A Supermodel's Downfall
(East Coast Slavers Organization Story III)
by: Desert Dog (Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com)
Prologue – Introductions (or What's E.C.S.O.)
Credits :
The story that follows is my own work. However, for the energy and inspiration to craft this story, I would like to thank two readers who responded with timely e-mails containing simple story suggestions. One reader's recommendation (whose request ended up being mirrored in a number of responses) was to subject the ex-wife to further humiliation, punishment, and torture. The second reader wished for a story featuring a world-famous supermodel and her degrading fall from acclaim. In order to address these requests, I have spun off this sequel to 'The Caribbean Adventure: E.C.S.O. Story II' and hopefully this shorter tale addresses these readers' dreams. The moral of this little sequence of events is that all authors are thirsty for input from our readers; so please keep those e-mails coming with praise, and sometimes complaints.
Synopsis :
This tale chronicles the continuing adventures of Aaron Clarke, a budding slaver with a just established franchise operation in Miami, Florida. Business and adventure literally fell his way as Aaron used carefully established identities, bases of operations, and a client base; all accomplished with the guidance of his partner Steve Austin. Aaron has discovered that various illegal enterprises present him an opportunity for easily acquiring stock (women), cash, and other enticements too good to pass up. The windfall of millions of dollars and the easy acquisition of slaves leads to a reanalysis of his business model, his acquisition ethics, and personal morals. Aaron Clarke determines that it is so easy to find prey worthy of punishment that he adjusts his business model accordingly, punishing the guilty and using his illicit gains to help others; all immensely sexy women that remain available for his enjoyment.
Background – The Los Angeles / Philippine Adventure: (E.C.S.O. Story I)
This tale follows the earliest adventure of Aaron Clarke. It begins with an escapade with an old friend that drastically changes his life. Aaron had been in a failing marriage and stuck in a dead-end job with his overbearing father-in-law. A chance meeting with a friend from his military days, Steve Austin, brought Aaron an offer he couldn't refuse. Steve needed help on a rush revenge contract where a rich Philippine client wanted a nosy and libelous newspaper reporter captured, humiliated, and presented to him as a broken sex slave. The exhilarating adventure, the free access to women to satisfy any sexual craving, and the promises of riches tempted him to break free of his boring existence. At the end, he heads off to Miami to establish an east coast franchise mirroring Steve's business plan.
Background – The Caribbean Adventure: (E.C.S.O. Story II)
In this adventure, Aaron is introduced just as he returns to the United States after a tour in the U.S. Marine Corps. He meets his wife, time passes and Aaron's life becomes a grinding, mindless existence until Aaron meets his old friend Steve Austin. How Aaron is introduced to the exciting business of slavery takes place in the Los Angeles / Philippine Adventure. The Caribbean Adventure then kicks off with Aaron setting out on his own to Miami, Florida where he establishes an east coast franchise of his friend's slaving operation. Business and adventure literally fall his way as Aaron sets about creating identities, bases of operations, and a client base; all accomplished with the guidance of his partner Steve Austin.
Early on, Aaron discovers that various illegal enterprises present him an opportunity for acquiring stock (women), cash, and other enticements too good to pass up. The windfall of millions of dollars and the easy acquisition of slaves leads to a reanalysis of his business ethics and personal morals. Aaron Clarke determines that it is so easy to find prey worthy of punishment that he adjusts his business model accordingly, punishing the guilty and using his illicit gains to help others; all immensely sexy women that remain available for his enjoyment.
Aaron Clarke sees himself as an honorable scoundrel in a good world that is being co-opted by powerful thugs without morals. He feels that a man's worth is projected for all to see based upon the value of his word and a simple set of manners. On his ethical scale, poor manners are usually worse than murder. As he sees it, at least most murder victims probably contributed somehow to their demise; where poor manners victimize people who haven't yet demonstrated that they violate any of Aaron's commandments. Yes this is a twisted view of life; but keep in mind that Aaron Clarke is a kidnapper, a rapist, an executioner, a judge and jury ready to punish with instant retribution, and a slaver. If he wants to view himself as a modern day pirate version of Robin Hood and pretend that he protects innocent souls, then who dares judge him to his face; certainly not I.
Prologue – A Supermodel's Downfall: (E.C.S.O. Story III)
At the beginning of this saga, Aaron Clarke has successfully concluded both his Los Angeles / Philippine adventure and his Caribbean adventure. During those short few months, Aaron went from an unhappy marriage with little prospect of wealth to an exciting, and very unique, business opportunity that quickly netted him millions of dollars. Aaron's operations have already resulted in a number of sex slave and livestock transactions, culminating in movement to a permanent base of operations on the British Virgin Islands and the abandonment of his temporary operation in Miami, Florida.
Aaron meets a world-renowned model while visiting his ex-wife in France. Veronica was sold by Aaron in his very first consignment of slaves. Already becoming softhearted from what he learned while establishing his slaving business, Aaron modified his wife's sales contract to give him first right of re-purchase after five years. After pleasuring himself with his captive ex-wife, Aaron meets a world-famous model while attending a party on Hosni Yassin's yacht. The model's downfall and potential for Aaron's further financial gain begins that day in France.
A Supermodel's Downfall
(East Coast Slavers Organization Story III)
by: Desert Dog (Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com)
Chapter 01 – Fallen from the Pedestal
Anna moaned and rolled over on the bed, her sweaty belly finding more wet spots on the sheets as her muscles protested every move she made while turning over. Her unruly wet hair stuck against the linens and only plopped free when she consciously flipped her head to the side. On her belly now, one hand tentatively slipped down to cup her abused pussy mound; she winched in pain as her fingers found her deeply bone-bruised pubic bone. "Bastards," she thought, "all men are such fucking bastards." The throbbing from her sex below was worse than that from her sore pubic bone and cramping muscles. Anna's questing fingers carefully found her sopping wet pussy and her raw, stretched out labia. "Even after all those rapes, I still acted like a whore in heat when he forced his cock in me just now," she complained softly. "He didn't even slow down when I asked him to just hold me because I'd been through so much anguish. Justin's whole attitude has changed so much."
Justin Drake was the newest of a series of identities created by Aaron Clarke in order to protect his true identity as owner and Chief Executive Officer of East Coast Slavers Organization. He was using that identity in Europe when he first met Anna, the model. Other identities include:
Aaron Clarke ( Owner & East Coast Slavers Organization CEO)
Robert Morgan: Alternate ID #1: (ID for in U.S. and Miami)
Michael Moore: Alternate ID #2: (ID for use in British Virgin Islands)
John Rice: Alternate ID #3: (ID for use in American Virgin Islands)
Justin Drake: Alternate ID #4: (ID to replace overused Robert Morgan ID)
"Even so, … he still made me cum like a bitch dog in heat, she said with a groan of anguish." She pinched her pretty features in exasperation as images and slang from her ghetto upbringing in Rio de Janeiro ran through her mind. Then, her thoughts cleared in concentration, wondering how her careless lies to her lover had all unraveled so quickly. "I never meant for it to turn out like this," she whispered aloud.
The shower was now quiet and Anna supposed that her rescuer, and now probably ex-lover, was finished cleaning up. Her ravished body twitched in betrayal at the sight of his trim and muscular butt standing before the foggy mirror while he brushed his teeth and combed his hair. When he strode naked into the motel's bedroom, her heart leapt at the size of his flaccid dick. "After everything I've been through, I still want more of that fabulous cock," she wondered clinically. However, she began to seethe inside when he continued to ignore her while casually pulling on his same dark clothing worn while rescuing her the night before. "Stop ignoring me!" she pouted. "Have some respect for me," she added angrily and then, after a little hesitation, her voice quivered and continued, "After all, … I'm famous."
Aaron Clarke ignored the well-fucked woman on the bed and continued to tie the laces on his black, soft-soled boots. He pulled a charcoal sweater down to his waist, carefully hiding the nine-millimeter Beretta tucked into the small of his back. Satisfied that everything was stowed away properly in his heavy cargo pants pockets, he turned to a small handbag and stuffed a torn set of women's clothing into the bag. He grinned at the taser, the handcuffs and chains, and the bondage rope already in the black leather satchel. "Yep," he thought smugly to himself, "no matter what seems to happen, this new life keeps showing me that it is the best."
Stopping at the closed motel room door he spoke scornfully over his shoulder to the angry woman on the bed without deigning to look her way, "Get cleaned up, you smell like a fucked-out whore. Take a soaking bath and stay hidden when room service comes in; I'll have the smelly linens changed and the room aired out. Food and clothing will be brought in later this morning." Without another word or sign of endearment to the woman he had rescued and then fucked senseless during the long night, Aaron walked out of the room and into the bright daylight. The motel room door slammed shut behind him, plunging the room once again into near darkness.
Unused to such cavalier treatment, Anna childishly slammed a fist into the nearest pillow and grunted in pain as muscles and joints protested the effort. She had seen her tattered clothing thrown into the bag and knew that she was trapped in the sleazy roadside hotel without a stitch to wear.
Grunting like an eighty year old woman, she slowly worked her way into the bathroom, her eyes squinting almost shut from the glaring light radiating from the vanity bulbs. The face reflected in the mirror was that of a complete stranger. "Oh, God!" she cried in real anguish. "Nobody would ever recognize me." The naked woman she saw in the foggy mirror had the look of something ridden hard and put away wet. Anna's eyes were puffy from hours of crying and her cheeks were bruised and rubbed raw from carpet and beard burns. Two still perky tits clearly showed teeth marks and hickeys from too much sex. Otherwise, Anna's body was outwardly only marred by scratches and a few blotchy marks from crushing grips from her unwanted lovers of the day before. Anna cringed at the sight of her tiny patch of dark pubic hair that was matted and sticky from her own juices. "He cleaned my sex up with a washcloth last night and then fucked me all night long, filling several condoms. The mess is from my own body loving the sex. Am I truly a whore for enjoying the humiliating way he took me over and over last night?"
Tired, her eyes twitched away from the bruised body shown in the mirror toward the sink. Anna's hand froze at the cold water faucet as her eyes found the glamour magazine cruelly displayed on the still damp countertop tiles. Her eyes flashed fire at the photo of her sensational face proudly portrayed on the front cover. "That was my favorite photo shoot," she mused. "How could life get better than strolling along getting photographed while shopping at the best shops on the French Riviera?" Anna loved looking at herself and the magazine showed her at her absolute best. She was wearing a lightly patterned white miniskirt, interesting jewelry, expensive sunglasses, and a designer sweater top. Angry again, her hot-blooded Brazilian temper flared up and her eyes misted in frustration at how she seemed to have lost control of her ordered life.
Anna didn't know it, but flouncing angrily about in the bathroom while she fussed with water temperature, towels, soaps, and shampoo just didn't create the effect she thought. Naked and looking like the survivor of an out of control fraternity party, Anna would have drawn little sympathy from observers that would have thought only of further degrading the gangbang victim.
Somehow her barely suppressed fury actually led to calming thoughts and she was able to settle into the soothing tub and relax, clearing her feelings of all the awful things that had occurred during the last twenty-four hours. Focusing solely on the foamy hot water soothing her aches and pains away, she slipped into a dreamy state of relaxation.
In her drowsy state, Anna remembered back to the excitement she felt when she was first introduced to the man named Justin Drake. She had just finished two days of photo shoots in Nice, France. The quaint stone buildings of the oldest sections of town and the ageless fishing boats on the crystal Mediterranean beaches made the perfect backdrop for Anna the world-famous Brazilian model to be photographed in the latest European casual attire. The photo shoot occurred not far from Monaco and the extreme southwest corner of Italy.
She was posing on a large pleasure yacht against a second-level deck railing in an attitude that she knew was arrogant. Dreaming, she remembered how well she looked in an Egyptian cotton jumpsuit against the deep blue Mediterranean Sea. Her hard nipples responding to the scratching from the rustic material and Anna remembered how lithe and sexy she looked in the plunging neckline that almost proved to anyone who looked that she was braless. "It's the mystery that counts," she recounted with a chuckle of amusement as she surveyed the wealthy group of sycophants and groupies at the party. "Most of the brainless twits onboard that day were either gay or head over heels in lust with me!" she remembered.
Positively gushing with overblown deference, Anna's agent brought over two gentlemen to meet her. The first man, a swarthy Arab with beady eyes and a leer that made her feel naked, was introduced as Hosni Yassin, a construction magnate billionaire that had just established his first European office in nearby Marseille, France. He was also her host for the night given that he owned the pleasure yacht they were partying on and that Anna intended to remain overnight in one of the guest cabins. Anna overlooked Hosni's creepy looks as she focused on the other man waiting for an introduction. After being around all the slender and gay men for two grueling days of photography, Anna was ripe to meet a real man. "Justin," she had thought lustfully, "you are one big hunk of manhood." Her next surprise happened as she extended her hand for a civilized man to either grasp limply or kiss. Instead, it felt as if her breath was sucked out of her lungs as his mammoth paw grasped her fragile hand and drew her tightly against his broad chest. Next, he gave her a drawn out, gut-wrenching French kiss. Shocked to the core at his arrogant act, and his failure to be cowed from simply meeting her, she had to giggle a little at her instant sexual response; especially given her own arrogant posing just moments before at the ships' rail. Her unseemly giggle turned into a gasp of indignation as he painfully pinched her ass and turned away with a curt, "Latter, babe."
Even weeks after her encounter with Justin Drake, and miserably soaking away the aches from the prior day's kidnapping and subsequent gangbang, Anna's taut breasts swelled in lust at the remembered meeting. "He never gave me the chance to take control," she thought happily. "In fact, he really just took me that night." Anna drew a soapy washcloth across her throbbing breasts and remembered, "He was so cavalier, treating me like a tasty morsel for his satisfaction rather than a famous and respected supermodel." She visualized how he walked away from that first stunning kiss, leaving her gasping in a confused combination of lust and anger. He stayed away for several hours.
As Aaron Clarke was driving up to the motel office, having left the angry Anna behind naked in their room, he was also thinking of their first encounter. Unknown to Anna that first night on the boat, Justin Drake (aka Aaron Clarke) was sitting in Hosni's private cabin aboard the yacht discussing his afternoon meeting with his ex-wife, Veronica, while Anna remained constantly on the lookout for the whereabouts of the cad of a man she met earlier. Hosni was curious what Aaron thought about his wife's fate since she arrived at Hosni's modern European headquarters located in nearby Marseille, France. Hosni had been unable to free himself from a prior business engagement and Aaron had spent the day at Hosni's facilities by himself.
Mid-morning of the day Aaron met Anna, he cleared security and was taken directly to the top floor of the headquarters building by a member of Hosni's personal staff. There, in Hosni's opulent private penthouse apartment, he inspected the goods originally contained in his first-ever stock transaction as a slaver. Hosni's bill of sale from Aaron assumed ownership of the following items for the fixed fee of six hundred thousand dollars:
The women were kept on the floor below the private penthouse in an area dedicated to providing pleasure for Hosni's key business contacts and special friends. It contained a small world-class restaurant with private chef, public and private playrooms, massage and sauna facilities, and a number of specially trained women, including the four purchased from Aaron Clarke, slaver and owner of East Coast Slavers Organization. Hosni used Emily (a blonde), Pamela (a brunette), and June (black-haired) as entertainment girls and whores with Veronica (a blonde) reserved for kinkier clients. The other women included a Training Mistress and two servant/cleaning women.
The penthouse's décor was Moroccan in theme. Aaron knelt on lush carpets before a low table set with samples of north African coastal cuisine. He took a small sip of heavy Turkish coffee and then nibbled on a pistachio nut and honey concoction. "So," he asked Hosni's Executive Secretary, "how are your boss's four American sluts working out?"
The man had smiled indulgently and simply picked up a small bell displayed on a velvet-covered tray. Instead of the manservant that had brought out their coffee, the bell summoned a dreamy creature dressed in translucent silks. Emily Davis, ex-trophy wife, was a mouth-watering vision as a harem creature. No longer shy in her role as sex-slave after months of training by Hosni's harem Mistress and her near-daily use in the headquarters building, Emily posed alluringly, knowing full well that her breasts and sex organs were clearly exposed under the thin silk. Her nipples were fat and hard, tenting forward under the silk.
The Secretary giggled and Aaron realized that he was quite gay. The man offered that Emily, Pamela, and June were offered a hookah filled with hashish each evening to smoke as reward for good behavior during the day. "Her bright eyes reflect her body's need for more of the drug," he said giggling again. "Even without their addiction to the drug, they all act like whores in heat. They have been perfect little sex slaves, helping us establish ourselves in Europe. Government and business representatives have enjoyed their wares and then signed millions of dollars worth of contracts, probably keeping our European venture from failure." He took another sip of the sweet coffee and added, "You should see the videos of them at night in their quarters. They share a single bed and they fuck and suck all night. What whores your American women are! We have a special video library of your wife's training and service to our most needful clients." His giggling was becoming an irritant to Aaron. The man smirked at Aaron and said, "During some of our dinner meetings we show video clips of your American whores. Of course, we carefully hide the faces of our clients."
Hosni's Secretary made a limp circling gesture with his hand and Emily instantly twirled about. The spinning silks provided tantalizing glimpse of her body. Her blonde bush was invisible under her transparent harem pants, but her lush butt cheeks and the dark crease hiding her previously virgin ass were clearly visible. When the Secretary's hand flattened and made a downward gesture, Emily collapsed to a flat kneeling position with arms extended reverently toward the two men.
The bell rang twice more. Pamela and June twirled into the room dancing a wildly sexy belly dance without music. Their tight bellies undulated as they moved about, essentially dancing for each other's viewing pleasure, ignoring the men in the room as they performed as if they were two lesbians in some sort of courtship dance. Unfettered by modern bras, Pamela and June's fat tits jiggled about under the thin silk coverings as they shook and shimmied their bodies in the erotic dance. While Emily's blonde bush had been invisible under the thin silk, Pamela and June's crinkly pubic hair provided enough contrast to their pale cunt mounds to show clearly through the harem clothing. Unlike Aaron, the Secretary was unimpressed and not aroused by their expert moves. Emily remained prostrate in the floor as if unaware of the activity swirling about her. As if some silent signal cued them, the two dancing women collapsed in perfect unison in a sweaty pile across Emily. They remained frozen in place, only quietly heaving bosoms indicated that they were awake.
The two semi-reclining men sipped more of the Turkish coffee, watching the mound of pussy before them. The secretary's only response to the wild dance had been an amused glint in his eyes as he noted Aaron's obvious arousal. His hand twitched at his side as he fought the impulse to grab the enormous rod swelling under his guest's trousers. "Haven't they become such sexy sluts?" he asked with a purposely disinterested yawn. "You ready to see your wife? Hosni gave specific instructions for her preparation and the house bimbos have been getting her ready for you." He clapped his hands twice and commanded, "Enough resting! Bring on the bondage slut!"
The three women instantly rose in a flurry of colorful silk and scampered barefooted across the room toward an exit concealed by a wall hanging. Aaron's eyes followed the bouncing asses and flailing tits of the women as they hurried away to satisfy the secretary's command.
Aaron's swollen cock had started to subside when his eyes opened in shock at what came from behind the tapestry. The three American harem slave girls pushed an obviously heavy contraption into the room. A four-foot square of thick steel plate mounted on a low set of wheels held a tiny red leather pad centered between four tubular steel poles, each welded to a corner of the steel base. Veronica was mounted atop the apparatus like a butterfly under glass, tautly stretched with each of her four limbs chained to a different pole. She hung in an upside down spread-eagle with most of her weight held by the wrist and ankle chains. Her only relief from the unrelenting stress was that her belly rested lightly atop the tiny red leather pad. However, her back was still deeply bowed and she was in obvious distress. As she came into the room headfirst, Aaron saw that her gaping mouth was held open by a cruel ringgag and long strands of drool stretched from her lips to the steel plate below.
The slowly spinning cart showed that Veronica's hugely enhanced breasts were pulled down from her chest by gravity aided by the addition of one-pound weights hung from her nipple rings. The grossly elongated breast meat quivered as the moving cart disturbed the weights. The girls spun the cart around with some effort, forcing the wheels to move across the expensive woven wool carpets. Aaron's eyes noted the swollen cunt lips of his ex-wife pierced with six rings, three on each set of outer labia. An eight ounce lead weight hung from each pussy ring, providing a total of three pounds of distortion on her cunt and revealing her moist pink interior. As the cart stopped, Aaron saw another painful addition to his ex's bondage. A thin line of heavy monofilament fishing line ran from her clit ring between her breasts to her nose ring.
"Any move she makes tortures herself," Hosni's Secretary said with gleaming eyes and clear interest in her pain. "If she wiggles, the weights swing and hurt her milk mounds and her filthy pussy lips. If she howls with pain or moves her head, her little clit nerve bundle is abused." The man stroked his effeminate hands across his thin goatee and added happily, "I bet you've not noticed her hair."
Aaron looked where the man indicated and saw that his wife's long blonde hair had been drawn into a tight ponytail that ended connected to what looked to be a braided leather thong that disappeared between her ass crease. He couldn't see what held it so taut across her downward-bowed back. He looked inquisitively toward the Executive Secretary.
The man suppressed a giggle of enjoyment at both Veronica's predicament and Aaron's inability to discern his wife's situation. He laughed and said, "It's an ass hook. The leather ends in a 'J'-shaped hook of steel stuck deep up her rectum. Any move with her head and her nose yanks her clit and her ponytail digs the hook into her ass. She's in pain no matter what she does. Isn't it just delicious? This is how all your whorish American cunts should be treated." He sat back against his cushions with a sigh of pleasure. Aaron couldn't help but notice that the man was softly stroking his own groin with one hand while he sipped coffee and stared intently at Veronica's sweat streaked form.
Veronica's fellow slaves stood at attention on the far side of the display cart and waited for further instructions. The Secretary leaned over toward Aaron and whispered, "Your ex-wife doesn't get hashish each night and a soft bed filled with women to sleep with. No, … she sleeps naked, chained inside a tiny dog kennel each night in a bare concrete room. Her only chance to piss or shit all night long is when she is let out each morning to use a sandbox like a cat. She eats cold dog food dumped from a can into her feed bowl and drinks water from a spigot like a pet rodent. Any toilet mistakes are met with a severe beating. Veronica hasn't heard her own name spoken since she arrived here. Her new name is 'Chienne', French for bitch. It is tattooed on her mouth inner lip and inside of each outer cunt lip, marked like the livestock she clearly is." The man turned to the waiting girls and whispered, "Strip down and begin."
Each of the three mid-twenties women slipped off any silk covering their upper bodies, exposing their full breasts and bellies to the watching men. Loose silk wrapped around their hips was also thrown aside, leaving the three women in simple transparent silk harem pants of differing soft pastel colors. They each picked up a short carriage whip and Aaron knew that Veronica was going to be put through her paces. Emily stood on the far side of Veronica's head and Pamela and June stood alongside the outstretched woman. Nothing blocked Aaron and the Secretary's view of Veronica's already pain-wracked form.
While Aaron's former captives were standing about his wife, Aaron noted something. He smiled at the effeminate Secretary's deception. "Her skin is still smooth and flawless," Aaron told himself. "The lying bastard wants me to think they treat Veronica like this every day. She is in too good a shape to take this punishment more than once or twice a month. I bet she sleeps on a mattress as well." Otherwise, Aaron was pretty sure that if he looked inside Veronica's various lips that he would discover her new name, 'Chienne', tattooed clearly.
At some hidden signal, the three women each swung their whips in perfect unison down upon Veronica's trapped form. A muffled yowl of pain and a sputtering of drool and snot from her nose and open mouth was the instant response. Again the whips flickered forward marking another three red lines across Veronica's back, shoulders, and buttocks. The third set of slashes curled under her full ass cheeks, striking the tender inside of her thighs. The fourth set wrapped deep under the 'V' of her legs and caught her cunt lips. Even through the ringgag, Veronica's howl of pain was loud enough to set Aaron's spine tingling. As the whipping continued down the back of her thighs toward her feet, Aaron noticed that the effeminate Secretary had risen, kicked off his shoes and trousers, and now stood at Veronica's face. The man's cock was hidden by Veronica's head, but it was obvious from the abrupt halting of Veronica's shrieks that the man had buried himself fully into her gaping maw of a mouth. Aaron was pretty sure that the only time the gay man's dick touched a woman instead of a man was in a scene of humiliation like this. "He probably hates women," Aaron had thought, "torturing them is the only way he can get off with them."
During the time Aaron was focused on the Secretaries hard thrusting hips, the three slave girls changed their whipping swings to underhand blows. The result was that Veronica tried to hump her body up into the air to escape the stinging blows dancing across her breasts and belly.
Finally it was over for Veronica. The Secretary tidily tucked his spent penis into his underwear and uttered a few soft words in Arabic. Emily, Pamela, and June quickly gathered up their scattered clothing and the whips, scampered behind the screen, and disappeared from view. A heavy door boomed shut, telling Aaron that the slave girls were once again locked up in their holding area or harem.
The Secretary said, "Ring the bell if you have any needs. Enjoy the horny slut, … I certainly have." With that, he swished out of the room with angry twitches of his slim hips, obviously jealous of Veronica over the attention she was soon to receive from the burly American slaver.
Aaron picked up a cushion and wandered over to his wife's tortured form. Her pain was obvious from the half-dazed look on her face. The ex-husband crossed his legs and sat down at her head. Thick sperm and droplets of drool still dripped from the ringgagged mouth. Aaron ran a calloused hand across her cheek and forehead, locking eyes with the haunted woman. "Six months my little slave girl; you've been gone from your home for six months now. Have you mastered your new vocation yet?" Aaron grinned sadly at his wife's near silent grunt of dissention. He stuck his fingers in her slimy mouth and rubbed them clean on her eyelids and forehead. "When your time is up, … do you want to come home?" he asked quietly.
Unable to focus on her husband due to the stinging sperm covering her eyeballs, Veronica could only grunt and slightly shake her head up and down. The motion clearly tugged at both her ass hook and the line punishing her clit. Tears of some combination of pain, self-pity, and sorrow flowed from her blurry eyes.
"Good," Aaron answered simply. "I look forward to evaluating your change in attitude from the slavery experience. Remember, the more genuinely obedient you become, the better your lot in life will be after you come home." He then strongly grasped her chin and hissed, "And, … you better never forget that I have to buy you back. If you're clearly not a good investment, … you will rue the day you were born. I've already told you what fates you might see if you fail me." Aaron knew full well that Veronica remembered their discussion about alternatives she faced upon failure – as a commodity (not too unlike farm-raised stock), slaves could be reclassified upon failure to meet required goals – changing from general sex slave; … to bondage slut; … to pain slut; … to whore in a specialty club; … to prostitute in a foreign mining town; … possibly the featured lead actress in torture and snuff films; … maybe roasting meat on a spit over hot coals. Aaron felt Veronica shudder under his touch and knew she was thinking the same thing he was.
He then rose and ran his still slimy hand down her back, feeling each weal burned into her white skin. The difference between the normally soft flesh and the hard, raised, ridges was startling. Upon reaching the sweaty crease of her ass, Aaron briefly explored his way around the cruel steel hook stuck up her rectum before moving down to her wet cunt lips. Without warning, or foreplay, he knifed his fingers together and harshly speared his way deep into her steamy cunt. Even with her expected arousal, Aaron was shocked at how deep he plunged on his first thrust. "You hot whore, … you took all of four fingers in one push!" he exclaimed. Aaron pulled partially out and then punched forward again with all his strength. Veronica bucked under the onslaught; but, … Aaron had fully set his hand into her cunt. Only his thumb remained outside the copiously lubricated sex.
Still buried in her hot vagina, Aaron fumbled with the leather thong connecting her ponytail with the hook deep in her ass. The instant the leather holding her head back was released, Veronica's head fell forward limply; releasing both the pull on both her clit and the ass hook. A quiet groan of satisfaction indicated Veronica's happiness for the minor relief.
Reluctantly, Aaron pulled his wet hand out of her loose cunt and grabbed the fat, steel 'J' hook jammed deeply up her ass. Surprisingly, the hook stuck fast. "Chienne!" Aaron scolded, "loosen up your ass, the hook is stuck."
"Huhhh," Veronica grunted back as loud as she could. "Hag, … hake hoff hag, … hease," she tried to let her ex-husband know to remove her gag so they could speak. Veronica sensed him coming around to her head and her heart leapt when the tight leather strap around her head was loosened and the hateful leather-covered ring was pulled from her aching mouth. "Hank hoo!" she said and realized that her jaw was too painfully stretched to respond to her brain's commands. His hands caressed her painful neck and she gratefully pushed back against his touch. Weeping at her inability to voice her pleas and promises if only he took her back, she simply said, "Hank hoo," again.
Then, she heard her husband's voice whisper in her ear, "I'd like another fuck to be sure I'll be interested in buying you back in a few years. Would you like the chance to audition for my approval now?"
Numbly, knowing she had no other choice, Veronica nodded her head.
"The problem is," Aaron continued after her head nod, "your ass is filled by that fat hook and I couldn't break the suction. I think I'll need to force you to relax and maybe push out like you're taking a shit. To do that, I'll have to whip you myself and tug on the hook at the same time."
Veronica's heart sunk as she realized what her husband was going to do. "The bastard," she told herself, "he wants me to tell him that he can whip me before he ass rapes me. Fuck! But, … I do so want to go home." She nodded more vigorously this time.
Aaron took her acceptance with a smile and returned to her ass and the stuck hook with the tightly stretched ass grommet about it. His belt flickered out of his pants loops and slashed through the air.
"Haaaaa!" Veronica's mouth screamed past her tortured jaws as the first slash struck squarely between her legs, striking the fat steel hook. "Ho, ho," she cried and then flinched as the next blow whistled through the air on its way back between her legs. "Haaaaa," she cried again. "Hull, hull!" she shrieked in an attempt to get him to pull the hook out.
The belt slashed downward again, and again. Finally, when Veronica thought she could bear no more without passing out, her husband yanked hard and the hook slipped out with an audible plop. "Haaaah," she grunted in relief. She tried to catch her breath and loosen up her jaw muscles at the same time.
Dimly she was aware that her husband was fumbling around her waist. Not having ever been mounted on this device, she didn't know that he had found a three-inch-wide nylon strap and fed it over her back and into a tightening ratchet. Each click brought her tummy harder down upon the small leather pad, further stretching her shoulder and hip joints. Then her legs fell free and plopped uselessly down to the deck of the contraption. "Now, he can get to my cunt and ass," she observed to herself coolly. "Plese, carefa," she was able to moan as her jaw loosened up.
Aaron looked down at the tempting sight of his helpless wife's puckered ass and dribbling pussy. He realized that the weights on her cunt lips might get in the way of his fucking. With an excited grimace, he flicked his hidden knife free from his trouser pocket and one-handedly flicked it open. The shining blade slashed quicker than the eye could follow, and far up her body by her nose, cut the monofilament line running to her clit. Now grinning mischievously, he wrapped the monofilament line fairly snugly around the six weights hanging from her cunt lips.
Veronica felt the momentary tug on her big nose ring and realized that Aaron had just cut the line off. Her heart sunk as she felt the weights moved about with the end result that they tugged even more on her pussy. "What's he going to do?" she thought worriedly.
Aaron looked about for protection and found a small pile of big foil packages. He ripped open the first one he grabbed and laughed at the heavy latex French Tickler inside. Knobby nubs covered the sides of the thick latex all the way up to a colorful blossom of what looked like a rubber feather duster on the tip. "I'll be able to fuck her all night with something that fat on my cock." Then he touched the latex and realized that it was coated with a dry, powdery preservative. "There's only one place to get enough lube for something this nasty," he muttered and focused his gaze on his wife's drooling pussy.
Veronica felt her husband fumbling around her pussy and knew that he was lubricating the fat glans on the head of his oversize cock. She tried to hunch her ass back against him to show her willingness to give him a good ride. "The stupid strap has me locked in place," she muttered to herself. Veronica's legs flopped about uselessly as they were too numb and stretched out to respond to her mental commands. "Huck!" she screeched in surprise when her husband's familiar cock sunk relentlessly into her moist heat. "Hairful, plese!" she begged as something scratched her inner cunt wall as the cock drew back out of her insides.
"The fucking feather duster tip on this thing is too fricking big," Aaron complained as the scratchy rubber blossomed outside her cunt as his cock drew back. The inward plunge forced the colorful rubber to disappear inside. Eventually the latex began to glisten with her pussy lube and Aaron slowly sped up his fucking motion.
Veronica had serviced many cocks of all sizes and colors during her forced stay at Hosni's European headquarters; however, she was certain that even without the French Tickler bulging along his fuckstick, Aaron was fatter and longer than any natural dick she had taken in her holes ever in her life. She grunted as the fat log bottomed out in her cunt and the lead weights dangling from her pussy lips were disturbed by the swinging of his orange-sized balls. "Eiiiii!" you bastard, "I wasn't ready yet! But, … fuck me anyway!" she yelled back over her shoulder. As if in answer to her demands, she felt the ridges on the French Tickler begin to vibrate quickly back and forth across her tightly stretched pussy lips like the teeth of a saw stroking across a series of tight guitar strings. The vibrations echoed deep into her core, electrifying her with the sensations. Veronica came so hard she couldn't remember if she screamed out the orgasm, but decided she had when she discovered her jaws were stuck widely open. She gasped quickly for breath all the while his thrusts kept up their unrelenting sensations on ever possible surface of her vaginal sheath, labia, and clit. Her teeth snapped shut simultaneously with a loud popping in her jaw joints. The next orgasm struck even harder than the first.
Aaron stood behind his wife admiring the white froth the French Tickler had whipped her pussy juices into. He kept up his hip thrusting but concentrated more and more on her winking brown eye. "She's nearly into continuous orgasms now," he thought as he set his three middle fingers into a spear. He waited until her spasming stomach and pussy muscles calmed during an interlude between orgasms and jammed his three fingers hard into her unprepared ass. Even with her belly strapped down on the pedestal, her bucking interior muscles squeezed his pecker hard enough to trigger his own cum. Surprised, he pushed in hard, grinding his pubic bone against hers. Spurt after spurt of his jism filled the condom. Satisfied, Aaron leaned down over his wife's naked back. "Ahhhh," he whispered in satisfied relaxation, "nothing like a quick piece of ass to settle down. That was good for my heart; a little exercise and then a calming afterglow."
Even weeks later, Aaron's dick still twitched at the remembered details of that encounter with his slave ex-wife. Aaron had already pulled his car up to the motel office. He saw a cleaning woman nearby and hopped out of the car to speak with her after taking a deep breath. Each of the two were grinning ear-to-ear when Aaron took his leave and pulled out of the parking lot. His smile didn't last long, there were some unpleasant tasks to perform. Meanwhile back in their motel room, Anna was nearly asleep in her steamy tub.
Author: Desert Dog ****** E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com
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