she
was specifically taught. She had picked up some more like, "slut",
"whore", and "cunt" on her own.
	The girl had stopped crying after about two weeks. At that point
hopelessness took its toll. At first, she had thought she was a lonely
prisoner of these evil men. But after the first day, she saw that
there were more women, imprisoned, branded, whipped and beaten like
she was. They brought her another young French girl, a tiny thing,
with small breasts and welts all over her body. She translated the big
black man's instructions to her on deportment and the purpose of her
presence. Thus, she learned that she had become enslaved; that she
would not see France again, not see her family, her friends, not walk
freely in the sun, not dance at her favorite clubs, eat at her
favorite cafes. Most importantly, she learned that she was now an
owned object, no more than an animal of pleasure.
	Now, the tall man examined the inside of her mouth, looked into her
eyes. "They buy horses like this," she thought. He took his turn at
examining her cunt, rubbing the tender tip of her clitoris with his
long, boney fingers until it stood, engorged. He ran his fingers down
her cleft, feeling her wetness as her vulva opened. She had learned to
respond to the touches of strange men. The whip had taught her that.
She learned to take her mind to a place where sexual pleasure would
flow. She did it now, knowing that the lash would follow if she was
found wanting.
	Satisfied at his examination, the tall man stepped away from the
slender, curvaceous French girl. He turned to sit at a small, low
table, crossing his legs. The fat man stood behind him. Rukimo, the
black man who had assaulted her on her first day, was there.
	She could not understand the words, but she had guessed at the
purpose of her examination. She was to be sold.
	"As you have said," the tall man began in Arabic, "she is a
delightful specimen. She is all as you described, beautiful."
	"I sell your master only the best," the big black man said. "And she
is well trained."
	"I could see that by the lushness of her cunt as I rubbed it. My
master wants female slaves that will show real passion when
stimulated."
	"She has learned to show passion whether she feels it or not," the
black man retorted. "Do you want me to make her come?"
	"It will not be necessary. I know that if my master is displeased you
will take her back."
	"Of course. And she knows that if she is sent back it will go very
badly for her."
	The tall man took a sip of tea. "You have set your price and in these
matters my master does not like to haggle. He will remit your fee in
the usual way."
	"Good," the black man replied. "I will have her packaged and ready
within the hour."
	From the conclusive tone of the conversation between the men, the
French girl knew that she had been sold. To what cruel master would
she now belong? Whoever it was and wherever he took her, she would be
one more step removed from her home, one more step removed from
freedom.
	She was taken down to a room below the room where she had been
displayed for sale. There, three of the ubiquitous black robed African
supervisors were waiting for her. A knot had formed in her stomach.
The past months had been a tortuous journey from innocence to
depravity. She had been beaten and abused many times. But she had
learned to live within the rules. She had learned when to accept
instructions docilely and when to energetically apply her new found
whorish skills. Now, she was going to an unknown destination. Some of
the men she had serviced while on this small African island had been
demanding indeed. Some enjoyed the torture of a young woman for its
own sake. Had she been sold to one of those men? Would her daily life
be one of constant torture and fear? How long could she survive and
still be a person?
These questions rushed through the girl's mind as she was made to
kneel. She trembled as a leather hood was forced over her head. It was
designed to block all light and hearing from its wearer. A last
thought of struggle, as vain as it might be, shot across her mind as
the hood descended over her eyes. But it was too late even for that.
As the hood slipped into place, the girl was irremediably isolated
from the world around her. A rubber gag was stuffed into her mouth and
affixed to the outer portion of the hood. Her hands were locked behind
her.
Effectively reduced to an anonymous object, she was led to a toilet
and, as she had practiced many times, peed when her labia were stroked
appropriately. She was douched so that her cunt would arrive at her
new home fresh. She was given an enema to prevent an untoward accident
on her trip.
	Her packaging was simple, but effective. She was made to sit on a
base with two dildos attached, one taller and thicker than the other.
One of the supervisors carefully aligned them to her sex and rear.
They easily slid into place, as they had been greased and, as the girl
had been trained, she relaxed her muscles to ease their penetration.
Her legs were crossed in front of her and strapped to the base on
which she sat. The sides of the crate were now added. Foam pillows
were packed tightly around her body to prevent movement. A long tube
was run through her gag and into her mouth to facilitate breathing.
Its other end was affixed to a special nozzle in the top of the crate.
	As the top of the crate was closed, the girl began to panic. She had
suffered her packaging passively, almost serenely, but when she felt
the vibration of the top being put in place, she realized that her
only link to life was the thin little tube that ran through her gag.
Her bonds were too strong and severe to permit any movement except a
slight nodding of her head. As she felt the cool air of the room
outside her little prison fill her lungs through the little tube, she
felt relieved, or as relieved as an enslaved female could be under the
circumstances.
	The sides of the crate had two handles and it was easy to lift it
onto a small dolly. She was wheeled to an elevator and brought up to
ground level. As the small black box appeared, the agents of her new
master were waiting and, after shaking the big black man's hand and
exchanging kisses on the cheeks, they stepped outside and entered the
van that would drive them to the airstrip. The crate was loaded into
the back. The van drove away.




CHAPTER EIGHT
HARRY'S EDUCATION BEGINS
	As the plane touched down somewhere off the coast of Africa, I
contemplated my dilemma. Here I was landing in the middle of God knows
where, with a future very much in doubt. The things that Morianos had
said about Klitzman's island were intriguing to say the least. But
what would be my role? Would I ever be contacted by the 'Agency',
whoever they were?
	Our landing was smooth, and as soon as it came to a halt the door was
opened from the outside. A large black man outfitted in a black and
red uniform, a huge sidearm and a baton that would have delighted
Harmon Killebrew, came aboard. His red and black striped short sleeve
shirt was starched and pressed to razor sharp creases. The uniform
pants carried a red stripe down the sides. His cap was peaked and had
a wide plastic brim. He motioned me to sit while he unstrapped the two
women from their seats. He dragged them unceremoniously to the door
where they were led out by another dark, heavy fellow. I was then
invited off the plane.
As I went through the doorway, the heat and humidity hit me like a wet
sponge in the face. We were in Africa all right. It was night and the
whole place was lit up like a ballpark. I could make out a cyclone
fence behind the lights, but no other identifying features. There was
a small hut about 200' from where we were, with two vehicles standing
outside. The first was a small van standing closest to the hut. Next
to the van was one of those limos you saw taking movie stars to
Hollywood or Atlantic City. As we walked to the hut, I saw the two
naked and hooded women being trundled into the back door of the van.
The door shut and it sped away. I was led into the hut.
"Please undress and place all of your clothes in the bags," spoke the
guard who had led me in. "You will then please put on this robe and
sandals." I complied in silence. The robe was made of light cotton and
wrapped around my front. It was tied shut with a belt of similar
material that wrapped around my body twice. The robe was a bright
yellow color, which kind of made me feel like an overstuffed banana.
My little suitcase, whatever it contained, was taken from me. I had
never opened it.
I walked out to the waiting limo. As soon as I got in, it moved off.
The limo exited the tarmac after crossing through a well-guarded gate.
We then rode for about a half hour before we came to another gate.
There were more armed guards there and they had me get out of the van
and examined me with their flashlights. One of them was carrying a
picture that I assumed was me. The men all looked at it and then at me
and we were then waived through the gate.
About ten minutes later we pulled up to another gate. The limo was
admitted and then stopped so that I could get out. When got out I
could see that I was between two steel fences, both topped with barbed
wire and, I guessed, electrified. There was a small hut that sat
between the two fences. The driver motioned me to follow him. I
entered the small hut and stood in front of a large, heavy footed,
colonial style desk. The driver handed what I took to be some form of
pass to another guard sitting at the desk and walked back outside. I
could hear the limo pulling away. The guard behind the desk looked at
the pass and at me and shrugged. He handed it back to me. "Walk
through that door," he said, "and follow the path to the next
building. You will be welcomed there and your processing will begin."
I did as I was told. I felt like I was trying to get into Fort Knox.
The path was about four feet wide and lined by 12' high steel fencing
on each side. It was about 20 yards long and led to a large white
stone building, two stories, built in a modern style with sleek low
lines and nestled into the hillside. I walked in through a large steel
door. A small dark Caucasian man was standing there, waiting for me.
He had short black hair and was about forty and in good shape. He
reached out his right hand in greeting. "My name is Anthony," he said.
"I'll be handling your orientation session here tonight. Tomorrow
morning you'll be allowed inside, but tonight, we're going to take
some medical tests, get you filled in on the rules and get you some
rest. Please come with me."
	I followed Anthony through the foyer and through another steel door,
which led into the interior of the building. He led me to a series of
small rooms, and instructed me to wait inside one of them. I entered
the third door and sat down on a small examination table that was set
against the wall, the only furniture in the room. After about a half
hour, the door opened and a slight middle-aged oriental man, also
wearing a red robe, came in pushing a small cart. "I am going to take
some blood, a urine specimen and your fingerprints, sir. Then you will
wait here until Anthony comes back for you." I permitted him to take
the blood sample and fingerprints and then pissed into a small jar he
gave me.
	Obviously, the club took no chances on a man's health or his
identity. The technician left the room and about a half hour later the
door reopened. It was Anthony. "Come on, let's go on upstairs," he
said. "A nice meal, some conversation and then beddie bye."
	"Listen, what is this crap. I'm no tourist here and I'm about..." I
was trying to assert myself.
	"Whoa, relax Mr. Wiggins," Anthony interrupted patiently. "You'll be
taken care of. Everybody's got to go through this when they come in
from the outside. SOP, you know."
	"Yeah, well I don't like this shit, you understand, all this barbed
wire and guards make me feel like I'm back at the joint."
	"Believe me, Mr. Wiggins," Anthony continued, "prison was never like
this. Just wait until tomorrow."
	"Okay, okay," I said. "I've been on the road it seems forever. And I
haven't had a good meal since I got locked up."
	"Sure, that's where we're going now."
"Just do me a favor?"
"If I can," Anthony replied.
"Don't call me Mr. Wiggins, only judges, cops and prosecutors call me
that."
"Sure, Harry, sure," he responded, smiling.
We dined in a small room, elegantly appointed. Dinner was a spicy
chowder made from local seafood and a sixteen-ounce N.Y. cut sirloin.
Anthony served the dishes after getting them from a dumbwaiter located
in the wall. The wine was an delightful red Bordeaux. We ate in
silence and, after we were done, I was led down a short corridor to a
series of doors that led to bedrooms.
"Normally, we have more than one guest arriving," Anthony told me.
"But tonight it's just you. Make yourself comfortable and I'll see you
in the morning."
I stepped into the room indicated by Anthony, took a short but
delightful shower and then spread myself out on the full size bed
located against the wall opposite the door. I was asleep in seconds.
The next morning I woke suddenly and with a start. Anxiously, for
about ten seconds, I wondered where I was. As my head cleared, I
realized that the meal the night before must have been doctored with a
mild sedative. I looked around the room. There was no window and the
door had no handle. There was a small table next to the door, which
had a telephone on it. I walked over and picked up the receiver. A
voice responded, "Yes, Mr. Wiggins?"
"When do I get out of here?"
"Shortly, sir. First, I'll have breakfast sent in."
The door opened about ten minutes later and a beauteous young woman
stood there holding a tray. On it was a melon, some toast and a
thermos of coffee. As a black robed guard held the door open, she
entered my room and set the tray down on the nightstand. The guard
closed the door and the two of us were left standing there.
The girl was young, about 21 or 22 years old. Her hair was long and
black. It was flat and straight and descended halfway down her back.
She was not slender, but seemed properly proportioned for her height,
about 5'6". She was utterly naked except for the steel collar that she
wore around her neck and the leather bracelets around her wrists and
ankles. She was barefooted.
She looked down at the floor, her head bowed. Her hands were placed
behind her, her feet were set wide apart. A well-trimmed bush, just
big enough to be bikini sized, framed her pussy.
Breakfast seemed a dull proposition after seeing this girl in my room.
My cock had taken a life of its own and peeked out from my robe. I
didn't know what to say to this girl. I started out the normal way.
"What's your name?"
She replied in a low, almost whispered voice. "My name, if it pleases
the master, is Adriana."
Her voice was thickly accented. Judging by her black hair and the dark
tones of her skin, I guessed that she was Italian or Greek.
"And what am I to do with you, Adriana?" I asked her.
"Whatever the master desires," she answered.
I longed to touch her generous breasts and to put my lips on her skin.
"Come closer to me, Adriana,"
The girl stepped closer so that she stood about six inches from my
body. I reached out my hand and stroked her gleaming black hair. She
had been lightly perfumed, a kind of jasmine scent. I breathed her in
with passionate delight. I realized that she was looking directly down
at my cock, the head of which had sprung free from my robe.
"May I pleasure you, master?" she asked timidly.
"I would like that, Adriana," I said.
The girl fell to her knees and parted my robe. She took my cock in her
hands and gently covered its head with her lips. I felt a tingling in
my flesh as her kiss of my prick went directly to my brain. I leaned
back so that I was resting on the nightstand. Adriana opened her mouth
and swallowed my cock.
I closed my eyes and let the young girl pleasure me. She stroked my
balls as she glided her tongue up and down my shaft. I groaned with
pleasure.
In spite of the exquisite oral attention to my manhood, I could not
but think that in spite of this girl's apparent eagerness to pleasure
me, she was a slave, a sexual slave. Nothing that she did was of her
own free will. The grounds for her energetic administrations to my
cock had been laid at some time before, enforced by the crack of a
whip.
It did not take long for me to deliver a load of my thick white cum
into the girl's mouth. She swallowed it dutifully as she coaxed the
last drop out with her lips. My mind reeled from the pleasurable
sensations sent to it by my throbbing cock. It had been a long time.
I pulled my cock back from her mouth and went to sit on the bed, my
body still reverberating with the tremors of my orgasm. She knelt
before me, head down, hands behind her. I was astounded at my first
encounter with one of Klitzman's slaves. The way she carried herself,
held her body open to my gaze, knelt poised in anticipation of an
order or command from me, reignited my desire. I wanted to fuck her.
"Get up on the bed," I ordered.
She scrambled on top of the bed and turned to face me. Her eyes were
wide apart, a deep brown, almost black. She had full lips that seemed
poised for use. I took a breast in my hand and squeezed it softly. As
I kneaded the nipple with my fingers, I felt it getting hard. I pushed
the girl over onto her back and slid myself next to her. I seized her
left breast with my lips and sucked at it gently. My cock was stirring
once again. I ran my hand down the girl's taut, firm stomach and
covered her sex, grasping it, cupping it in my palm. As I slid my
fingers into her crevasse, I felt that she was lubricated, her lips
parting easily. I rubbed her clit with my thumb, she sighed, her eyes
closing. I insinuated myself between her thighs and presented my hard
cock to her moist lower lips. She spread her legs and thrust her hips
forwards invitingly. Slowly, languidly, I eased my cock into her
passage, relishing the warmth and softness I found there.
It had been over three and a half years since I had penetrated a pussy
with my cock. I had almost forgotten the intensity of the pleasure of
having my manhood surrounded by warm, tender flesh. As I reached deep
into her, the girl began to move her hips. I could feel her cunt
tighten around me and I sighed heavily.
Slowly, but surely, the tempo of my thrusts increased. The girl was
now uttering little cries each time I dragged my cock against her
engorged bud of pleasure. I felt her arms around my back, her legs
intertwining mine as she tried to pull me deeper inside her. Suddenly,
my cock began to throb, spurting my second discharge of the day into
her deep recesses. The girl pushed against me with her hips and cried
out. Her shudders and moans indicated to me that she too had reached
climax.
After a few moments of afterglow, I disentangled myself from the slave
girl and sat back and stared at her. Her expression had not changed.
It was still a neutral, emotionless demeanor. But I could see from the
listlessness of her body that she was relishing the sense of
relaxation that an orgasm brings.
After a moment, there was a knock on the door. I answered, "Yes. Come
in."
The door opened and Anthony stuck in his head.
"Ready to go?" he asked. Then, seeing my naked form and the girl's
splayed body he added, "I see you favored sex over breakfast this
morning. Adriana is a delightful slave; I'm not surprised."
Still looking intently at the slave girl's face, I acknowledged his
estimation of the girl. "She's a good fuck," I said. "Is she yours?"
"Oh, no, she belongs to the club, at least for now. Later she might be
sold, but right now there's too many who like her. I get her assigned
down here whenever I can. In fact...," his voice raised an octave, his
tone became stern. "Adriana, get up and go tell the duty supervisor
that I want to have you tonight."
"Yes, Master," Adriana replied as she shimmied off of the bed. As she
passed me, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to me once more.
I placed my lips on her nipples and kissed them, one after the other.
"Thank you, Adriana," I said.
She looked up at me strangely. "Y,yes, Master," she replied. And then
she scooted from the room.
I was sitting there buck naked, my banana robe on a hook behind the
door. My flaccid cock pointed to the floor. "There's a red robe for
you in the closet," Anthony said.
I donned the red robe and let Anthony lead me down the hall.
"What's with the colored robes?" I asked.
"It's so we can keep track of who's who. Red robes are for
supervisors, like me, and now you. Blue is for guests. Black is for
security. The service staff, cooks, cleaners, slave tenders, they wear
white uniforms. The girl's, of course, wear nothing."
"And banana?" I asked.
Anthony laughed. "Yellow is for newcomers who haven't been processed.
No one gets in without a full medical checkup. We wouldn't want anyone
coming down with anything nasty."
"So, where do we go from here?" I asked.
"Well, you have to meet with Rukimo. He's the head honcho around here,
second only to Mr. Klitzman. But first, I want to show you around a
little."
When we got to the end of the hallway, we passed through a doorway and
into another hall. There was a black robed guard standing there at
attention at the end. Anthony pulled out a small card, showed it to
the guard who then opened the door with a key that was fastened to a
leather thong attached to his belt. We walked through and stepped out
onto a large terrace. Strewn about the terrace were a number of tables
and chairs, some of them occupied by blue and red clad figures. We
walked past the tables and I noticed that on the ground next to one or
two of them were kneeling women, naked, their arms crossed behind
them, their eyes downcast. Slaves. "Staff and guests mix pretty
freely, Anthony commented. "When you talk to them you can tell them
about your life of crime, I'm sure it will fascinate them. But we are
on a first name only basis here. Don't give your last name or how you
got here. And never get soused in the guest areas. It doesn't look
good and you never know what might happen." This was like having a big
brother.
	I could feel a moderately cool breeze blowing from the ocean, which
was overlooked by the terrace. On the beach I could see various
figures, some swimming, some on the strand. I saw one guy who looked
like he was humping a girl right out in the open. He was.
	Anthony took me through a set of double doors that led into a large
area containing a bar, some couches and chairs and a stage in the
middle. The air conditioning felt good, even with the breeze outside.
This tropical weather was going to take some getting used to. On the
stage was a brown skinned girl dangling from a chain that hung from
the ceiling. Several naked women were kneeling along the walls of the
room, their hands held palms up, resting on their thighs. Anthony led
me over to a dark haired girl, pale, with large, rounded breasts. Her
head was bent over, eyes cast downwards. Her posture was perfect,
shoulders back, back straight, thighs apart. "This is one of my
favorite slaves, Maria. A little Italian girl. I just want you to see
how the girls are outfitted."
	The girl had a leather collar around her neck, which was attached to
the wall by a thin chain. Her wrists were enclosed by leather
bracelets, as were her ankles. Her black hair was cut short with large
ringlets of curls. She wore light makeup around her eyes and a dark
red lipstick. She was gorgeous. "As you can see, the chain is attached
to the collar with a small lock. Guests are all given keys which fit
the collars and bracelets, as well as most of the chains and body
locks used in the guest area." Anthony lifted up the chin of the
Italian girl and squeezed her face tightly. A look of pain crossed it.
And fear. "There is still a punishment owed to this slave. Perhaps I
will tend to it this evening." The girl visibly shuddered.
	Anthony led me past the bar and through a doorway that led to a hall
lined with doors. Each one was marked with a small card with the
occupant's first name and last name initial. Several guests passed us
in the hallway, each saying hello to me and Anthony. Quite jolly. One
fellow was leading a tall, slender girl with a hood over her head. The
chain was affixed to a ring under her chin. Her hands were bound to
her sides to a wide belt around her middle. I could see welts across
her thighs. The guest stopped in front of us.
	"I want to report an infraction," the guest said to Anthony. "This
girl was slow to obey and she attempted to resist when being whipped."
The guest was about 6'2", 220 pounds. It was hard to imagine this girl
resisting him for a minute.	"Well, Paul, do you want us to report her
or should we take her for discipline now?" Anthony asked.
	"Take her now," Paul said, "I'd like to have her back tonight."
	"Fine. Harry, would you mind taking this slave's leash and bringing
her along."
I grabbed the leash from Paul the moose and followed Anthony down the
hall. The girl stumbled behind me. It was quite a new sensation to
have such power over a woman. All of these women. I felt like I was in
some kind of movie or dream. "This can't be real," I thought. Not only
were all of the women young and pleasing to the eye, but their
subservience was apparent by their very demeanor. Their eyes were
uniformly downcast, their bodies were posed lasciviously, breasts held
high and proud, thighs open. My cock was a stiff as a board as I led
the comely slave down the hall. I presumed that having me tow the girl
along was Anthony's way of getting me into the swing of things. I have
to say that I needed little encouragement.
The hallway curved in a semicircle that terminated in a glass atrium
doorway, which led outside. There were thirty guest rooms. Across a
small courtyard was another atrium style door marked by red and brown
stripes along the floor and around the door. Staff areas. We entered
the door and were greeted by a guard. Anthony showed him his pass card
and we were admitted.
	"I'll get you your pass after lunch. First let's take this slave down
to a holding area. We can discipline her after I show you your room
and get you fixed up."
	We walked past a series of doors and then through a large commons
area. Several staff members were there drinking coffee, bullshitting.
There were a few girls scattered around the room, some kneeling, some
standing and one mounted on a platform in the middle of the room. She
had long brown hair, which fell about her face as she knelt there on
all fours. There were stripes on her ass. A staff member sitting in an
easy chair was absentmindedly caressing the breast of a girl kneeling
by his side while he talked to a supervisor across from him. After we
exited the commons area, we approached a series of chains dangling
from the wall. Anthony commanded the girl to kneel and he chained her
neck to the wall, leaving her only about six inches of play. The girl
was facing the wall. Anthony took a small book from his pocket and
checked the girl's collar. There was a small disk hanging from the
back with a number on it. Anthony wrote it down in his book.
	We left the girl and proceeded down the hallway. We stopped at the
fifth door. It had the name Harry W. on a small card next to the door.
My room. We walked in. "There aren't any locks on any of the doors,"
Anthony told me. "What we do here is perfectly open to everyone else.
No one has any property, so there's nothing to steal. As a matter of
courtesy, no one goes into anyone else's room uninvited unless on
official business. But it's the principal that counts."
	There was a girl in the middle of the room kneeling with her arms
resting on her thighs, just like the girls in the guests' commons.
Rest position, I was to learn. "This is your attendant," Anthony
advised me. "As a staff member, you are entitled to an attendant full
time. Unlike the guests, you may reserve her exclusively for up to a
week. Then she has to go back into the pool. She will tend to your
personal needs and show you where your clothes and personal items are
kept."
Anthony spoke to the slave, "Have you been given a name?"
"Yes Master" she answered without looking up. She spoke with a
distinct accent. Not French. Maybe Dutch?	"Well, what is it?" Anthony
demanded.
"Tulip, Master." she answered. Dutch it was.
Anthony turned to me. "Of course, you may call her what you wish. She
has been instructed to maintain your room and to tend to her own
personal needs without further orders. Food will be delivered to her
by servants on a regular basis. When not servicing you or the room or
attending to personal needs, and unless you give her alternative
orders, she will return to this position after doing her duties. It is
necessary that you discipline your attendant well. Frequently we use
slaves who are in the last steps of their training as body servants.
Part of your job is to complete their training so that they will
please the guests properly. Come on, drop your suitcase and we'll go
see Rukimo."
I dropped off my suitcase and ordered the girl to put my things away.
Not my things really, just some stuff they had given me. But it was
all I had.
We left Tulip sitting in the rest position as we departed the room. We
walked back out to the commons area, passing the tall girl from
before. One of the staff members had put on some music and the girl on
the dais rose to her feet and began to move gracefully in time to the
luxurious beat of the music. It was a cool jazz number, with a sinewy
saxophone riff and a heavy beat.
Anthony turned to me and said, "Watch this."
I stood mesmerized as the girl rolled her graceful, inviting hips to
the beat of the music. All eyes in the room were on her. Her long
brown hair flowed around her as she turned and dipped her knees. Her
face was aglow with passion as if the music had triggered a burning
lust within her.
I watched as the lithe, brown skinned girl began to caress the twin
globes of delightful flesh on her chest. She licked her lips with her
long tongue and pulled on her nipples, extending her breasts from her
body. Her eyes were alight and darted from face to face in the room.
She seemed to draw energy from the lust that she was generating. After
raising herself to her full height and running her hands down her
sides, she slowly lowered her body, her hips gyrating to the now
pounding rhythm of the music's drums. The saxophone wailed as if
tormented by the tantalizing movements of the girl.
When her knees reached the dais, the girl leaned back, touching the
floor behind her with her hands. Her legs were spread and the lips of
her sex glistened with her incumbent passion. She rolled over and
pressed her forehead down, raising her ass high, her back curved like
the string of a taut bow. A hand snaked between her legs and delved
into the wet slit between them. Still moving to the beat of the music,
rocking her hips from side to side, she began to stroke herself.
I had to resist pulling out my cock and running up to the stage. I
glanced around the room and several of the men had slave girls on
their laps, their legs spread wide, and had their hands up the girl's
cunts. One girl was on her knees servicing a short but muscular bald
headed guy. His robe was spread open and his eyes were closed,
delighting in the mouth that had fastened itself on his prick.
Anthony's eyes were glued to the spectacle of the swaying, squirming
brown haired dancer.
She had begun to moan. She rolled onto her back, spreading her legs
wide to their extreme and plunged her fingers into her pussy. Her back
was arched and she thrust her hips in time with her hand's exertions.
As the song wound down, she began to cry out. Her skin was wet with
sweat, sparkling under the overhead spotlight. The song ended, the sax
fading to a whisper until the only sound in the room was the girl's
cries of ecstasy as she orgasmed right on the stage. If it was a fake,
it was very, very good. I doubted whether even a well-trained girl
could make her pussy gush on command. I could see a small puddle of
her juices that had dripped from her flushed and engorged pussy lips.
A man rushed up and, grabbing her head, rammed his cock into her
mouth. She sucked at it hungrily as another man rose to stuff her
soft, dilated sex. The lust generated by the girl had spread through
the room like an epidemic, as all around slave girls were being plowed
fore and aft. I must have made some involuntary move towards one of
the girls when Anthony grabbed my sleeve.
"Whoa, boy," he said, amused. "We're on our way to see Rukimo,
remember?"
I turned to him, startled out of the trance that the dancing girl had
put me in. "Ah, yeah," was all I could say.
Anthony started to walk away and I reluctantly followed.


CHAPTER NINE
HER NEW HOME
	The young French girl had been locked in her mobile prison for many
hours. She had been given a mild soporific before she had been
packaged for shipment and so, for much of the time, she had floated in
and out of consciousness. She had felt it when her box had been lifted
from the van and carried by forklift to the waiting airplane. She had
noted the unmistakable sensations of taking off. But she had not been
able to give them much thought as her mind quickly clouded over. The
faint sounds of the plane's engines and its graceful yawing were
lulling.
	After a couple of hours, the girl gradually resumed full
consciousness. The terrible reality of what had happened to her struck
home like the blow from a fist. She had inured herself to her fate
through her months of training and service on Klitzman's island. Her
whippings, the rapes, the abusive objectification she had suffered,
had driven her emotions deep within her. She suppressed all thoughts
of her former life and dealt only with thoughts of how to avoid pain,
how to serve her masters. But now the terrible nature of her fate
caused her to rediscover her fear and terror as well as the loneliness
and despair of someone torn irremediably from their safe and
comfortable life.
	Tears flowed down her face for the first time in many months. She
remembered her family, her friends. Did they remember her? Did they
wonder at her fate? Would she ever laugh again? Locked and trussed in
a box, naked, impaled by steel hard shafts, flying to some unknown
destination, it seemed doubtful indeed. Who would her new master be?
What cruelties would he inflict on her?
	As she felt the airplane begin its descent, the girl knew that her
future would soon be known.
	When the plane landed, a black van rolled over the tarmac to meet it.
The imprisoned girl was quickly off-loaded from the plane and placed
in the van's rear. It sped away.
	Property of the Emir was immune from customs search. The van turned
onto the airport highway and made its way to the Palace compound.
Located outside of the busy commercial center of the Emirate, the
Palace sat miles into the hinterland. It took forty-five minutes for
the van to make the trip at a very high speed. Once in the gates of
the compound, the van rolled to the freight dock and the box was
lifted out and placed on a dolly. It was rolled inside, through the
Palace's warehouse and directly into the living quarters.
	The French girl had another hour to wait before there was any change
in her status. She knew that she had arrived at her destination but,
of course, still had no clue as to what awaited her. After an hour,
the box was rolled down a long hallway, taken down an elevator and
then down another long hallway. The girl could sense the opening of
her tiny prison. As her hood was removed, her eyes were shocked by the
sudden infusion of light. She saw hands reaching in, strong masculine
hands, untying the cords that had held her immobile for so long. She
was lifted delicately off of the intruders in her sex and rear and
removed from the box.
	The girl was laid on the floor, her legs delicately extended. She was
rolled over to her stomach so that the bindings on her wrists could be
undone. Her gag was released. She was stunned by this frenetic
activity after so long in stasis. The men who were handling her were
dressed in white cotton shirts and khaki pants. Their faces and skin
were mauve. Their hands and arms were strong. They worked silently.
	After the strong hands had massaged her arms and legs to encourage
circulation, the girl was pulled to her feet. Bracelets were quickly
affixed to her wrists behind her back and a leather ball shoved into
her mouth. A black bag descended over her head.
	The men led the girl back down the hall and up the elevator. She was
dragged down a hallway, through two sets of doors and then into a
large, pushily carpeted room. For ten minutes, she stood there
expectantly.
	Suddenly she heard a shriek and feminine laughter.
	"Oh, she's here, she's here!" a voice cried out in Arabic. It was the
Emir's First Wife, Damira, a fortyish, black haired, rotund woman.
With her was the Emir's first Daughter, the Princess Alliyah, a
delicate, gracefully formed young girl of 18 years. The French girl,
of course, could not understand a word they said.
	"Oh, she's beautiful mother," the young girl exclaimed. "I want to
touch her, may I?"
	"Of course, little flower, of course," the Queen replied. "But let's
see her face, I want to see her face!"
	One of the servants quickly removed the girl's hood. The two women
cooed in admiration. "She's wonderful," the Queen exclaimed. "Exactly
what we wanted."
	Alliyah approached the French girl cautiously. She extended her hand
and delicately caressed the French girl's cheek. The girl was
surprised by her reception. She had not expected to see women, and
free women to boot. She could see from their arraignment that they
were wealthy, important women. The sight of joyful, laughing women was
crushing to her. She stood naked, bound, a slave, before women who
breathed free air, who had the right to wear beautiful clothes, to
talk freely, to express their humanity.
	The French girl grimaced at the soft touch of the beautiful young
girl. She began to cry.
	"Oh, you've frightened her," the Queen said to her daughter. "She's
been through a lot. Be careful with her."
	"I'll be careful, mother," the Princess replied. "But I want to touch
her. She's like a delicate bird."
	As the Queen waved the servants away, the Princess stepped up to the
trembling girl. She placed her soft hands on the girl's shoulders and
ran them down her arms. "Her skin is soft, mother. And her breasts are
so pretty. I'm jealous."
	"Now let me see her, Alliyah, I'm the one who bought her," the Queen
interjected.
	The Princess moved aside to let her mother have access.
	"Oh, yes, her breasts are fine," she said as she reached out to
stroke them. She measured their weight and firmness in her hands.
"They're the perfect size." She grabbed the slave girl's cheeks with
her hand and examined her face closely. She took her time, looking for
blemishes, any defect that would mar her new property. Her hand was
strong and the girl trembled as she feared for her future. Had she
been bought to serve this callous woman? The girl? Would they whip
her?
	"A lovely face," the mother concluded happily. "Rashid has a
wonderful eye for women. Her eyes are delicate, a beautiful blue. I
like that." The Queen released the French girl's face. With a
lightening stroke, she slapped her hard across the face.
	"Mother!" the Princess called out as the 'crack' echoed throughout
the room.
	The French girl was startled by the suddenness of the blow. It stung
harshly. Losing all memory of what was forbidden, her eyes lit up with
resentment and hatred.
	"Ah," the Queen said. "She has spirit. Good." She swung her other
hand around and another 'crack' resounded.
	"Mother, what are you doing?" the Princess exclaimed.
	The girl cringed now, expecting yet another blow. The Queen answered
her daughter, "She needs to know what's what, my dear. You have to be
harsh with a slave before you are kind. Kindness has to purchased by
obedience. Believe me, I have broken in many a slave for your father."
	"Oh, but don't hit her again," the Princess implored.
	"I don't intend to," the Queen answered. "I just wanted to get that
out of the way."
	The French girl tried to shy away as the Queen's hands returned to
her breasts, but the guards held her still. The Queen pulled sharply
on her fear hardened nipples. The girl's face cringed in pain. The
Queen smiled. "Oh, she's a sensitive one. But lets see the rest of
her."
	She ordered the guards to turn her around. The Princess saw the
bright red "k" branded on her rear. She reached out and placed her
fingers in the depression that had been burned into the slave girl's
skin. "That's so pretty," she said.  "But I bet it hurt."
	"Like the blazes, daughter," the Queen answered. She took a handful
of the soft flesh on the girl's rear. "Soft, but firm," she remarked.
She spoke to the guards, "Let her go. We'll call you when we want
you."
	The guards bowed to the Queen and the Princess and withdrew from the
room. The Queen grabbed one of the girl's arms and led her to a long,
low, backless couch. Sitting down, she pulled the girl on to her lap
and then pushed her down on her back. Grabbing her knees, she spread
the girl's legs.
	All of the handling of her breasts and rear had induced the girl's
sex to lubricate. Her body had been trained to prepare itself for
invasion when stroked by a master. The tender lips glistened as they
were forced open by the spread of her legs. A small patch of black
hair perched above her delicate cunt and a tiny line of shortly
trimmed bristle graced the swelling lips.
	"Mama!" the young Princess exclaimed.
	"Oh, hush," she replied. "I want to see her pussy.  It's lovely,
don't you think?"
	"Mama!" the embarrassed Princess replied.
	"Haven't you ever looked closely at a cunt, my dear? Come, take a
good look. If it wasn't for cunts men would ignore us."
	The Princess giggled. "Can I touch it?"
	"Of course, sweetheart. Have a good feel."
	Extending her hand timidly, the Princess knelt next to the prone
slave and placed her fingers on the now engorged lips. She looked up
at her mother.
	"Go on, go on," her mother said. "Have a good feel. Put you fingers
inside and tickle her clit. See if you can make her moan."
	The French girl felt the long, slender fingers of the Princess enter
her. She sighed as they slid along the walls of her impassioned
tunnel. The fingers delved deep inside her causing her to shudder.
Alliyah placed her thumb on the sensitive, hardened button at the apex
of the girl's sex and rubbed it gently. The girl moaned.
	The Queen laughed.	"She's a hot one!" she exclaimed. "Here, let get
her up."
	The Princess stepped back and, grabbing the girl's arm, helped her
mother bring her to a sitting position. The Queen pulled the surprised
slave girl back onto her lap, spread her legs and delved into the now
hot cunt. "Watch," she told her daughter.
	With one arm around the girl's back, the Queen caressed the slave
girl's wet gash. She watched the slave girl's face intently, as did
the Princess. The French girl's breath began to shorten as she was
induced into a passionate trance. Her skin sparkled with perspiration,
her breasts hardened. The Queen brought her to the brink of explosion
and withdrew her hand. The girl's eyes gazed at the Queen imploringly.
The Queen smiled.
	"Kiss her nipples, my little flower," she told her daughter. "See how
she moans."
	Uncertainly, the Princess leaned over, squatting next to her mother
and placed her lips on the tight, hard dart atop the girl's left
breast. She kissed it tenderly, surprised at the salty taste and the
pull she felt in her own loins. Encouraged, the Princess sucked at the
teat, first softly, and then harder. The French girl moaned, a long,
deep, blissful moan.
	The Queen resumed her manipulation of the slave girl's hot sex.  The
girl trembled, breathing hard now.
	"Watch her face, watch her face," the Queen excitedly told her
daughter. "Watch her while she comes!"
	The Princess watched, mesmerized as little cries eked out of the
French girl's mouth, stifled not fully by the ball of leather within.
Louder and louder the cries came as the girl came closer and closer to
release. Finally, with a loud moan, the girl's thighs and body began
to shake. Her chest heaved, shaking her breasts. "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!" she
called out as the pulsing of her cunt subsumed her. Her cunt dripped
its pungent discharge over the Queens frantically rubbing hand.  The
Queen kept rubbing, past the panting girl's climax.
	"Again, little slave girl," the Queen called to her, excitement in
her voice. "Let it go! Come on! Again! Again!"
The French girl's eyes rolled back as she felt her cunt tremble and
contract, pulsing against the hand that tormented her. Alliyah's eyes
were wide with astonishment as she watched the grimace of passion on
her face. Louder now, deep from within her throat, the enflamed girl
moaned and groaned. "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uhhhhhhhh!" she cried out.
Satisfied, the Queen ceased her manipulations. The French girl's body
sagged, causing her to lean against the Queen's shoulder. Slowly, her
cries subsided.
	"Oh, mother," the Princess whispered. "I never knew..."
	"I know, sweetheart, I know," the Queen replied. "But now you do.
That little flower between your legs can bring you much pleasure, my
darling, and it takes a woman's touch to really bring it out. Men have
no idea."
	"What do you mean, mother?" the Princess asked, shocked by her
mother's revelation.
	"When she's been broken in, after the men have had their way with
her, I'll bring her to you one night. She'll caress you like I just
did to her, and she'll put her lips to your little flower and then
you'll know what it means to be a woman."
	"Oh, mother, I, I..."
	"Don't worry, my sweet. You're old enough now. You're to be married
soon. You should know what pleasure your body can bring you before you
spread your legs on the marriage bed."
	The slave girl had recovered now from her orgasms. The Queen pulled
her to her feet. The girl was dazed, overcome. She looked up at the
stern, hard face of the Queen. She was grateful for the pleasure, but
wary, fearful of what might come next.
	"Ring for the guards," the Queen instructed the Princess. "We've got
to get her cleaned up and ready for the party."

Look for Part 2, being posted immediately

    

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