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From: Don Winslow <dwin2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Agents in Harm's Way (Part 4)
Date: Sat, 24 Jun 2000 22:10:02 -0400
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From: "Don Winslow" dwin2001@Yahoo.com Subject: {Winslow} "Agents in Harm's
Way: A White Slaver Story" (M/F, D/s, nc, humil.,spanking) Newsgroups:
alt.sex.stotries; alt.sex.stories.moderated Content type: text/plain
Agents in Harm's Way: A White Slaver Story by Don Winslow Part 4
Having no choice in the matter, the girls were forced to wait in place,
while from above them they heard the motor of the small boat slow to an
idle, and then abruptly quit. The silence lasted for no more then five
minutes, after which there was the sound of male voices in the hallway:
Sego's and occasionally Yasir's -- defensive and plaintive; and a third
voice, a low rumbling voice that was accusatory and questioning.
The doors opened and Sego and Yasir walked in, flanking a neatly-bearded
man, tall and fit; an older man, with cold blue eyes and flecks of gray in
his brushed-back, thinning hair. The dark turtleneck he wore with his blue
blazer gave him a vaguely nautical look, and he held himself with sense of
command, as though he were quite definitely the Captain of "The Big Wizz."
His thin lips were set and tight, as he contemplated the three prisoners.
Unlike the other two, who looked upon the unfortunate girls with open,
leering male lust, this man seemed to view the bare-breasted females with
cold indifference, as though his finely controlled features would allow for
no display of emotions.
"So. Quite a catch, ...and we weren't even fishing," the Captain said
in a contemplative voice, as he studied Mallory's sleek, stretched-out,
figure.
"Have you searched them?"
The man called Sego, pointedly eyed up the semi-nude women, broke out
into a smile, and began to make what might have been a joke, but one look
at the humorless Captain caused him to bite his lip. This man was not
kidding!
"Nah," he confessed. "We didn't have time. Sir", he added lamely, when
the Captain spun around to give him a hard look. Sego wilted.
The Captain said nothing, his eyes, once more studying Mallory.
"You two are useless," he said talking to the two crewmen while his eyes
never strayed from Mallory's. "Worse than useless. What little brains you
have are in your cocks." Although the words were derisive, the tone was
cold and even.
Suddenly he spun on his heel, and started to the door.
"Search them. Take Cunt 8 to her cabin. Bring the other two to me.
And tell Dwayne, and Merc that I want to see them -- immediately!" Then he
was gone.
***** The Dillon girl, 'Cunt 8' to their captors, was taken down and led
away. She seemed to be in a daze. Next, the two agents were unhitched
from the overhead lines, though the handcuffs and gags remained in place.
Their pockets were searched, and the billfolds with their IDs were
discovered. Then their shoes and socks were removed. Finally, they had to
drop their shorts -- just to make sure, their captors assured them with big
grins. Then, barefoot, wearing nothing but their shorts, the two
handcuffed agents were escorted along the carpeted passageway and up one
flight of stairs to what must have been the Captain's cabin.
Yasir respectfully knocked on the door and waited for the curt: "Enter".
The Captain sat behind his desk; an impressive bank of video monitors
behind him showing black and white scenes of the interior of the boat. On
one, an obviously exhausted Megan Dillon lay curled up asleep on her bed.
The Captain was ignoring the monitors. He was studying the service
revolvers on the desk in front of him. And he was not alone. Behind him
stood the two crewmen the girls had observed leaving for shore earlier that
day. To his left the thick, stocky guy with the bullet-head, hairy
tattooed arms folded, pug face impassive and dull. He had the
powerfully-built physique of a fire plug. At his other side was the tall,
blond guy. He was smiling at them in a way that showed that he, unlike his
boss, fully appreciated the sight of a couple of pretty, half-naked women.
Mallory dropped her eyes to floor and kept them there as the two captives
were hauled before the Captain's desk.
Sego deposited the ID folders on the desk and stepped quickly back. The
Captain picked up each one, studied the ID cards, looked at their pictures
to compare them to the originals; found the photo of Meghan Dillon that
Mallory had tucked in hers. His stern face showed not the slightest
expression as he finished his examination.
"Sit down." he motioned to them. "You! Take off their cuffs. Then you
two get to work! I want to get going. We'll talk later."
He waited till his order was carried out, and Sego and Yasir beat a
hasty retreat to the deck. The bare-chested women were left sitting on the
edge of two hard wooden chairs, rubbing their freed wrists, embarrassed,
trying to avoid the intent male eyes.
"Now, we're going to have a little talk. But first I'm going to tell
you about our rules here. I am the Captain of this vessel, and as such I
demand absolute obedience from everyone aboard. We have certain rules
here, rules which I will tell you only once.
The first rule is: You are not to talk without permission, except for
answering a question put to myself or one of my crew. Second, you will
answer all questions fully and truthfully. If you violate these or any
other rules while on this ship, you will be punished and the gags
re-applied till you're ready to obey. You see, on this ship we have the
disciplinary means necessary to carry out appropriate punishment, and my
crew looks forward to the opportunity to use those means on lovely women,
believe me. "
He looked at each of them. His face remained impassive but the hardness
in those shifting eyes convinced Mallory that the man was dead serious.
"Now, if you wish the gags to be removed, nod your heads." He looked
meaningfully from Mallory to Kip and each nodded, grateful for the chance
to get the hated rubber balls out of their distended mouths.
Freed of their gags, the girls worked their jaws and lips, and gave each
other reassuring glances. Mallory wanted to take the lead, to try to
reason with the man, but she thought it wise to bide her time. She would
wait for her opportunity. Then they heard the muffled rumble of the
yacht's diesels; felt the quiet surge of power from deep in the vessel,
felt the unmistakable movement. The prisoners realized, with a sinking
feeling, that they were underway. Each mile would take them further beyond
all hope of rescue.
"Now. What is your name?"
"My name is Mallory Channing. I'm a Federal Agent and you're...."
His raised hand stopped her.
"You will answer my questions, nothing more. And you will address me as
'Sir'. You will also address any of my crew as 'Sir'. Now, let's try
again. What is your name?"
"Mallory Channing, ..Sir." She found his intense stare unsettling.
"No! And I am only going to tell you this once, and only once. You
have stolen aboard my boat. By all the laws of the sea, it is the
Captain's right to deal with stowaways as he pleases. So you see, you are
mine to do with as I like. Now, we'll start all over. I don't care what
your name used to be. It changed the minute you set foot on this boat.
Here we use only nicknames. It protects the innocent," he added with a
trace of a smile; a muffled snicker came from the two crewmen. "From now
on you will be known as Cunt 9, do you understand?", he spoke slowly and
carefully.
The man looked at Mallory with the deadpan expression of a snake
studying its prey. She felt a shiver run through her, and for the first
time, she actually knew fear, palpable, heart-pounding fear. Her throat
was dry as she tried the words.
"Yes...I understand...Sir." The last was quickly added when his gaze
flickered.
"Good. Say it! What is your name?"
Innanely, Mallory wanted to laugh at him. The thing was so absurd. Yet
the deadly quiet and the intensity of his gaze, convinced her that she must
not trifle with this man. She heard herself saying the mandated words.
"I'm ....C..Cunt.. 9, Sir", she whispered, burning with profound
humiliation.
He repeated the formula with Kip, who was promptly dubbed Cunt 10. Kip
obeyed, her tousled head hung low, eyes studying the rug.
"We shall have to do something about your deportment. Raise your heads.
Look at me when I talk to you."
A detailed interrogation followed. They went over the same ground again
and again. The man seemed intent on finding out what they knew, how they
had come to suspect "The Big Wizz," and who knew they were onboard. He
spoke in a calm even voice, and listened to her answers with that
expressionless look. Still there was something about his hard blue eyes
that remained unsettling. The agents knew they would have to be very
careful.
At first, Mallory kept her answers terse, though in time, she tried to
convince the man that "The Wizz" was well known to the police, was under
suspicion by a swarm of detectives who knew that they had gone aboard. He
had best give up before he were charged with kidnapping federal agents.
For a moment, he searched her face with his pale blue eyes. Then, in a
gesture designed to show her just how much he feared her implied threats,
he picked up their identification tags and casually tossed them out a
porthole.
"You still don't understand, Cunt 9. This vessel is already in
international waters, your agency has no jurisdiction." He leaned across
the desk, bringing his face close to hers. His voice was low and deadly.
"You're no longer Ms Mallory Channing, Government Agent. On this ship,
you're a cunt...Cunt 9 -- and I own you. A nice-looking cunt, I'll grant
you, but one who, at the moment, is in deep trouble. I might just as well
tie you up and dump you over the side, but that sweet ass of yours has
saved you, at least for now. I have a feeling your ass might be 'useful'
to me, so I'm going to let you live. Now if you, and little sister here,
are real good girls, and if you're obedient, and nice to me and my crew,
then maybe, just maybe, you'll live to see port."
He backed away and sat down, tilting back in his chair, and lit a
cigarette.
"Now, both of you, stand up," he ordered quietly.
They did as they was told, standing to face their captor.
"Get undressed." The deadly eyes never wavered.
Kip looked at Mallory, but the senior agent looked away. They had no
choice. Their hands went to their shorts. Mallory, unbuckled the belt and
opened her baggy shorts, holding them up as if reluctant to let them slide
down her long bare legs. Kip worked open the snug denim cutoffs and
hooking her thumbs into the front shoved them down her hips, past her
knees, raising each foot in turn to step out of the fallen shorts. Mallory
followed, letting the shorts fall to the ankles, stepping free. Now each
girl stood in her panties before his desk, waiting.
Mallory's salmon-colored panties were slung low on her long svelte hips;
dark pubic hair mistily visible through the taut, thin fabric. Kip's
underpants were a pastel yellow cotton, trimmed in white elastic, high-cut
at the hips, the legbands high-arching ridges that curved under to leave
her small butt peeking out in cheeky insolence at either side.
"Go on. What are you waiting for?"
Mallory felt the tension, the flush of embarrassment -- the sense of
denial that this could be happening to her! She kept her eyes on the wall
behind him, well over his head, brought her hands to her panties, hooked
her thumbs in the waistband and, taking a deep breath, ran the dusky pink
panties down her legs, bending forward, and stepping free of them, all in
one quick motion. Kip dropped her drawers, stepped delicately out of them,
and kicked them away.
The elegant brunette stood tall and erect, her eyes on some distant
horizon. 'Let the bastards look', she thought, with supreme disregard for
the leering males. Kip flushed and kept her head bent; eyes on the carpet.
For a moment no one said anything. He kept them standing there before his
desk.
The men smiled to see the dark-haired woman's proud nude figure, those
sleek long lines, the petite tits with jutting nipples, the long torso with
a hint of hipbones defining the flat belly, and at its base, a wedge of
pubic hair, dark luxuriant coils of soft pussy fur. The slender lines
melded into slim hips and those impressive legs, shapely feminine contours
that tapered to slim ankles and long narrow feet. To her side, the slight
figure of the smaller girl looked almost pubescent, the curves
underdeveloped. His hands could easily span that small waist, the
fingertips touching, and should those hands slide lower, they could curve
around to cup those neatly curved buttocks. The girl's small, frisky tits,
added to her a fresh, playful appeal, while demurely tucked between her
rounded thighs, a gently mounded pubes sported a light sprinkling of fine,
dusky curls.
"Shoulders back, arms at your side, palms forward, legs together."
The two prisoners did as they were told. Mallory turned her wrists so
her palms faced forward, and brought her heels together. Kip assumed the
same striking pose.
"Very good. I think they're learning," the Captain said to his grinning
blond sidekick. Again the two nudes were subjected to this humiliating
scrutiny while, he studied them with those impassive eyes, even as his
henchmen smirked with self-satisfied pleasure. For the longest time the
two girls were kept standing there. Then the Captain stirred, sat upright,
and crushed out his cigarette.
"Now get down. On your knees!"
Mallory had sinking feeling. She knew what was coming next, and she
dreaded it. Yet the sight of her .38 on the desk, had given her a glimmer
of hope. She was close to it. So close.
She slid to her knees, as the Captain came around his desk to stand
before her. He strode right up to her and planted his feet in a widened
stance. He was only inches away, hands on his hips, looking down on her
dark hair. Before her eyes, she saw the telltale bulge in his pants,
waiting for her.
"Go on. You know what to do." His tone was even, business-like, as
though detached form the erotic sight of the beautiful nude who knelt at
his feet. Still, he couldn't help the tiny curl that twitched the corner
of his lips when he saw those exquisite fingers reaching for the front of
his tented pants.
END OF PART 4
Readers looking for more of Don Winslow's erotic fiction may visit
http://www.nauticiom.net/www/lchan
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