A leather bound journal lies on a desk……
I know that
quite a few people think that I have an easy life but I’m just going to say
that I’ve worked for this and I sure aim to take every advantage of the
opportunity. Anyway it’s not all that
it’s cracked up to be. And just think about the risks, will you? Being the
girlfriend of a criminal master mind has got its down sides too, you know.
It was a
real shock when I found out that’s what I was, let me tell you. I’d been
brought up to be a law abiding girl. Nice. Polite. My parents had a strict
moral code. Stay inside the law, daddy taught me. Well apart from speeding
tickets and parking fines and skidding around the tax system and, well, all
those little, sort of don’t-quite-count laws that seem just to be in the way
when you run your own business. And mummy was very clear that nice girls are
there to be good, supportive, wives and it just wasn’t nice to ask your man
about what he got up to when you weren’t around. Nor was it nice to cause your
man unnecessary stress by letting him find out what you were up to when he
wasn’t around. She was very pleased when I hooked up with the boyfriend and she
didn’t even mind too much when we told her we weren’t going to get married just
yet. “So modern,” she’d said.
My
boyfriend seemed a fine, upstanding, fellow. He was well respected at the local
country club (we met at one of those unbelievably tedious dinners that daddy
used to drag me along to so I’d meet the “right” people), a pillar of the local
business community (though in just what line of business I was never very
clear), and an all round good sort with a rather preppy dress sense and a
closet full of neckties that looked as if they lived a life of debauchery all
on their own.
He thought
I was cute, he said. He liked that I was smart. He liked that I played sports
and had a good bod – I’ve always found it easier to exercise than diet. He was
always pretty keen on my legs and, if I say so myself, they aren’t bad. He
didn’t seem worried that I don’t have too much at the front but I make the best
of what there is. He’s always been very flattering about how I look; paid me compliments
in front of his friends, stuff like that.
And, I
mean, he was nice and everything but maybe a bit dull. Well - too much talk
about business, I thought. But Daddy liked him and at least he was clean and he
had the money to keep me amused. Like there was this rather nice yacht which
let me work on my tan in the summer with this rather nice speedboat that meant
I could water-ski when I wanted. And there was the rather nice jet that let me
get up to Aspen for the skiing in the winter. And the rather nice cabin while I
was up there.
So it was
quite a disappointment at first when I found out there was another girl in his
life. Well, quite a lot of girls actually.
I’d had
suspicions for a while. The odd blonde hair on the jacket. The occasional, “sorry
honey I can’t get home tonight after all”. But, hey, as long as he was
discreet, didn’t catch anything and he came back suitably grateful plus my
allowance got paid and he didn’t ask too much about what I was up to. Well, why
should I worry?
He’d always
been a bit vague about what his company did. Import and export he said.
Livestock. The only thing was he never said what it was he was importing and
exporting, and just how lively the livestock could be.
I never did
work out why he decided to tell me. I mean, I’m not curious and I was quite
happy enjoying the lifestyle. Still for some folk they say that confession is
good for the soul. I guess that included him.
“Honey,” he
says, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Well at
this point I’m thinking he’s about to own up to the fact that he’s gay (in
spite of the fact that we’d been at it like rabbits); or he’s suffering from
some sinister and incurable disease; or, worse than that, he’s suddenly caught
poverty.
“It’s about
the business,” he says.
Now I’m
certain he’s broke. But as it turns out, no. Quite the reverse in fact. There’s
plenty of cash coming in, he says. But he wants to tell me is where it comes
from. In case anything should happen to him. So, I’m back thinking it’s the
incurable disease after all. But no, it’s just that his business isn’t quite
legitimate and that always has its risks, he says. So what’s not legitimate about livestock, I
says and that’s when he explains that the livestock involved is female, and
human, and none too willing.
I’m pretty
angry. I mean not about what he’s doing – I scarcely believe that any way. Well
who believes that sort of thing goes on for real? And anyway there’s plenty of
worse stuff that goes on. Isn’t there? No mainly I’m mad at him for not telling
me and keeping it a secret. Somehow just what the secret was gets forgotten in
the shouting and tears.
So then he
gives me his bashful little boy look and I can’t stay mad at him. And he says
I’m sweet and how could he have ever thought I’d mind and hey, look at what
I’ve brought you.
That’s when
he clapped his hands and my very first slave girl appeared.
Like I said
he clapped his hands and this very well built guy (no offence to boyfriend but
muscles aren’t really his thing) comes in with a naked girl over his shoulder.
Hunky guy puts girl down on the ground in front of me. Nods to boyfriend and
disappears.
Now nobody
teaches you how to deal with this; which I guess is not surprising. If I’d been
born the daughter of a plantation owner in Deep South the 1800’s, I suppose I’d
have known all about it by the time I was grown. But what with slavery being
(a) illegal and (b) not really the done thing in polite society, what chance
was there that I’d have any idea of how to deal with what lover boy presented
me with? I mean after “Beulah, peel me a grape,” what do you say to them?
So there
she is on the floor and she’s like wrapped up in rope with the stuff around her
wrists and her ankles and her arms and her knees and her body. And she’s
obviously not happy with what’s happened to her from the way she’s trying to
wriggle around. But she can’t make much noise ‘cos there are strips of sticky
tape across her mouth. I had a boyfriend once who was into this stuff and we
tried it. I wasn’t keen. Like it hurt for a start and it took so long to do.
(He was real picky about getting all the knots just right.) And then it took so
long to undo when he was finished and I just got bored. I guessed though that
the complaints that my present was making weren’t really because she had
reservations about this as a new form of sexual experience.
The
boyfriend says, “What do you think?”
Mainly what
I think is, “This is too weird for words.” What I say is, “What do I do with
her?”
“That’s the
great thing,” says the boyfriend with the biggest grin you could imagine.
“She’s a slave. You can do anything you want. Look at her collar.”
Well, I
look at her collar and it’s got my name on it, so I guess that makes it
official. Still, I’m confused, but of course, I’m quite relieved that boyfriend
hasn’t got the plague or anything worse (like poverty). I like to think I can
adapt to new situations so I guess, I’ll go with it.
Still, like
I say, nobody teaches you how to deal with this. Nobody tells you how
reasonable or unreasonable to be, how much punishment they need, how much you
should let them get away with. So I really didn’t know what I was supposed to
do and I was worried that I’d do something to embarrass the boyfriend. Even
then I knew enough about the criminal world to know that you don’t piss off the
guys in charge.
I thought
about getting the inside track from one of his customers. I mean, I guess his
clients had plenty of experience but I couldn’t see that he’d want to wheel me
out to one of them saying, “Hey, here’s my girlfriend, she knows diddly squat
about all this, why don’t you fill her in on how to look after her first
slave.” Oh no, he wanted me to make like I’m an old hand at this. “Got to keep
up appearances for the sake of the business,” he says.
So I sort
of had to work it out for myself. Had to find out how to keep them in order.
How to make sure they behave. How to make sure they don’t go wandering off and
how to make sure they keep fit enough to go on doing whatever it is you want
them to do. There aren’t any books – well none that are any use. There’s plenty
of fantasy out there about how to treat your slaves but none of it seemed to
relate to the problems of having them around twenty four hours a day, totally
reliant on you. Besides most of it seemed to involve me spending more time on
managing the slaves than I ever wanted to. My take on this was that a slave’s
there for my convenience and if they’re more trouble than benefit, what’s the
point?
Well, it
took a bit of work and I guess I left a few bruises on some of the girls but,
hey, that’s what they’re there for, like the boyfriend tells me. I guess I’ve
got it sorted out now. It doesn’t take too much effort and there are some real
benefits.
Once I’d
got used to the idea of this whole “lets kidnap women; train ’em to do whatever
we want and sell them” thing and got used to actually managing them, I can tell
you that there is a whole heap of good stuff that comes out of it.
Firstly,
like, I don’t have to do a thing. One finger click and I’ve got pool side
drinks; the place is neat and tidy; my stuff gets cleaned and ironed. I’ve never
been a fan of the whole housework bit and it’s great not to have to bother. I
mean sure we had maids and butlers and things at home but slaves are a whole
lot less trouble once you get the security stuff all sorted out. I mean there’s
no “Gee, can I have the afternoon off ‘cos my boyfriend gets back from his trip
tonight,” and all that. And of course they are really attentive to detail once
they get the idea that zero-defect performance is much kinder to their perky
little butts.
Plus
there’s none of that, “be nice to the staff to keep them motivated” crap. And
no having to make idle chit-chat either – most of the time they’ve got their
mouths filled up with a chunk of rubber or taped over or something. Which also
means they ain’t gonna be gossiping about any of the stuff they see going on
around the place.
I saw the
guard that brought my first slave in the other day. He really does look fit
and, since boyfriend’s not always around, I get to thinking, “that might be
nice”. I know I can use any of the girls when I like – in fact boyfriend quite
likes it when I do (what a surprise, only him and every other man on the
planet!) - but it’s not the same. Girl on girl sex is a bit too much like going
back to the college dorm, if you ask me. Been there, done that, fumbled around
under the other girl’s tee-shirt.
Getting
back to the slaves – “product” boyfriend calls them. One thing I have found is
that some of the chicks that the boyfriend collects have really great
wardrobes. I reckon that they’re not going to need their stuff any more since
most of their time around here is spent buck naked. So now there’s a standing
instruction for the snatch teams that if the girl is my size they bring in any
clothes they find. ‘Course most of the time the stuff is useless – like the
goons we have around her have any idea of style? But occasionally there’ll be
some designer gear that’s worth hanging on to. Plus sometimes it just pisses
off the poor little victim when they see their best frock on the back of their
captor’s girl. (Maybe I’m getting into this criminal master mind’s girlfriend
bit, after all.)
Take last
week – we’d picked up a hip young lady who’d been quite friendly with a couple
of footballers. They decided she’d be better off somewhere where she wouldn’t
be chatting to the press about their taste in recreational substances so they
ask boyfriend to take her away from her life of care. She came in with a hot
collection. Versace, D&G, Manolo Blanik, Jimmy Choo’s, mwuhh! Plus some
very nice jewellery to go with it. Jack – he’s the rather cute guy that brought
in my first slave girl – had done the pick up and he dropped the stuff off for
me. He said, “Thought you might like these. They’ll look better on you than
they do on her.” And, like I’m thinking, “Whoa, cute and friendly!”
The girl
did not look happy when she saw me there. A couple of the guards had got her to
strip off and, I mean, she’d obviously hoped that would be a chance for her to
exercise a bit of undue influence with the goons – she didn’t understand their
incentive plan, I guess – so she wasn’t keen on the fact that another girl was
there. Then when I picked up the dress and tried it against me, she got real
cross. One of the guards had to hang onto her while I gave her a slap. That
calmed her down enough. I took her necklace and rings at the same time. She was
not happy when we finished, but Jack whispered, “Hey I like how you did that.”
I ended up feeling pretty pleased with myself; most of the time I feel that the
goons give me a sort of mildly amused tolerant attitude. The girl was even less
happy when the goons came back with the straps and the ball gag and took her
underwear off her.
I’m not
real keen on the violence and thuggery but you have to let the girls know who’s
boss. And, well, I need to make the boyfriend look good don’t I? Leastways,
that’s what he says. It’s hardly a good thing if the international slave trader
turns out to have a wimp for his main squeeze, is it? So, I’ve learned how to
handle a whip when I need to and I’ve certainly mastered the whole “Take her
down to the cells!” snarl to the guards which usually has a suitably
intimidating effect on our guests. The boyfriend has got a whole heap of toys
down in the playrooms and I’m starting to get interested in some of them,
especially for one little slut that’s been giving me some trouble. Boyfriend’s
been away on business – something about a big auction somewhere, he said - but
Jack’s been helping me out.
He’s been
great. Not like most of the goons. He seems to actually have a brain for one
thing. I mean some of the kit is really complicated and there’s like straps and
buckles and catches and adjusters and, well, it would have taken me forever to
work it out. But Jack just knows. He sat me down and said, “What are you trying
to do?”
“Make sure,
this little slut has a really uncomfortable evening after what she did to me,”
I said.
And Jack
grinned. He’s got as cute a grin as
boyfriend has. He pulls out this pole with straps at either end and says, “How
about the spreader?” The girl gives a shrug to try to escape his grip but he
just cuffs her. No real force but somehow it puts her off struggling any more.
I nod
enthusiastically. He holds up a leather hood. “And this?” he says and I nod.
So he shows
me how to strap the spreader on her so her legs are really aching and she’s
whimpering quite a bit which is a result already as far I’m concerned. And then
he helps me fit the hood and get it real tight. Then he asks me, “I guess
you’ll want a gag for her? How about this?”
He pulls out
this rubber penis gag. And I say, “Oh yes, put that on her. I’m really going to
enjoy her choking on that.”
So Jack
pushes the gag in her mouth and girly is struggling a bit so I grab hold of her
to make it a bit easier for Jack and his hand brushes against mine as he
fastens the strap.
And that’s
when he says, really casually like, “I sure wish you were sucking on mine like
she’s sucking on that.”
© Freddie Clegg 2007
Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. All characters and events fictitious.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Find PDF’s of my stories at my web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
I guess
that was when I should have told him to fuck off and remember who I was.
But I
didn’t.
I’m still
not sure why. There wasn’t anything wrong between boyfriend and me, ‘cept he
wasn’t around much. And life was a lot more fun that it had been when all of
boyfriend’s business life was a great big secret. And I had, like, anything I
wanted.
So maybe
that was it. I had anything I wanted and I decided that maybe what I wanted was
Jack.
“You wish,“ I said and laughed. Maybe the laugh was a mistake, ‘cos
all he did was buckle the girl’s gag tighter so she
groaned a bit louder. There was something about the way he was looking at me
that told me he wasn’t joking. “Isn’t it a bit of a career risk for you,
thinking about bumping the boss’s girlfriend?” I said.
He just
raised one eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, not bothering to deny it, “you’re probably
right but I was guessing that it might be worth it.” Jack is looking at me like
there’s nothing else and no one else in the world. Poor little slave girl
struggling on the ground doesn’t know whether she should be pleased because
she’s being ignored or not.
I’m looking
back at Jack and I can feel my knees weakening but somehow it isn’t the right
moment. “I still don’t think it would be real smart,” I said, starting to
leave, “and right now I have stuff to do. Put her back in the cells but leave
that rig on her.” The girl on the floor was wriggling and
grunting some more. I got to the door and turned back towards him.
From the way
he was looking he’d followed my arse with his eyes right the way across the
room. “I’ll take that as though you think so too,” he smirked. I closed the
door behind me. He was right of course, but I wasn’t going to tell him that
straight away.
It hasn’t
taken me too long to grow into the lifestyle. I mean it only took me about a
month before I realised that if you’re going to have one slave then why not
have a few. Boyfriend has been very obliging at making sure I get just what I
want so my maid was snatched from one of
He even
offered to have a plastic surgeon picked up for me but that was definitely a
no-no as far as I was concerned because (a) why the fuck do I need work doing
and (b) no matter how good his training methods are no one’s coming near me
with a knife unless they’re being paid dammed well for what they’re doing.
Besides, I’ve seen enough examples of how “real” some of the work looks that’s
been done on our guests before they ever get here. Why would anyone want tits
that looked like basketballs, anyway?
Well, apart
from that it means I get to have a real comfortable time and this afternoon
last week, I’m sitting in my dressing room after a shower with one slave working
on a pedicure, another busy buffing finger nails, a third fixing my hair, a
fourth standing by with my wine on a try and another showing me the dress she
thought I might like to wear. I’m thinking two things – mainly I’m thinking I
could get used to this (actually I had gotten used to it) but also I’m
thinking, “I wonder what Jack’s up to?”
Which was when he knocked at the door.
“I thought
you might like to hear what I did with that slave you left with me,” he says.
He’s
standing there in a black t-shirt and jeans that couldn’t be any tighter. He
pushes back a strand of blonde hair. I’m trying hard not to dribble. “Sure,” I
say, “I hope she’s feeling pretty uncomfortable.”
“I think
so,” he says. “She’s got that plug in her mouth pushed well back in her throat
so she’s got to keep sucking on it or choke. She seemed like she’d be able to
cope with that so I added a couple of vibrating plugs below the waist as well.”
“Are you
sure she’s not enjoying that?” I ask. “I can think of girls that might quite
like feeling well filled up.”
He gave me
another of his ‘you really are going to be worth the risk, aren’t you?’
sideways looks. “Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “Every time she twitches
she’s getting voltage through the clamps on her little titties.”
“Mmm,” I
say. “Now that’s more what I had in mind.”
“And,
believe me, she’s twitching quite a lot.”
I wave the
slave girls away. Somehow the fact that they hadn’t finished didn’t matter.
“Seems you have a way of making girls twitch,” I say.
“I thought
that was what you wanted for her,” he said.
“I wasn’t
talking about her,” I said. He didn’t say anything. He just put his head on one
side and looked at me in a way that suggested that I needn’t be wearing the
silk robe that I’d put on after my shower. That time my knees really did go and
in the next minute I’ve got my hand on his belt buckle and I’m saying, “Didn’t
you make a wish a bit earlier on?”
It turns
out that Jack is really generous in bed. “No,” he says, “let me,“ as he lays me back on the bed, stroking my neck with one
finger while he’s unfastening the belt of my robe. Turns out he’s as good at
undoing things as he is at doing them up and he’s appreciative too. “Now they
are nice,” he says as he draws the robe open and the next thing I know is that
he’s kissing and nuzzling at my nipples while telling me how the girl in the
dungeon will be feeling. I’m getting well worked up and very damp between my
legs as he slides his head down kissing my belly and then on down to my crotch.
Now how good is that? A man that goes down without you asking
him to?
By this
time I’m getting well worked up and feeling I really ought to return the
favour, so I stroke the back of his neck and he looks up. “Let me,” I say.
“Be my
guest,” he says and kneels up. I slide back between his legs and bring my head
up so I can take his cock in my mouth. “Mmm,” he says, “that’s every bit as
good as I thought it would be.” I’m licking and sucking. He’s telling me more
about what he’s done with the girl downstairs, asking me if I’d like to have
her caged for a bit, suggesting she needed more beatings if she was going to be
any sort of use as a slave. And the more he talked the more worked up I got and
the more enthusiastically I sucked and licked, until he says, “Whoa!” and his
cock is throbbing and pumping cum down my throat.
No sooner
has he finished than there’s a knock on the door from
one of the slaves saying that boyfriend is back. I’ve got my robe fastened and
Jack is on his feet and zipped up by the time the slave comes in. He leaves,
saying, “Well, I shall certainly see that the girl in the cells is treated as
you wish,” before he heads to the door.
The slave
looks at him as he makes his way out. Maybe she’s suspicious. I’m busily
swallowing my mouthful and trying to make sure I haven’t got any hairs between
my teeth. I tell her thanks and to tell boyfriend I’ll be down when I’ve
finished dressing.
Boyfriend
is really pleased to see me. He’s had a good business trip; sold the girls he
took to auction and picked up some commissions for new intake as well. As usual
when things have gone well he wants to get back to the bedroom and play. Well,
I’m still warmed up from my tumble with Jack so I’m not complaining.
Boyfriend
seemed to enjoy himself. I do sometimes wonder what he gets up to with all the
merchandise we have around the place but he’s pretty tough on the whole “don’t
play with the stock” line for the guards so maybe I’m just being suspicious.
Anyway I’ve got no complaints. Most of the time what he can do for me is fine.
Just this time I’m still thinking about Jack.
In fact I’m
still thinking about Jack a couple of hours later when I go down to the cells
to check out how my little friend is getting on. She’s in one of the open-fronted
cells; heavy bars, floor to ceiling, so I’ve got an uninterrupted view of her
and she of me.
Like Jack
said, she doesn’t look as if she’s enjoying herself. He’d added a few
refinements he hadn’t told me about. The girl is standing on tip toe in ballet
boots, her feet forced as far apart as they’ll go by the spreader bar. She’s
kept upright by a chain from the ceiling to the strap that’s pulling her elbows
together behind her back. That’s forcing her to lean forward so her tits hang
down. I can see the clamps on her nipples and the wires running from them, just
like Jack said. She’s groaning and coughing with the gag back in her throat and
a pool of drool is building up on the floor of the cell from where she’s
dribbling.
So I’m
standing there watching her and she’s lifting her head every now and then to
scowl back at me and I feel someone come up behind me. Then there’s Jack’s hand
on my bum and his breath on the back of my neck and he’s saying, ”I hope you’re happy with that. What did she do to piss
you off so much?” He kisses the back of my neck and, in spite of the fact that
I’ve had two tumbles in less than two hours, I’m
desperate for it again.
I try to
compose myself. “I really don’t remember,” I said. He’s standing very close.
His hand is all over my arse, slipping across the silk of my skirt but I’m
pretty sure no one can see what’s going on. I’m between him and slave girl and
he’s between me and anyone else. And the more he fondles, the hotter I get,
until I’m really grabbing at the bars of the girl’s cell. “But frankly, who
gives a fuck? It’s just fun to see her like that.”
“You really
are getting the idea, aren’t you,” Jack says. I can hear the approval in his
voice. “I can see I’ll have to be careful.” And with that he takes his hand away
and he’s gone, as silently as he arrived.
I’m so
horny now that when I get back to my room, I practically dive at the bedside
table and find my little buzzing friend. I’ve got it pushed well up against me
when boyfriend comes back with a “Hey, you really are keen tonight, what’s got
you so wound up?”
I tell him
how hot having slave girl suffer is making me feel and he grins, takes away the
vibrator and pulls me back to bed for another bounce. By the end of it we’re
both ready for sleep.
When we
wake up, boyfriend rings the bell for the duty slave and who should come in but
my uncomfortable friend from the cells downstairs. She looks like she’s had a
harder night than I had – for all his enthusiasm, one more bounce was all boyfriend had in him – but she’s being obedient now all
right as she brings the tea tray in and kneels with it beside the bed. Suddenly
I think, what if she saw something and what if she
says something. But then I remember she’s still got a thick plug of rubber in
her mouth and who takes any notice of what slaves say anyway?
So what are
the problems?
Well, for a
start, like people expect you to keep up appearances all the time. When he’s
there to greet our latest set of visitors I’m supposed to be there too, hanging
off his arm and smiling approvingly as he outlines the poor victims’ fate. And
of course I’ve heard his repertoire of sinister promises of discomfort in the
event of lack of cooperation so many times that it’s hard to keep a straight
face. Then the whole security bit can be pretty dull and, if I was bothered
about it, having the boyfriend able to take his pick of a selection of lovelies
any time he chooses can be a problem too.
Of course, I guess it can be dangerous – I’ve seen some of the
ironmongery that boyfriend’s body guard carries and I’m guessing he doesn’t
carry it because he wants to make that bulge in his suit – I mean quite apart
from the forces of law there’s sometimes friends of our guests that take a dim
view of their disappearance and of course the business isn’t without its own
set of competitors. But there haven’t been any real problems apart from the one
little bitch that jumped me in the early days before I learned to be as careful
as I am now.
Take today,
for example. I thought I was going to have a nice quiet, relaxing day. Sprawl
by the pool, get a massage, chill out. But I’m not
that lucky this time. Boyfriend wanders up saying we’ve got another guest; so I
need to be there to greet her too.
Turns out that the new arrival is the latest smart kid trying to get
under the skin of the boyfriend’s business. There’s usually one or two a year that we have
to take care of; nosy reporters, distraught sisters looking for a missing
sibling, that sort of thing.
So can I
just throw on a robe and schlep around until she’s brought in? Oh no; boyfriend
wants the whole deal. “We have to put on a bit of a show,” he says, “she’ll
expect it, the lads expect it, and anyway what sort of criminal mastermind
would I be if my girlfriend didn’t inspire a little respect?”
So I take
the hint. I know what he means and mostly, as far as I’m concerned, it means
uncomfortable.
I will
never get used to platform shoes. I like shoes as much as the next girl, well
quite a lot more actually – one of the good things about this gig is that I’ve
been able to build up an Imelda Marcos scale collection – but platforms are
just impossible. If Naomi Campbell managed to go arse over tit off of hers what
chance is there for the rest of us?
Still at least I won’t have to walk too far for this so I can indulge
him with some of his favourites.
High heels,
tight skirt, tits on a shelf – he’s just sooo predictable – but so long as he’s
happy.
Anyway our
new guest turns out to be an accountant. Like she’s going to fit in around here
– NOT! We get her story second hand – she’s not talking much with that big red
ball in her mouth – seems like she’d been auditing one of the subsidiaries and
her boss had obviously not explained just which files she shouldn’t be looking
into. Anyway, apparently she comes over all righteous and “what would the SEC
say about this???” so her boss invites her to take a holiday at our place
without the option. Now she’s standing in the lobby while the boyfriend looks
her over and she’s peering down her nose at my cleavage. And I’m thinking,
sure, like I’d be standing there in danger of getting a cold on my chest if I
didn’t have to. Still I’m not the one with fifty foot of one inch rope wrapped
around my wrists, arms and body, so why should I care?
Boyfriend
can see there’s a bit of confrontation in the offing so he asks me if I’d like
to take her in hand, personally, for my own slave team. I give her a look over;
long blonde hair that looks like it might be real, neat body with decent size
tits, little girl lost looks – though that might just be the result of her
current predicament. Too much competition, I decide, and tell him, “Nah, send
her to auction.” Boyfriend looks disappointed, then shrugs and calls for a
guard.
© Freddie Clegg 2007
Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission. All characters and events fictitious.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Find PDF’s of my stories at my web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
Now this is
a real bore. Boyfriend announces this morning that there’s a big auction coming
up. We’ve got quite a few pieces in it and he and I are both going this time.
I’m really looking forward to making small talk with his associates and clients
– not! Still, I checked out the duty roster on boyfriend’s PC and managed to
switch Jack in for one of the other guards that was assigned to the trip; so at
least there might be some opportunity for fun.
We’re
taking the seaplane, apparently. Not enough time to do it on the yacht. That’s
a pain already ‘cos it means I’m only taking one slave girl to look after me
and as you can guess, the one that’s OK with clothes isn’t so good with hair
and make-up and vice versa plus she’s got to double up with looking after
boyfriend. Boyfriend wants two heavies along so there’s Jack and one of his
buddies as well. The other one’s better built than Jack, maybe, but he hasn’t
got too many brain cells in his head if you ask me.
It’s a real
dull flight. Jack and slave girl in the back seat, me and boyfriend in the
middle, Jack’s buddy and pilot up front. The trouble with these small planes is
they’re as noisy as hell so I don’t even bother to try to make conversation and
stare out of the window. Luckily it’s only about three hours flying time until
the pilot drops us down on a lagoon that looks pretty much like the one we’ve
just left. Over on the dock there’s a bunch of smiling men in suits to welcome
boyfriend and we’re ushered up to the big house where our host for the event
hangs out.
Well, I
thought boyfriend was pretty well heeled but our place is nothing to this.
Bigger pool, entire sauna suite and the slave accommodation is more like a
private zoo. They even had little labels up on the cage doors saying where the
occupants had come from, that sort of thing. They all looked like they belonged
to an endangered species if you ask me.
Jack and
his buddy are off to see what ideas they can pick up; boyfriend sends our slave
up to our suite with the bags to get unpacked and we head on to the pool side
bar for drinks.
As soon as
we get there, I know I’m going to find it real hard keeping my cool for the
week-end. Our host’s three live-in ladies plus their pals from associates of
boyfriend’s circle are lounging back and they all manage a “look what the cat’s
dragged in” glance as I wander up. They’re all looking like they each stepped
out of their own designer store – Versace, D&G, DKNY, and I’m looking –
well, like I stepped off a three hour flight in a pokey little seaplane.
They’re all very sympathetic in a way that says, gee we’re so grateful that
you’ve given us this opportunity to look down our noses; and I’m being sweet as
pie, ‘cos I don’t know which if any of them I can afford to piss off. Boyfriend
of course doesn’t notice any of it. In fact his tongue’s hanging out
contemplating the full set of silicon enhanced demonstrations of the plastic
surgeon’s art that these girls have on display.
Jack turns
up to rescue me with a “I’m afraid your slave girl, needs some direction, if
you could come up to the suite” message. Boyfriend seems pretty relaxed about
me leaving; his attention is all on the poolside talent. Unsurprisingly Jack’s
motives aren’t entirely altruistic and as soon as I’m through the door of the
suite his tongue’s in my ear and the two of us are grappling against the wall
of the bedroom so enthusiastically that we practically fall into the walk in
closet.
Slavegirl
practically drops a pile of clothes when she comes in to put them away and sees
what we’re up to, but she knows enough to keep quiet, so why should I care?
When I’ve finished with Jack I give her a few cuts to the buttocks so boyfriend
can see why I came back to the suite. She’s not too happy about that so I lock
a ball gag on her for the evening just to remind her who’s in charge.
Boyfriend
turns up and says we’re invited for dinner which gives me the chance to look an
idiot yet again. He says can I look nice? That usually means something pretty
slutty and while I don’t mind around the place at home, here it doesn’t seem
right. Still, I do as he asks and squeeze myself into something short and
tight, get slave girl to back-comb my hair and squeeze my feet into heels that
only make sense if you know you’re going to spend most of the evening sitting
down.
Boyfriend
says, “Wow! You look great!” but the look I’m getting from slavegirl isn’t so
encouraging. When we get downstairs it turns out she was right. The rest of the
women are all looking like they’ve stepped out of Harpers & Queen and I’m
looking like I should be on the curb side, chewing gum and smiling at men in
cars. I feel like shit, boyfriend doesn’t notice, and the girls are really
sympathetic – like fuck!
I
compensate by getting more wine into me than is strictly a good idea and almost
end up in a cat fight with our host’s number one girl. Boyfriend,
diplomatically, eases me out and takes me up to bed but, since when we get
there he’s sounding off about me getting drunk without even thinking that it
might be just a little bit his fault, there’s no fun had there.
Breakfast
the following morning is OK. Everyone’s real polite and trying to make like
nothing happened which suits me. Then we’re off to view the lots for the
auction. I don’t know why we’re bothering – I thought we were just selling, not
buying but boyfriend says he wants to keep up with what the others are picking
up and the sort of thing they are offering. So he drags me around the sale
cages and I’m supposed to be interested while he’s chatting to the cage-keepers
and rummaging through his sale catalogue.
As usual -
or so boyfriend says – there’s three parts to the sale, each with their own set
of cages. Firstly there’s the re-sales or as it says in the catalogue,
“Pre-owned”; by which I understand second-hand (at least) and probably set up
with all sorts of undesirable attributes depending on how many owners they’ve
had and who they were. They all look pretty hard cases to me but I guess after
you’ve been through this sort of thing even only once you toughen up –
leastways if you’re going to survive at all.
About all
we get from them as we walk by the cages is a sullen scowl. For the ones that
boyfriend shows an interest in the cage keeper gets them to stand up and turn
about. Then the sullen scowl gives way to resigned obedience.
Next to
them are the newly trained. All of them, at least as far as the catalogue goes,
are first time slaves. They’ve been through training so they’ve had the rough
edges knocked off them and they should know the basic stuff. Looking at them in
their cages is a whole different deal. They’re all eager to please, all
desperately believing that if only they can show they’ll be good slaves they’ll
get a good owner and an easier life. They’ll learn.
Then
there’s the last lot. Untrained. Pick-ups. New girls. “Guaranteed,” as it says
in the catalogue, “no more than three weeks from the date of their original
collection, without any training beyond that needed to restrain and subdue them
since their collection.” Boyfriend thinks these are the most interesting. They
all look scared. Some of them are still in the tatters of the clothes they were
snatched in. None of them look much use to me.
Boyfriend
goes off to the auction. I go and sulk by the pool. The other girls stay out of
the way.
We’re on
the flight back. Jack’s in back with slavegirl. I’m looking out the window at
the water below. Boyfriend isn’t saying anything.
“So, did
you get everything you went for?” I ask him.
Boyfriend
nods. “Pretty much,” he says. Then he looks at me. “Pity you didn’t seem to get
on with the other girls, though.”
“I thought
it was OK,” I says, lying through my teeth but suddenly I’m worried.
“Hmm,” says
boyfriend, sounding unconvinced. “As long as you’re happy.”
He carries
on being quiet all the way back.
Boyfriend
is being pretty dull. He didn’t get back ‘til late last night and then all I
could interest him in was a quick tumble before he was snoring like the pig
he’s getting to be. I spend all day hanging around the place; at least he could
manage to show a little interest when he turns up.
Still on
the bright side, I managed to persuade Jack to take me on a pick up.
It’s always
seemed like it should be pretty exciting. Jack’s always going on about, “Boy
you should have heard her squeal when we grabbed her” and “Wow, couldn’t she
grunt even with her mouth stuffed full like it was.” Boyfriend had been pretty
lukewarm about the idea when I mentioned it. “Could be risky,” he’d said.
“Don’t think the snatch squad would be keen. They like to do their own thing.”
In the end
he agreed I could go if I could persuade one of them to take me. Then it was
just down to watching out for when Jack was rostered on a pick up. When I saw
he was on the job sheet I put on my best pretty-please look and eventually he
gave in. He says it shouldn’t be too risky. There’s three of his team picking
up five girls holidaying together down on the Keys. They’re all in one villa.
In and out by boat. Simple enough to let me go along.
Jack took
me down to get me kitted out for the pick up today. The regular black fatigues
that they usually wear didn’t do it for me so I’ve had them fixed up a bit. One
of the girls from downstairs is quite handy with a needle and thread. When I
showed up at the boat, there was a low whistle from Jack’s pals that told me
I’d got it right. Teaming the outfit with a pair of combat boots helped. So did
leaving the front zip down a bit, I guess. Jack took a long look at the
cleavage that revealed. Then he gave me one of the kit bags – rope, tape rolls,
cable ties, that sort of thing – to look after.
The
seaplane drops us off with the inflatable just off the Key and we cruise in
just before dawn. We’re off the beach and into the crawl space under the
villa’s sun deck before first light. From there we work around to the side of
the house, break into the cellar and sit down to wait for our moment.
The idea is
to pick them off one or two at a time, get all five secured by the end of the
day and then take them out in the inflatable after sunset. We stay put in the
cellar, hearing movements above us as they get breakfast. I watch through the
cellar light as the first two go out, I could just see their bare legs and the
beach bag they were carrying and heard the others calling out for them to have
a good swim. Then two others leave – heading out to their car, off for some
shopping, we guess. That leaves one in the house and Jack gives us the signal
to get ready.
I pull my
ski-mask on. Jack checks me over, nodded his approval and then pulls the zip up
on my fatigues. I smile under the mask and he grins back. We can hear the one
girl that’s left moving about in the house above us. Two guys go up the steps
to the cellar door. We follow them. They go to the back of the house; us
towards the front. That way if they miss her and she runs, we get to trap her
before she gets to the front door.
As it turns
out we didn’t need to. The other two guys get her under control without any
trouble. They get rope around her wrists. I’d have thought they’d go at it
quickly but this guy takes his time. He’s making sure the ropes lie neatly
around her wrists, that the knots are neat, that the cinching turns are
tightened just so. Pretty fussy I think.
The bigger
of the two drags her through the house, his hand clamped over her mouth so all
she’s getting out is the occasional muffled squeak. She’s kicking back at his
legs but he isn’t taking any notice. He wrestles her upstairs and into one of
the bedrooms. She’s panicking now, thinks she’s going to be raped I guess. We
follow him. He throws her onto the bed and she’s winded. Jack joins in with a
wad of cloth to push into her mouth while our other friend gets some more ropes
around her knees and ankles, just as neat, just as precise. Pretty soon she’s
helpless and quiet. None of us have said a word. Jack gives a thumbs up sign
and then puts a finger to his lips. We listen. Two of the other girls are
coming back. Jack grabs our first captive to keep her quiet. He’s got a knife
out, pressed gains the side of her throat. She gets the idea pretty quickly and
settles down.
It’s the two
getting back from the beach and their swim. I see them - one in a blue bikini,
one in a green one-piece - walking up the path. The one in green has red hair.
She’s drying it off with a yellow towel. The one in blue is swinging a beach
bag. I can see why the team were keen to grab them they all seem to have that
cute, girl next door, look that gets such a good price. I duck back down as
they get close to the house. “Kerry. Kerry!” One of them is calling out.
She doesn’t
get to say anything else. Neither does her friend.
It is just
such an adrenalin rush. By the time we’d got those two trussed up as well I was
feeling really hot. Jack said for me to keep an eye on them - we’d put them in
one of the bedrooms while we waited for the other two to arrive. I wasn’t keen
for Jack to leave me, not because I was worried or anything, I was just so keen
for sex, there and then. He wagged his finger at the suggestion and went back
down stair.
I was
feeling sulky at being abandoned. The first girl we’d snatched was sitting on
the floor. The two others, lying on the bed, hog-tied – their ankles dragged up
behind them to meet their wrists and their elbows pulled together with ropes.
They’re still just in their swimsuits. The girl on the floor is scowling up at
me. The other two aren’t; they’ve been made ready for transport which means
they‘ve got blindfolds – cloth pads over the eyes and plenty of tape to keep
them in place – as well as heavy duty tape gags over well stuffed mouths. All
they are doing is to roll from side to side occasionally as well as groaning
quietly.
Like I
said, the one on the floor is scowling at me. She’s been tied up with her hands
behind her and ropes around her chest, her knees and ankles. There’s a rope a
round her waist that’s tied to her wrists and stopping her wriggling her hands
around. She shuffling around and trying to free herself. Suddenly I see why
they took such a trouble to get the ropes laid down so neatly and tie the knots
so cleanly – it’s going to be obvious if she loosens things off at all. I go
over and push the gun against her side and tell her to relax, that she isn’t
going anywhere, yet. She looks angry more than scared. I check her gag. The
boys had shut her up by stuffing her mouth with a cloth and then tying a strip
torn from her shirt across her mouth. They pushed enough cloth into her mouth
so she hadn’t been able to wad it down at all. She wasn’t having any success in
loosening it.
The two on
the bed don’t know I’m here. One of them – the girl in the blue bikini –
wriggles her head around as if she’s trying to listen. Then she butts her head
against her friend in the green one piece. She’s grunting through her gag,
trying to attract her friend’s attention. She runs her head down alongside her
friend’s arms towards her hands. Its really hard work, the way the boys have
her hog-tied. There’s a lot of grunting, groaning and squealing but eventually
she gets there. She nudges her head against her friend’s hands. “Try and pick
the tape off,” I imagine her thinking. Her friend’s got the idea. She’s trying
to claw at the tape with her fingers. The girl in blue gets a few scratches
from finger nails that are too long for this but then the girl in green’s fingers
finds a loose bit of tape. I’m watching all the time, the two girls on the bed
don’t know I’m there, the one on the floor is grunting, trying to warn them but
they just think she’s encouraging them. The one in green rolls over, pulling
the strip of tape from her friends mouth. Pretty soon she’s coughing and
spluttering, trying to push the wad of cloth out of her mouth with her tongue.
It comes free. “Ahhh,” she goes. “That’s it, Jules, terrific. Now turn over and
I’ll try to free your wrists.” I think it’s pretty unlikely that she’s going to
be able to make any impact on Jack’s knot work with her perfectly braced
dentition but I feel its time to intervene any way.
I slide on
to the bed alongside them. For the first time the girl in blue realises they’re
not alone. I pull her away from her friend, push my hand down over her mouth to
keep her quiet, and pull the knife from my belt. Two snicks, one on either hip,
and I pull her bikini bottoms off. I jam the cloth wad back in her mouth and
tie the bikini across it to keep it there while I grab some more tape. I can’t
be bothered to untie the blue cloth gag, I just plaster the tape over the top
of it. She’s groaning again. Her friend in green is confused by what’s going on
so I let the pair of them into the secret and tell them that I’m here as their
babysitter and they’d better forget about pulling any more stunts like that.
Moments
later Jack comes in, sees what I’ve done and gives me another thumbs up before
pointing to the window. I guess he means the other two are coming back and sure
enough there’s a slamming of car doors from outside that says they’ve finished
their shopping trip.
There’s the
sound of a door opening and closing from downstairs and a girl’s voice calling,
“Kerry, we’re back.” Then there’s a shout of “No!”, muffled cries, a thump and
a crash. One of Jack’s pals turns up a minute later, pushing a girl in front
him. She’s got her hands up, saying “Who are you people? You can’t do this to…”
and then when she sees Kerry and the others, “Oh! No! No!” Jack turns up with
his other pal, carrying the last girl. She’s unconscious, slumped limply
between them, jack carrying her shoulders, the other guy her feet. Jack puts
her down on the floor dragging her wrists behind her back and tying them with rope
with a speed born of practice. The other girl is pushed down on a chair and
tied to it. She’s begging not to be tied, begging not to be gagged. With the
tape over her mouth the protest stops but from her eyes you can see she’s
terrified.
I’m thinking,
sure you’re scared. Scared of being robbed. Scared of being raped. Scared of
being left here helpless. How scared would you be if you really knew what was
coming? How much worse it was going to be than any of the things you’ve
imagined so far? The training? The punishment? The ways that you’re going to be
used?
They’ve
finished tying up the two newcomers. Jack’s pals go back downstairs to clear
up. Jack says to me, “You OK?”
I say, “You
bet. Do you want to know how OK?” and I slide the zip down on my combat
fatigues. Jack doesn’t need another suggestion. He knows the other two are
going to be busy for a bit so he’s pushing me back against the wall of the
bedroom, his hands all over my tits, his ski mask pushing against mine with his
tongue in my mouth. I’m pushing back at him, squeezing his arse with my hands
and pulling him against me. Kerry and the girl on the chair are grunting into
their gags and that just urges me on. He’s just humping me through his combat
fatigues and mine but that’s enough to bring me off, especially as I watch our
captives struggling over his shoulder. Kerry and the girl on the chair are
looking even more shocked and distressed than they were. I’m thinking, boy, if
this upsets you, wait until you get out to the island! One of Jack’s pals calls
from downstairs. He says, “Shit! Sorry darling, gotta work,” and backs off.
As he
leaves he whispers to the girl on the chair, “She’s a hot bitch, isn’t she?”
which just gets her even more distressed and sets her off struggling against the
ropes. I give her a slap to calm her down. Maybe I’m getting into this after
all. I stand and watch them struggle until its time to go. It’s the most fun
I’ve had in a while.
I mean
people look around here and think this is all fine and dandy – island paradise,
tropical climate, lounging by the lagoon, waited on hand and foot. Don’t get me
wrong – that’s great and I’m sure not complaining. But there are drawbacks.
Like this morning.
One of the
problems of this business is we can’t really use scheduled flights so it’s
always difficult to tell when folk are going to arrive. So I’m looking forward
to a relaxing start to the morning in bed with my man when the phone goes. The
control room’s worried, there’s a plane coming in that they don’t know about.
It’s flying low, practically wave skimming, what should they do about it?
So there
goes my relaxing morning. My feller is out of bed faster than you can say “What
the fuck?” and I’m left sitting around painting my toenails for something to
do. So, of course, when room service turns up with breakfast they just get to
see the lady of the property lazing about when actually I’m just waiting for
him to get back so we can get on with his usual morning fun. One thing I have
learned down the years is he gets quite tetchy if he doesn’t get his morning
amusement but no-one thanks me for keeping him sweeter than he otherwise would
be; do they?
This time
it turns out that it’s one of the buyers from the auction come over to take a
look at the place without the courtesy of phoning up first. He gets to cruise
the cells and the training block while his woman gets to hang out by the pool
and of course I’m supposed to entertain her. So we’re both laying there,
sipping on a couple of Mai Tai’s when Jack walks by on his way to bring a
little discomfort into someone’s day.
He sees her
legs and he’s watching them all the way up to her waist. She just smiles over
her sunglasses and I’m thinking, “Say one word bitch and I’ll put you in that
pool with a ton of concrete chained to your ankles.” What I say is, “He’s kind
of cute, isn’t he? Boyfriend picks some great staff.”
She gives
me a butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth look and says, “Oh heavens, I never
notice the help.”
I’m still
glowering when boyfriend gets back with customer to pick up his woman and take
themselves off. He can see I’m angry but he doesn’t say anything until they’ve
gone and then all he says is, “Would it hurt you so much to be nice to people?
I’m getting pissed that you don’t get on with the customers.” To which my
response is definitely not one that ends up with him getting his usual morning
bounce and he goes off with a sore head.
Still, let
him sulk. He’ll take it out on somebody and he’ll come back happy enough. I’ll
find Jack later on – said he’d give me some scuba lessons and I know a very
quiet cave around the far side of the island. Maybe we won’t get too wet but we
can have some fun anyway.
If the
guards want to bitch ‘cos boyfriend’s a bit grumpy, let ‘em. I don’t see why I
should feel responsible for keeping him chirpy all the time. Fuck them. I’ve
got better things to do than worry about being popular.
Postscript – a note clipped to the front
of the journal.
Boss,
We sorted
out your girlfriend like you asked. Like you said, it’s not you, it’s her.
She’s downstairs in number five with the fetters on and a ball gag locked on
her. She put up a bit of a struggle. Nothing we couldn’t handle but she’s got a
few bruises and lumps. Still we’ll get her put through basics in time for the
next auction and you can draw a line under her.
You said
you wanted to clear things with her dad, ‘cos it wasn’t his fault. One of the
boys asked him how he wanted us to handle it and he was OK about things. Turns
out he wasn’t too sure if his princess was actually his princess, if you know what I mean. Just he’d never bothered
with the DNA bit. Anyway we agreed a compensation plan which involved snatching
girlfriend’s mother. That went without any problems; just a regular pick up on
her way home from work. Not sure how the market is for MILF’s right now and
we’re not talking Stacy’s Mom here but she looks pretty fit for her age, so we
shouldn’t lose anything on it. We shipped over the Asian girl that girlfriend’s
dad asked for. He seems pretty pleased with her, reckons she’ll be a bit more
fun in the sack than his wife was, so I think we can reckon that’s all squared
off.
I thought
you’d want to see this. I found it in the drawer of her dressing table when we
were clearing her things out. It doesn’t make pleasant reading in places. I’ve
had her regular slave girl put into one of the cages in case you wanted to chat
with her about any of this stuff.
When you’ve
read this, we need to decide what to do about Jack, I guess. At the least
there’s a disciplinary we ought to put him through but I’m guessing that you’ll
feel that isn’t enough when you’ve been through this journal. He’s been looking
a bit nervous since girlfriend got carted off, so if you want to do something
we ought to get on with it.
Let me know
what you want doing.
Terry.
THE END
© 2007 Freddie Clegg
All characters fictitious.
Email: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Find PDF’s of my stories at my web group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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