Caveat lector.
(MF, nc)
If you don't like sex stories, don't read it.
If you don't like stories about sex with underage 
children, don't read it.
If you don't like stories bout forced sex, don't 
read it.
If you are below the arbitrary age set for your 
area, don't read it.
If for any reason it is illegal for you to read this 
story, don't read it.

Find my stories here- 
https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/normdeploom/

Copyright � 2003 Norm DePloom.  ALL Rights Reserved
This story may not be reproduced in any form for 
profit without the written permission of the author.  
This story may be freely distributed with this 
notice attached.  The author may be contacted at 
'MyStories at normdeploom dot com'

All the characters and events in this story are 
fictional; any resemblance to real people or events 
is entirely coincidental.

The Witness
(Being part five of a continuing story of non-
consensual sexual slavery.)

By 
Norm DePloom

After having my cock in her mouth and her cunt, I 
finally asked the clerk what her name was.  She told 
me her name was Jasmine, although I got the 
impression that it was not the name given to her by 
her parents.  At Jasmine's suggestion I purchased 
two fairly thick titanium barbells to go into the 
nail holes I'd already put in the slave's nipples, 
and two smaller titanium rings to go into two more 
traditional piercings at the base of her nipple 
where it attached to the areola.  

"You know," Jasmine told me, as I was picking up my 
small plastic bag getting ready to leave, "you 
wouldn't necessarily have to pay me with money to 
pierce your slave."

"How would you like to be paid?"  Jasmine moved 
closer and, even though there was no one else in the 
store, spoke in a secretive whisper.

"I would really love the opportunity to watch while 
your Hmong whore was gangbanged."  I put my arm 
around Jasmine's waist as we walked toward the door.  
"A whole room full of men taking turns fucking her 
hard."  Jasmine expanded on her request.  I was 
aware that neither the Vietnamese nor the Cambodians 
thought very highly of the Hmong, but Jasmine seemed 
to have a personal score to settle.  

"I certainly would not object to having my slave be 
the main entertainment at a marathon gangbang," I 
said as we arrived at the door.  "I'm sure we'd all 
love to see you fuck the little bitch with a giant 
strap on also."  Jasmine blushed a deep red as I 
opened the door and left the store.  I drove home 
with visions of Jasmine, as a little girl, being 
gang raped by a large group of Hmong ruffians, that 
being my guess as to the source of her animosity 
towards the Hmong people in general.  If letting a 
room full of men take turns fucking the slave would 
help Jasmine deal with her bad memories, I was more 
than happy to help.  Hey, that's just the kind of 
guy I am.  As I got closer to home my thoughts 
turned to the slave I'd left chained to the floor, 
and what the videotape might reveal.  When I walked 
into the room, I thought the cunt was trying just a 
little too hard to look innocent.  

"What did you do while I was gone?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, I swear, I haven't done anything while you 
were gone."  I smiled down at my slave.  Now I could 
add lying to me as one of her punishable offenses if 
the video revealed anything interesting.  I dropped 
my bag of piercing goodies on the table then 
unlocked the leash chain from the eyebolt in the 
floor.  I pulled the slave up to her knees, after a 
couple of adjustments to the chains I stepped back 
and looked her over.  The chain from the front of 
her collar ran down through her crotch, resting 
firmly against her clitoris and pussy lips, down to 
the hobble chain then up to her wrists.  I had 
shortened the length of chain between the hobble 
chain and her wrists to keep her from leaning 
forward, and adjusted the chain between the hobble 
chain and her collar to keep her from leaning 
backward.

"Walk on your knees," I ordered, picking up the 
leash chain.  The slave took short hesitant steps 
forward.  As she moved each knee the chain running 
through her crotch would drag side to side as well 
as forward and backward over her clitoris and cunt.  
I 'walked' the slave over to the couch, and 
positioned her just to the side of where I planned 
to sit. Leaving her there I stepped over to the 
entertainment center and, after stopping and 
rewinding the video camera, plugged it into the 
television and pressed the 'play' button, then 
walked back over to the couch. 

I picked up the rod, which had been left there 
earlier in the day when I whipped her into frenzy 
while she sucked on my cock, and sat down.  I saw 
myself on the television walking away from the 
camera and out of the room.  I tapped the end of the 
rod against my shoe, just to make sure the slave 
kept its ability to cause her pain in mind while we 
watched the video.  Very shortly after I left the 
room the slave, apparently asleep with her back to 
the camera, lifted her head and looked around.

"Hello?  Is anyone here?"  As soon as she was 
satisfied that she was alone, the slave twisted her 
body around and pulled at the chain holding her to 
the floor.  When that did no good, she tried to pull 
her wrists from the wrist cuffs.  I noticed that the 
slave was leaning forward, hanging her head and 
crying as we watched the video.

"Up straight," I ordered giving her a quick snap 
with the rod.  As she straightened up, the slave 
looked over at me with a combination of fear and 
apology.  

"Watch the video," I ordered.  On the screen, the 
slave had given up trying to pull her hands free and 
began screaming for help.  When the slave was worn 
out from screaming for help, she noticed the bowel 
of water on the floor and 'inch-wormed' toward the 
water.  She was brought up short with her mouth must 
a couple of inches from the water.  No matter how 
much the slave struggled, she could not reach the 
bowel for a drink.  When she tired of that, the 
slave lay on the floor and sobbed.

As we watched the slave went through several cycles 
of struggling, screaming and sobbing, with an 
occasional attempt to get to the water bowel.  This 
continued until I re-entered the picture.  We 
continued to watch as I, on the screen, adjusted the 
slave's chains, moved her over to her present 
position then walked over and stopped the video 
camera.  When it was finished I got up and stopped 
the playback, then started it recording again.

"What did you learn from this?"  I asked the slave 
as I sat down on the couch again and looked at our 
live images on the TV  

"What," I asked louder and more emphatically as I 
brought the rod down forcefully on the slave's upper 
arms, "did you learn from this?"

"That I can't escape."  The slave answered with a 
week voice.

"And?"

"That no one hears me when I scream."

"Both are good lessons," I said as I stood up and 
grasped the slave's leash, "but you still fail to 
really grasp your position in the Universe."  I 
pulled on her chain to get her moving, then walked 
in front of her as she followed on her knees.  I 
took the slave into the bathroom where, after 
loosening her chains, I allowed her to sit on the 
toilet and relieve herself.  

What happened next was not done for my sexual 
pleasure; I don't get the kick out of this that some 
people seem to.  I made the slave kneel in the 
bath/shower, then I pulled my cock out and urinated 
on her.  After shaking the last drops from my dick 
and zipping it back inside my trousers I left the 
urine coated slave kneeling in the tub while I went 
about fixing myself some food to eat.  I hoped an 
hour or so with my piss drying in her hair and on 
her skin would help convince her of the reality of 
her position as a slave.  

When I returned to the bathroom the slave looked 
like a poor, lost, wet dog.  Her long dirty hair had 
dried in clumps across her face and down her 
shoulders.  I got the handheld showerhead and hosed 
the slave down with cold water, then unhooked her 
wrists and handed her a bar of soap.  I watched as 
she lathered her body, including her hair, then 
hosed her down again with cold water.  I repeated 
the process three times before I was satisfied that 
the slave was clean.  I pulled the shivering slave 
from the tub, and put her down on her hands and 
knees again.  I dried the slave just enough to keep 
her from dripping on the floor then walked her on 
her hands and knees back to the living room where I 
had her kneel in front of me and watch, again, the 
video tape of her futile attempts to escape while I 
applied a motion sickness patch behind each of her 
ears before I combed and braided her long hair.

The combing and braiding of the slave's hair was not 
an act of affection, but rather a utilitarian 
decision.  The braiding would make it easier to keep 
the hair out of my way, and would make a nice rope 
to restrain her when necessary.  The active 
ingredient of the patches is scopolamine.  I got the 
idea when I read an article describing the various 
nefarious uses the drug was put to in South America, 
where it is abundantly available.  

According to this article people who were given 
sufficient quantities of scopolamine become very 
compliant.  The victims have been known to accompany 
thieves to their banks, empty their accounts and 
give the money to the thief.  The drug also causes 
amnesia, which is convenient for the thief.  The 
article also told of a prostitution ring that would 
kidnap women, keep them on scopolamine for several 
days while they worked the victims as prostitutes, 
then dump them in a city park where they would 'come 
to' with no memory of how they got there or what 
they had done.  So if you suddenly find yourself 
somewhere with no memory of where you are, or what 
you've been doing, don't blame little green men from 
space, just check your body for signs that you have 
been fucked by a whole shitload of men.

I had no desire to keep the slave permanently doped 
on scopolamine, but the patches would be effective 
for three days and, if I could regulate the dose 
correctly, it would make it much easier to take her 
places, like a party, and make her do things, like 
fuck everyone in sight.  I also thought it might be 
interesting to give her scopolamine, pierce, brand 
or tattoo her then be their when she 'wakes up' with 
no idea where the piercing, brand or tattoo came 
from.

"Turn around and face me," I told the slave after I 
finished with her hair.  After she turned around I 
examined the paperclips that were still in the nail 
holes I'd put in her nipples.  The holes were 
further back on the breast than most piercings are 
done, and ran up and down instead of side to side.  
The slave winced in pain as I untwisted the ends of 
each paper clip and pulled them out.  Once the holes 
were empty I pored alcohol onto each wound and 
carefully manipulated each of the slaves breasts to 
insure that the disinfectant worked all the way 
through the hole.  Scopolamine is not a pain killer 
so, even if there had been enough time for it to be 
effective, it would not have stopped the slave from 
wincing, sucking air, and doing all the other things 
you would expect a person in pain to do.  That is 
one of the interesting things about scopolamine, the 
slave could still hurt, and react to pain but, if 
there was enough of the drug in her system, she 
would have no memory of it a few minutes later.  

The barbells I had purchased for the slaves nail 
holes were a bit thicker than the nails which made 
the holes, so I had to use some force to push them 
through her nipples.  Jasmine had suggested the 
extra thickness, and the use of progressively 
thicker appliances in these holes to open them up 
and make them more useful in the future.  The holes 
were far enough back in the areolas that they could, 
in the future, be able to withstand considerable 
pulling without ripping.  After the barbells were 
placed in the vertical nail holes, I pulled out two 
small, delicate rings intended to go in more 
traditional horizontal piercings right where the 
slave's nipples joined the areola.  Each ring had a 
small silver bell attached to it.  So whether the 
slave was crawling, walking upright, dancing, or 
being fucked it would be accompanied by the delicate 
dinging of her small silver nipple bells.  Following 
the directions Jasmine had given me I pierced each 
of the slave's nipples a second time and inserted 
the rings.  When I was done I sat back and looked at 
my kneeling slave.  She was looking down, shifting 
her gaze back and forth from one breast to the 
other, appearing to not be really sure what was 
happening to her.  

I pulled the slave close to me and kissed its mouth, 
pushing my tongue between her lips while I pushed my 
hand between its legs and my finger into its cunt.  
I found the cunt already wet, the thick sticky fluid 
already coating the slave's inner thighs.  It had 
been a couple of hours since I'd fucked Jasmine and 
my cock was hardening with renewed vigor.  

"Stand up," I ordered pulling my mouth away from the 
slave's, and unhooking the chain from the slave's 
collar.  After she had struggled to its feet I 
unhooked all of the chains except the hobble chain 
connected to its ankles and let the slave walk into 
the bedroom.  I reconnected one end of the hobble 
chain to the foot of the bed, leaving the other end 
connected to the slaves left ankle.  With the slave 
lying on my bed naked, I removed my clothes and 
stroked my hard cock while it watched.  When I 
approached the head of the bed on the side occupied 
by the slave, it rolled on its side and, lifting its 
head, willingly took my cock into its mouth.  
Placing my hand on the back of the slave's neck, I 
thrust my hips forward and pushed my cock past its 
gag point and into its throat.  The slave kneaded my 
thigh while I fucked my hard cock deeply in and out 
of its mouth for several minutes before I pulled out 
and, moving around to the other side of the bed, lay 
down next to the slave.  

Lying with my belly up against the slave's back, I 
lifted its leg and pushed my cock into its wet cunt.  
While I fucked with long, slow strokes I wrapped my 
arms around the slave and stroked its breasts with 
one hand while I stroked and pinched its clitoris 
with the other.  The slave rocked its hips in 
counterpoint to my thrusts, forcing itself back onto 
my cock with each of my inward strokes.  The slave's 
moans changed from pleasure to pain and back again 
depending on how hard I pinched its clitoris while I 
fucked its cunt.  I fucked for twenty or thirty 
minutes, came, then fell asleep with my cock still 
buried in the slave.






  
TheWitness05