Three years before...
A week after Stephanie's ordeal ended, she asked me to meet her at the same restaurant as before. This time, we were in a small, very plush, conference room. When she walked through the door, she was back to looking like an entrepreneurs wife. But this meeting was vastly less formal than the previous. After closing the door, she walked up to me and kissed me full on, and only then sat down at the table.
She pulled out a very fat envelope, and pushed it across the table. "This is the remuneration I promised." I picked it up, opened the flap and found that the wad of hundred dollar bills wouldn't choke a horse, but mainly because a horse couldn't get its mouth around something that big. I started to say something, but she beat me to it. "Forget it. I would pay far more than that to have that experience again."
"Thank you," was all I could come up with.
She went on. "I didn't come here to give you money. I could have just dropped it off at your house. I want to talk about your future. Interested?"
I nodded, wondering what was up, but would wager that B&D was involved.
In a much lower voice, she leaned over and said. "I am no expert on bondage as you know - well, actually, I know a whole lot more about it than I knew a month ago." We both smiled. "But I can recognize expertise when I see it, and you, sir, are an expert. Have you thought about making it your career?"
That threw me. "A career how? No girl I have ever known has offered to pay for it, except you - and yours was a totally unique circumstance. Wasn't it?" I added.
She went on. "Girls no. Women yes. Do you have any hangups with older women?" Obviously a joke, but I still wasn't following her.
"Don't fence around, lay it out," I said.
"Ok. Some of this is selfish me talking, because I want to do the same thing again. But, I was thinking that you could fix up the rest of the hotel and service women like me. Wealthy women, not young girls looking for sex. You would not believe the number of women out there who are nothing but window dressing for their husbands. Bored stiff, trying to find something to make the days pass a little faster. I know of a club full, just myself.
"They would contract with you to do the same thing you did to me, except obviously tailored to their desires. At least some of them, not all by any means."
Holy cow. This was moving out into rarified air in a hurry. "How would I find clients? Advertise in women's magazines about this wonderful bondage hotel on the mountaintop? Come on by, let me rip your clothes off and lash you senseless? Oh, by the way, bring lots of money? Somehow, I expect that my first customer would be the local sheriff."
"Of course not," she replied. "You would have to be discrete. So discrete as to make the the local mob look like a public club." There was a polite knock on the door, to which Stephanie said, "Enter." A waiter brought in a tray with coffee, ice and several types of soft drinks. After he left, she poured herself a cup and offered me one. I shook my head and selected a coke instead.
"It would be strictly word of mouth. I have a couple of friends that I think would love the service. With any luck, if they like you they would know of another or others. You would want to go very slow - one thing you couldn't have would be a steady stream of women driving up and down that back road. That would give away the secret in no time." She took a sip and continued. "No, it would be very low key and very exclusive - probably no more than one client a week. At the prices that you would charge, even that few will make you a rich young man in no time at all." She smiled. "And, of course, I will be a steady customer."
I sat back with a spinning head. My cohones loved the idea, but my practical sense was stumbling over a myriad of potential blocks. I mused out loud as thoughts came and went, "How would they make an appointment? There would have to be some secure way of communicating. Do all of these women use computers? Snail mail from them to me would be fine, but I certainly couldn't post the answer back - the wrong person might see it. Hmmmm. And some kind of a... ah... a interview sheet so I would know what they wanted and how far to go."
Later, I asked, "Would it be worth it? I mean, how much would a woman pay for this kind of service."
She smiled and shook her head. "You are an expert in dominating women, but I am afraid that your education is sadly lacking in the world of female spending. Let me give you a couple of examples. If a man is given a choice between two items of similar use, but vastly different prices, he looks at the quality, his need of the item and makes his choice. If a woman is shown two pair of similar shoes, with a huge difference in price between them, she will alway pick the most expensive. To her, price IS quality. If you ask ten dollars an hour to discipline a woman, she will consider you to be a hardup pickup artist and won't even bother answer. But, if she knows that you charge several thousand dollars for a session, she will automatically assume that it is some kind of exclusive spa, and worth every penny. "
We talked, plotted, schemed and discussed one idea after another for several hours. Finally, she stood up and said, "I have to get home, but think about the idea, and let me know if you want to proceed."
I was very interested, but I saw a ton of issues that needed to be sorted through. She kissed me again, and left. I sat back down, had another coke, thought about the last hour.
The next day, I drove back to the hotel, walked around and looked, took long walks down the mountainside - and all the while, furiously thinking. Plan after plan was dreamed up and discarded, but finally a vague idea of what might be done emerged. I decided that it was doable. The one thing I didn't have control over, and not a hope in hell of accomplishing, was to get willing clients. I would have to depend on Stephanie for that. If she couldn't do it, then I would have a fixed up, but worthless hotel with strange furniture.
In a week or so, I had sort of a business plan put together. We met again, this time at a different, but still lavish, location. The sticking point was how these women would communicate with me. When Stephanie found out that I was a programmer, she suggested that I write some application for the client's phone. I nixed that immediately. For one thing, I would have to write a different app for each type of phone - impractical. But the main point that I emphasized was that phones are not private, no matter what the average person thinks. The first thing that a divorce attorney, or a private detective will do in a situation like this, is subpoena the target's phone information. And all cell phones either had, or would soon have GPS tracking which is logged by the phone company. She might as well leave a sticky note saying, "Dinner is in the 'fridge. Going to get tied up and fucked."
I told her that a computer was the only way to be secure. Her problem was, that most women of the type we were talking about, were not exactly computer experts. I assured her that all the person had to do was be able to use the basic functions of a computer. My program would be automatic to use, and totally secure. Unless a detective was standing behind her while she was using it, there would be no way whatsoever to pull any info from it at all. I offered to write one and let her try it.
Three weeks later, I gave her a flash drive and said to just plug it in and follow instructions. If she could use it, then I would see a phony reservation show up on my server. I also gave her a small card with the password long with my spiel about password security. The program wasn't finished, but it worked and she could use it as easily as surfing to a store to buy shoes - easier in fact, since it had only one purpose - to make a reservation for a room. A checklist was included so that the client could indicate which services that she would like to have performed while she was here. There was also a write-in section in case the checklist didn't exactly match her needs.
I decided to go ahead with the project and headed back to the hotel to begin renovations. It wasn't expensive, but took several months of intensive do-it-yourselfing. At this time was when I began to establish to the local authorities my new identity as a programmer, and that the hotel was just my new office. Over the same months, Stephanie and I streamlined the procedures for communication and decided that any first contact would be in the form of an interview with me at a location of the new client's choice. Also, during this time, she came up for a few days of a refresher course in subbing. A very enjoyable few days it was.
I moved out of my leased house, said goodbye to Melody and her friend, and relocated permanently to the mountaintop. Melody was very cut up about my sudden departure, but I insisted that I had a job offer that just couldn't be turned down. After a last session in which I tried to wear out her twat, I loaded my remaining items in my rented truck and headed east.
After I finished most of the work on the hotel, I still had no clients, but I was enjoying myself anyway. I wasn't rich, but between my inheritance, severance pay and cash from Stephanie, I had no need for a paycheck. I relaxed in the clean cool air of the mountaintop, exploring, reading, surfing on my newly installed satellite dish and occasionally traveled around in a radius of several hundred miles in sort of an extended vacation. I knew that eventually that lifestyle would become boring, but for now I was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively.
Then one day... An email arrived to inform me that I had a voice mail sitting in an anonymous mailbox that I leased under phony name. The hair rose on the back of my neck - was it starting, or would it be just some phone spam? When I called, all I got was a female voice giving another phone number. Holy shit on a shingle. I jumped in my car, drove sixty or so miles to another town to so that my GPS phone didn't log the call from the mountaintop, and called. As prearranged months before, I identified myself as an art salesman - whatever that is - and the woman on the other end asked for a meeting two days hence.
Two days later, it was the middle of the week, about one o'clock in the afternoon. I was standing on a street corner, downtown in a major city, in front of the bus station, holding a notebook computer. Shortly, a car pulled up, I looked and saw a woman waving to get in, which I did. She immediately drove off without saying a word. I looked over at her and saw that she was another swell of Stephanie's class - no surprise, considering. Probably thirtyish, good looking but not spectacular.
Shortly, she pulled into a parking garage, drove up the ramp high in the structure to a floor with few cars, and parked. As she looked over to me, I held up my hand and started my spiel - extensively thought through for months. "First thing, Ma'am. Let me say that if, at any time you become uncomfortable with our conversation, just tell me and I will get out and walk away." The first thing Stephanie emphasized was that any potential client was going to be on pins and needles and she had to be made mentally comfortable at all efforts. She gave a nervous nod.
"Mr..." she started, then realized that she didn't know my name. "Sir, I must be insane to even consider what I am doing, but I am told that you provide certain... services to women that..." She stopped when I held up my hand.
I had been preparing for months for this, so I had an extensive repertoire of sales pitches to match whichever way her reactions led her. "Ma'am. Let me make this easy on you. We are alone and there is no reason to be embarrassed at anything either of us says." I paused for a second, then continued. "Many women enjoy playing out a submission to a man - with some it is just that, play. With others is is fairly real. Unfortunately, many never get to experience that submission because of their status, families, spouse or any number of reasons. The dream or desires just stay locked up inside of them for all their lives. The service that I offer allows for a woman to enjoy that submissive status, in totally confidentiality, to any extent they desire. With many, it doesn't even include a physical sexual context..."
This was the startling fact that Stephanie wanted me to understand. From the point of view of a dominant male, all bondage and discipline had the central point of sex. That was what it was all about and it never occurred to me that it could be any other way. She predicted that many women would have no desire for sex, that the restraint or torture would be the be-all and end-all of their desired experience. I didn't understand that, but agreed to keep the sexual context of my services in the background until the woman made clear her desires.
I continued, "Some clients want only to be restrained, or disciplined ('for God's sake, don't use the word torture on your first interview,' Stephanie warned.) fully clothed and without any intimate details at all." I could tell that she was interested - how much, I didn't know yet. "If you could give me a hint of your desires, I can expand on this more fully."
Hesitating, she finally asked in a quiet voice, "I'm not sure. I feel excited about the idea of being..." the word had trouble coming out. "...tied up and helpless. When I see a movie of a woman being kidnapped and roughly handled, it's very exciting to me."
"Very normal, Ma'am. Few women go into an submission session knowing exactly what they want. It it almost always a testing and exploration of their desires. Some find that they like being blindfolded, or gagged. Eventually, they reach an understanding of what they want." Wow, talk about tiptoeing around a subject. I was glad I had practiced over and over for months. This was far different from talking to a young chick with modern ideas and just up front asking how they liked being fucked - or just being told.
I could see her visualizing herself in a gag and blindfold. She asked, "How would... " she almost said 'I'. "... a woman be able to... indicate that she wanted to... stop? Or..." Again, my hand stopped her.
"Very easily. For a client who can speak - that is to say, she isn't wearing a gag - I arrange what is known as a 'safe word'. One that normally would not be spoken - like Xanadu, or Shangri-La. That indicates that the next thing she says is not for play, but is really meant. "Like, please let me loose, or that is uncomfortable." If she can't speak, then she will hold a small rubber ball in one hand. Anytime she drops it, I know that she wants the session to stop and to communicate to me."
I tried to close the sale. "For your first time, it would be an exploration. I would let you ask for different procedures so we could try to determine your level of interest."
She stared out the window in thought. "How would I..." She stopped and started again. "If any of this got back to my husband, or family..."
"Let me assure, you Ma'am. Security is the major aspect of my business. My establishment is remote from here, no one would be within miles of us. Your tracks would be totally covered, coming and going. Except for the first contact, phones are never used again. May I give you an example of my security?" She nodded.
"After making your reservation - more about that in a minute. You would drive up into the mountains to my office. But before that, you would go through a security checklist that I would provide you. Such as... Make sure you fill up your car before you start so you don't have to buy gas. No use of credit cards on the way - they can be traced. Don't enter a toll road or bridge - that definitely flags the fact that you came through. Don't speed and get a ticket. When you arrive, your car will be locked in a garage even though my property is so remote that it wouldn't be in view of anybody. Lastly, turn your cell phone off and leave it behind. Cell phones are the leading cause of people's secret moves being exposed. There are many more items, but I offer these to show you that confidentiality is my major concern."
At least she was becoming less nervous, I could tell.
"How would I make a reservation, as you put it?"
"Do you have an online computer?" I asked. She nodded. I handed her a flash drive. It would detect whether her system had Windows, OSX or Linux and would bring up the appropriate application. "Make sure you are alone in your house, or office or wherever it is, then plug this in and just follow instructions." I handed her a small card. "This is a phony business card for a shoe store. On the back is a hand written order number for some shoes. That number is actually your password. Keep this flash drive and business card separate from each other so if either are discovered by a family member, it is just a miscellaneous drive they can't access without the password. The business card is just that - some uninteresting advertising with a meaningless number on the back. May I demonstrate?"
"Yes," she said, warming up to the whole conversation. I set the notebook to where she could operate it, gave her the flash drive, and let her bring the program up. It was simple, just a few pages, but it was an eye opener for her.
A few minutes later, I said, "May I suggest that you go home and think it over. When you get to a private online computer, you can surf my private website at your convenience - there are many pages of explanations of my art." I didn't want to say bondage and discipline yet. "If you wish to try a session, you can schedule an appointment at your convenience."
"Yes," she replied as I closed the note book and handed her the flash drive. "Let me drive you back to the bus station."
"That won't be necessary. I can walk to where I am going from here."
More time passes...
Back at my mountaintop, I resumed enjoying myself. I heard nothing from anyone for almost a month, and assumed that my new business was going to crash and burn. Then, in quick succession, I received another interview request and at almost the same time, a reservation from my first client. I looked over her request form with interest. She wanted a play kidnapping scenario. No sex, no nudity, no pain, just restraints.
It actually went well. She arrived on time, early in the morning. After a short interview in my office, I led her to one of the rooms. There I had her lay down on the bed and I locked her wrists behind her back with light manacles. Then also manacled her ankles together. Then, with a chain, connected both wrists and ankles together in a hog tie. A very loose, hog tie. She had plenty of wiggle room, but there would be just enough discomfort to make her feel like it was a real situation. Then I gagged her mouth with a strip of skin tape - sort of a duct tape made with an adhesive made for human skin. Her jaws were closed so there would be none of the cramping pain for a first time ball gag user. Finally, I rolled her onto her side, unbuttoned enough of her blouse to show some cleavage, then pulled her skirt up above her knees and rolled her back on her stomach. There I left her for two hours fantasying about being kidnapped.
Next, after a bathroom break, I stood her with her back against a pole, and fastened her arms behind it. Then her ankles the same way, then finally a chain around her waist holding her tightly to the pole. This time, in addition to the gag, she got a blindfold. Interestingly, she had unbuttoned a couple of more buttons of her blouse. Then it was standing around for two more hours as a "captive."
Both times, she had the safe rubber ball in one hand, but never dropped it.
After lunch, I gave her a tour of my various dungeon rooms. She was fascinated and kept feeling of the chains, ropes and other paraphernalia. It was when she saw the equipment room that she began to realize that B&D was a whole universe to itself. She would point to an item and I would give her a straight answer. In a few minutes, she was resembling one of those Japanese cartoon characters - her eyes were huge round orbs as she looked from one device to another.
"Do women actually want you to put that... in... up...?" She couldn't find the words. I had identified a fairly large butt plug.
"Some women do. Not all, by any means."
"And if it hurt, they say their safe word and you stop?"
I shrugged. "It depends."
"Depends?!" she exclaimed. "I thought you said that you would always..." She stopped as I held up my hand.
"Some women don't want a safe word, or a safe object. They get pleasure from knowing that once their session starts, then they have no recourse. What they asked for is going to happen, no matter how much it hurts or how loud they protest." She gulped as she thought over the implications of that. "Of course, my absolute, never violate rule here is, that no act will be performed her that will cause permanent damage to a person." I paused, trying to decide how much to tell. "Believe me Ma'am, there are women who enjoy unbelievable levels of pain, and are always asking for more."
We spent another hour of her time talking about the art of bondage. It was a very thoughtful client that I led into her next session.
She was fascinated by the chains hanging from the ceiling of one room and wanted her next ordeal to be in them. And with a ball gag she decided. I went back to the equipment room for a small gag, and when I returned she was standing under the chains, her skirt was off and laying on the bed, and her blouse was unbuttoned all the way down. Excellent, I thought. This little filly is getting hooked. Shortly, she was X'ed out in chains, gagged with a bright red ball, and standing in only panties and a bra that partially showed through her open blouse. She still had a safe rubber ball in one hand. She had requested to be left there until she dropped the ball. I had turned her facing away from the door so that I could look in without her seeing me.
She lasted almost two and a half hours, which is damn good for a first time with a ball gag. And so it went for the rest of the day. When her session was finished, we adjourned to the office for some refreshment. I wanted to get her opinion on the day.
She was apparently satisfied, to say the least. "I want to do more, when I can find the proper time to come over. I noticed on the reservation form that a person can reserve a session for several days."
"Yes Ma'am" I answered. "A client can do anything here, and have anything done to her that she desires, as long as it is not life threatening or body damaging. No client has ever asked for one, but if they wanted a month long bondage session, well... all they have to do is sign up." That was the truth. I had never had a client ask for several weeks of bondage. Or, except for Stephanie, any other clients, period. But she didn't have to know the details.
She opened her purse and set an envelope on the desk. "Thank you for a most entertaining and informative day."
"Thank you. You are welcome back at any time," I answered. "But before you go, one thing..." I pretended to look at a schedule on my computer display. "It looks like I have a couple of openings for new clients. If you know of any, feel free to give them that original contact phone number."
She nodded, "Certainly."
"But," I cautioned. "Please say nothing about the location of this establishment, or any details other than my services. This is for your protection as well as mine. Remember, I do everything possible to keep my clients anonymous - but they must maintain equal vigilance."
She nodded more vigorously this time. "Believe me, I would do nothing whatsoever to risk exposure."
We stood up and I wished her a safe drive back home.
That's how it started. Slowly clients found me. Very slowly. In the first year I still only had four, not counting Stephanie. But in the next year, as word carefully spread, I picked up five more. And since they averaged sessions about four times a year, I was doing a session with one a little less than once a week. By the end of the third year, I had about all the clients that I could handle.
A year or so after my acquisition of Pancake, I arrived back late at the hotel to town to find the lights were on in my office. I was sure that I had turned them off, but finally decided that I was mistaken. Then I entered my bedroom and got a major shock. On the bed was woman with her arms over her head and wrists handcuffed to the bars of the headboard - and totally naked. Her ankles were attached to the foot of the bed with rope, but loosely. She wasn't stretched out taut, but just held in a straight position without being able to move much. She was gagged, blindfolded and had a piece of paper taped between her ample breasts. "What the fuck?" I exclaimed out loud.
As I looked around, I saw a pile of money on the floor. Not zillions of dollars, but a substantial amount, it appeared. It suddenly dawned on me that I probably had another Pancake situation here. I peeled the piece of paper from the woman's chest, and started to read. I noticed that the handcuff keys were taped to the bottom. It said, in whole...
A slave is now under your total control and is totally dependent on you. The slave no longer has it's job and cannot support itself. The slave's driver's license and all official documents have been shredded. The slave's apartment lease has been given up, it's car has been sold, it's retirement accounts have been withdrawn and it's bank account has been closed. All of the money now belongs to my Master to do with as he pleases. This slave has nothing and owns nothing, not even one single stitch of clothes. You may dispose of this slave anyway you will, Master.
Holy Shit, I thought. I was becoming like a Middle Eastern sheik. I looked up and down the merchandise, and then realized that this was a much younger woman than my usual clientele. In fact, I had no such young woman on my customer list. I started to get worried. If the secret of my mountaintop was so in the open that any random female wanting B&D could just find me, I was in for some trouble.
And, who tied her to my bed? I could tell that this probably wasn't a case of self bondage. And, who the hell was she, anyway?
I reached over and pulled off the blindfold, and another "Holy Fuck" came out. It was Melody. "What the shit are you doing here." Of course, with a solid ball gag in place, the answer, if any, would be meaningless. I lifted her head and unbuckled the gag and removed it. She moved her jaws and licked her lips but said nothing. It suddenly occurred to me that Stephanie had to be the other principal in this episode. "Is your aunt here, also?" I demanded. This time she shook her head.
I pulled up a chair, sat down, leaned over and said, "Ok, spill it. What is going on."
She finally spoke. "Is Master ordering a girl to tell everything?"
"Ok, cut the Master crap. What the hell is going on?"
"May a girl ask if Master read the note?"
"Yes, I did."
"That explains this girl's position. This girl doesn't exist anymore. You may do what you wish with it."
"Crap. That doesn't explain anything. How did you get here? And who tied you up? Was it Stephanie?"
She nodded and continued, "This girl wants to be owned by you just like before, Master. This girl missed you, Master. Every other guy just wants to get on and fuck and leave. This girl never found anybody else who could treat this worthless person like you, Master." At that moment, the phone rang - the ordinary landline, not my secret cell.
"Well, Master, how did you like your present?" asked a familiar voice - Stephanie's, of course.
"I figured you were behind this somewhere. Do you mind clueing me in on what the fuck is going on?" I wasn't sure whether to be mad, grateful or what.
"Simple. Melody is a sub, period. She wants to be owned by a man and is going to do anything to be owned. When you moved to the mountain, she moped around trying to find someone like you. I realized that her search was probably going to get her hurt or killed, since she was so desperate that she had no discrimination left. I finally hauled her to my house, almost by force, and had a long talk with her. This was the idea that I came up with."
The only reply that I came up with was, "Jesus."
"Your diet of nothing but older women hasn't made you unwilling to stick your dick in a young cunt, has it?"
"Hell no. She's still a hell of a piece, but..."
"Never mind. Go with the flow. You now have a permanent slave you can do anything you want with." Little do you know, I thought. Now I have a second permanent slave girl.
After a few more words, she hung up. I sat there in the next room thinking about the situation. What the heck, I finally decided. If manna from heaven drops in the shape of a beautiful young cunt, why would I complain?
Back in my bedroom, I laid it out. "Ok, listen up. Apparently you want to be a real slave girl." She nodded. "I emphasize that the operative word here is REAL. You won't be able to wake up next month and say you are tired and want to quit. If you enter into this, it is from now on. Got it?" Another nod. "You will be completely owned. Totally. You will do exactly as I say or pay the consequences. As a matter of fact, if I tire of you I may sell you to a real slaver, or just strangle you and dump your body in the river. Still interested?" She gulped, but still nodded. "Ok, so be it."
I left her there to get a dose of pacifier from the 'fridge.
On returning, I gave her the "water" to drink, then untied her legs, and unlocked the handcuffs. Then I snapped on a set of bracelets - both ankles and wrists - and locked her hands together behind her. I waited for the drug to take effect but, unlike Pancake, it hit her hard. There was no way that she could walk to the cave in that condition, so I just threw her over my shoulder and started for the dungeon. Once inside, I set her down and called over a surprised Pancake.
"You now have a young bitch for a companion. Put her in cage number 2."
Well, I now had another slave. A nice one - big tits, tight ass, hourglass figure, and long red hair.
Time for another drink. If this stuff kept up, I was going to have to turn myself into the local AA branch.
As I left, I was struck by another thought. I now had two naked females living in close proximity to each other. I knew full well that Melody was bisexual, but I had no clue about Pancake. I was fairly sure that she had never been a practicing lesbian, given her lifestyle, but I had no idea about her feelings on the matter. Not that feelings mattered in the slightest - if I ordered her to suck olives out of Melody's hole, she would do it.
Over the next year, I picked up another permanent girl, Twinkie, but that tale will come later. I was in heaven. Playing with girls a couple of times a week, then retiring to my dungeon where three sets of holes waited. Three sets who had no choice but to do my bidding. The only problem I had, was that Stephanie kept wanting to see Melody, or Cupcake as she was now known. In the dungeon, the girls were held in strict bondage. The steel was never off their bodies, and unless they had a chore such as cleaning or cooking, were usually restrained in some way. How tight a restraint depended on my mood for the day. All three of them could retain a large gag all day, and were accustomed to be stretched or spread or suspended for hours at a time.
The whip ruled. I didn't use it unless I needed to, which was seldom. As Cupcake and Twinkie were brought to the cave the first time, they got the same welcome that Pancake got. That is, a real session of hard lashing so as to know what would happen the first time they displeased me. As a result, they went far out of their way not to displease me in any way.
I enjoyed making them perform certain rituals. One was a very long monolog on being a slave girl that they had to sit in front of a mirror and repeat from memory. "This is a slave girl. Its body is for the use of the Master in any way he sees fit... " She would stand up at certain times, spread her legs and lips and continue. "...This is the pussy of the slave girl. It is for the use of the Master..." Or bend over and show her asshole to the mirror. And on and on and on.
When I ate, or bathed, or pooped, or whatever, they were required to stand there holding or offering the appropriate items. Or the appropriate services. Nothing brings home a slave girl's submissive situation like having to hold a man's dick while he pisses, or wipe his ass after a dump. Or just stand there for hour after hour with a pitcher or bottle in case I want more wine, or coke or lemonade while I read, program or nap.
Things finally came to a head with Stephanie about her niece. She stormed up to my office one day, without an appointment - a total no-no as to my rules.
She started right off. "I want to know and know now. What did you do with Melody?"
I motioned her to the visitors chair. "Relax. Sit down and calm down. If you're asking me if I killed her and took her money, the answer is no."
At least she sat down, if she didn't calm down much. "I want to know where she is and if she is ok. I'm the one who delivered her to you and that makes it my responsibility."
"She's just fine. As a matter of fact, right now she is locked in her cage trying to forget that she got five lashes this morning. She's my slave and my responsibility, not yours." I leaned over the desk. "But," I continued, "if you want proof that she's ok, go buy me a current newspaper. I'll take a picture with her holding it."
"But where is she?" Stephanie insisted. "I know she isn't at this hotel, because I checked."
I frowned. "How?"
"When you were gone last month, I came up and looked in every room. She isn't here."
Hmmm. I was trying to figure out how to defuse the situation. Stephanie was genuinely concerned about her niece, but I couldn't just waltz her down to the cave and show her.
She started up again. "There is no way..."
I held up my hand and she paused. "Hold on. Let me do a little explaining. Ok?" She nodded. "First off, let me say that I am eternally gratefully to you for the start you gave me. This place would never have existed without your help. But that was years ago. You were an upper class woman with certain needs and I was just a wage slave nobody. That's changed. Some things have happened here that you don't know about, but suffice it to say they made me very wealthy. Far beyond even the huge sums that I get for my services. The money was given to me willingly, without me disposing of any bodies, or anything else criminally illegal. In fact, the amount that Melody brought, although fairly large, isn't even equivalent to the gains I usually get from my investments in one day."
After a pause, I continued. "Yes, Melody is my permanent slave - forever - but it was her choice originally and I assume still is. However, whether it is or not, she will remain a slave."
Stephanie had calmed down considerably. "But where is she? Not at this hotel - I know."
"That is correct," I answered. "But I can assure you that this hotel is not the only thing I own now."
Her eyes widened. That was something that she hadn't considered. "Really?" she asked, weakly. I nodded. "Just her?"
"Sorry, that is not your business, unless you want to apply for the position." I could see the hormonal pressure rise in her, just thinking about the prospect of changing from a play slave to a real one. "Let me ask a question, if you will. How is your married life now? The same as before?" That question showed just how far I had come since I started my new career. In the beginning, she would have slapped me down for asking such a thing outside of a bondage session.
But now she looked away and said, "The same. The SOB's life totally revolves around his office. I'm just the decoration at official parties."
I nodded. "Of course. If he were a stud interested in tail, you and I would never have gotten started." I pretended to study the computer. "You're my original client, obviously. You come up here for a week about every three months. Are you getting tired of that routine yet?
She knew I was leading up to something, but had no idea what. "Not really. I know what is going to happen during a session now, but I still enjoy it, obviously." She stared at me. "Ok, what are you getting at?"
I smiled. "How would you like to raise the stakes? Really put some... well, risk into B&D?"
She was interested, wary and skeptical at the same time. "Go on."
I opened a desk drawer and brought out a small box - a beautiful object painted jet black with enamel, and inlayed with gold and ivory in scenes depicting a jungle somewhere. I had picked it up in Japan on one of my vacations. Actually, I bought two of them.
"This box has two locks and two keys. You will hold one key and I will hold the other." She said nothing, just stared at the box with an apprehensive look. I pulled out a new, sealed deck of cards from my center drawer. "This is just an example - you would want to bring your own virgin deck of cards to assure yourself that it was honest." I pulled the cellophane off the package and handed it to her. "You will shuffle the deck as much as you want." I couldn't follow all the emotions that were playing across her face - anticipation, excitement, I guessed. She began to shuffle the cards. Eventually, she set the deck down on the table, wondering what was next.
I waited for a while, just looking at her, to allow the tension in the room to rise. I slowly unlocked the box, opened the lid, set it in the middle of the table, then deliberately handed her one of the keys - this one was on a gold neck chain. "Take the card off the top of the deck, making sure that neither one of us see its value, then drop it, face down, in the box." She did, very slowly as if something on the table was suddenly going to jump up and and bite her. "Now close the lid and lock the box." Click. "You put your key around your neck, where it stays all week." I turned my key in the other lock, and put the key in my shirt pocket. "Put it on, " I said. She slowly drew the gold chain over her head.
I looked at her. She was breathing hard and her mouth was open. Something was happening, and she was trying to anticipate what it was. "Relax, this is just an demonstration - not the real thing. If you play for real, you have to ante-up."
"Now what?" she asked in a voice I could barely hear.
I smiled. "Ok, now imagine that you are up here for one of your normal sessions. Well, not exactly normal as before. Because, all week, during your bondage, you are thinking about opening that box at the end of the last day."
She licked her lips. "And..."
Considering that this was just a demonstration, she was acting like it was about to be decided if she was going to be turned loose or shot at dawn. Imagination is a powerful force.
"Ok, it is now the end of your week of slavery, and you can think of nothing but what is in here." I paused again and tapped the lid. She couldn't get her eyes off the box. As if it contained something besides one ordinary card.
"I chain you to your bed, or a rack or something, securely. You are helpless. I take my key and unlock one lock. Then I remove the chain from around your neck..." I got up, walked around the desk and actually took the chain from her neck. Then walking around to my side again, sat down and inserted the key in the her lock. I turned it. The box could now be opened.
"Now we are going to open the box and finally see what the value of the card is." Another pause for effect. "The suite doesn't matter. If it is anything from a two to a king, inclusive, the session is over and you go home. But..." Now she wasn't breathing at all. "if it is an ace, your life changes forever." I pointed at the box. "Open it and look at the card."
She slowly reached over, opened the lid, picked up the card and held it up. A six of hearts. She let out a deep breath as though she had just been reprieved from... What?
I smiled. "If you pull out an ace, you will drink from a glass in my hand, voluntarily or not, and when you wake up you will no longer be on this mountaintop. You will have been transported to a real dungeon, and will be a real slave for the rest of your life. Or, I may decide that I don't need another girl, and sell you to a whorehouse somewhere in the third world, just like on the last morning of your first session up here - only it won't be play acting this time. For my troubles, I keep your ante - which is... well, a lot of cash or the like."
She sat there, frozen, just looking at the box. After an interminable time, she slowly look up at me. In a very low, almost choking voice, she asked, "You've actually done this?"
I just smiled.
She thought a minute, then said, "I can see a flaw in your reasoning. How about if, when the person loses, she then tells you that she has left a letter with details to be opened in the event of her disappearance?"
I leaned over the desk, put the keys in the box. "Please. You are the one who called me an expert in my field." I put the box back in my desk. "Ok, lets postulate that such a letter exists. So what happens now?" I leaned back. "The police show up here and arrest me on suspicion of kidnapping, murder or something. They have no proof, since with one push of a button, or even the opening of the wrong door, all records evaporate. All they find is a building filled with, to them, sex perversions. But nothing illegal. They have no body, but still, I would probably be held for quite a long time before they gave up. Coffee?" She shook her head.
"Now, what happens you you? No matter where I am, you are still chained by the neck in a dungeon somewhere. And you of all people know that my chains are not broken by a mere slave girl. You are eating food that is not being replaced. In a month or so, the water stops flowing - since I am in jail the bills aren't being paid. Then the lights go out for the same reason. So now you are in the dark - pitch black - wondering if the food or water gives out first. You hope it is the food, since dying of thirst is supposedly one of the crueler ways to die."
She jumped up. "Son of a bitch," she exclaimed. "Compared to you, Machiavelli was a bumbling small-time conniver." She picked up her purse, and headed for the door. "I'll see you next time," she said over her shoulder.
I relaxed back in my very expensive executive chair with my hands behind my neck. I HAD actually done this before. It was the reason that Twinkie was now chained by the neck in a cage further down the mountain.
A few months before...
Someone once said something like, "You can be educated in math, or you can stay an illiterate for life." In the case of my little Japanese box, it was true.
Mrs S. was one of those women who went from just a possible interest in exploring submission to a hard core restraint and pain lover. She couldn't get enough and was always trying to schedule far too often for her trips to ever be kept a secret. And I was having problems just thinking up new procedures to inflict on her. Just harder and harder lashings weren't the answer. She was divorced, but was always the target of family members trying to get on the good side of a woman who would die someday and leave a huge inheritance, although since she was under forty, I thought that the family vultures were getting a little anxious. I finally had to call her into a special meeting in which I threaten to refuse further service to her if she didn't agree to certain things. That in itself caused her to start begging as if she were under the whip.
I had heard the tale of the box on a trip to Japan, only theirs had to do with a story of between a king and pauper and used colored stones rather than a deck of cards. But it intrigued me and I developed it into the spiel that I told Stephanie, later.
I gave Mrs. S. the tale, in the same manner as I would someday give Stephanie, trying to illicit her interest in real danger. She nibbled at the bait. I could almost see her shuddering internally as she balanced the erotic feeling of potentially real slavery against the actual fact of real slavery. She kept asking me to demonstrate over and over.
Licking her lips, and counting on her fingers, she said, "So the odds would be 1 in 13? Correct?"
I nodded. "Well, the odds of not drawing an ace are really 12 to 1, or over 91 percent. Actually, that is better than the odds of a slot payout in Las Vegas." What this female math illiterate thought she knew was that the odds of not drawing an ace on the first trip were 91 percent, and on the second and third trips were still 91 percent, which was essentially correct. But, and it was a BIG but, the CUMULATIVE odds of not drawing one on the second trip were down to about 83 percent. And on the third trip had fallen to about 76 percent. Or 1 in 4. The operative truth here, is that, as in a casino, the house always wins in the end. And I had that second box, identical to the first, that could be substituted while she slept in the event of her having an unbelievable string of lucky picks.
"Here is the deal. As long as we play this game, you will bring with you a large sum of money - either cash or equivalent - that you can put in a safe here that only you and I will know about." Said safe didn't exist yet, but it would if she decided to play. "The next time, you bring the same sum and add it to the total. If you decide to quit, you can take it all back. If you lose, I keep it. It wouldn't be any further use to you, anyway. But..." Now the bait. "If you make it all the way to 13, you get free run of the hotel. Any time you want, and any way you want. You can even participate in sessions with me if you wish." Of course, the odds of not drawing an ace in thirteen times, were close to asymptotic zero. "By the way, the more money that is in your safe when you win, the more opportunities I will give you to participate." This was a totally transparent ploy, but her erotic button had been pushed so hard at the idea of being in on the other end of the B&D action, that she either didn't care or didn't bother to analyze it. I also emphasized that she had to give maximum attention to security, rather than continuing to consider it an unwelcome chore. She actually giggled as she agreed wholeheartedly.
She started the game. Since she wanted to come so often, I knew it wouldn't be long before she came up craps. And the box was a definite psychological success. As the sessions wound down to their last day, I would find her staring at it in fear of what it contained.
That scheme had fixed my problem with that almost out of control client. Now I could get back to normal business and let the charade play out.
Cupcake, previously aka Melody, was being broken in to her new life by Pancake. I had given the older woman full whip rights over the younger girl after strictly warning her that any discipline would be only for instruction - any use of the whip for tormenting or pleasure would cause her status to be immediately reset to the bottom. Not to mention the fact that she would also visit the whipping posts for a long session herself.
Both slave girls were being broken to the gag full time, and could wear one all day long without too much pain. I used all kinds - ring, spider, ball, balloon, spreader - every type that I could find. Not every day, but enough to keep them in practice.
I enjoyed a show that Pancake would put on with Cupcake. It was almost like a circus act. I would relax in my lounger, Cupcake would be squatting in front of the chair, then her trainer would start the routine. It always varied, but as an example, Cupcake would be made, under the threat of the ever present whip, to stand up, legs spread, pull her pussy lips apart and poke a finger inside. Then she would lick her fingers, turn around and bend over, and do the same thing to her asshole. Then Pancake might stand over her and let her start licking from the top of her crack all the way around to the little dimple in Pancake's rear. At a sign, Cupcake would spin around, lock her mouth over her tormenter's crack, and start swallowing as Pancake relieved her bladder. She might be made to squat over a cup, let go, then drink her own piss. Or be given a set of dildos, of increasing size and made to insert and reinsert them in various holes and in various ways, always licking them clean after removal, no matter where they had been. And so forth, on and on.
Pancake obviously loved the routine. I saw her making Cupcake practice over and over - probably far more than was required for such a performance. But I didn't interfere - it gave them both something to do, although it was probably enjoyed far more by one party than the other.
When I was not enjoying my private dungeon, I was becoming quite a world traveler. I always blocked out one week of the month in which I didn't accept reservations. Every now and then, by random chance, a week on either side of that one would be left empty. When that happened, I usually hoped a plane for some random destination in the world. I had no interest in tourist destinations, with museums, parks, or scenic vistas. I preferred totally out of the way, seldom seen locations, if not in the third world, then at least in the two and a half part.
One thing I discovered to my total surprise, is that actual slavery is alive and well in a large part of the planet. And in a few countries, the entire female population was in a virtual B&D status all their lives. If not actually chained or restrained, they did nothing without the permission of the controlling male, and at any time could be beaten at his pleasure. Even beaten to death without much interest of the authorities, unless it was a very high class female.
A few months before...
Mrs S. made it to a count of six - I didn't even have to cheat. The last part of the last day of that session was like all the others. I put her on her knees on the floor, hands manacled behind her and attached to her also manacled ankles. A chain led from her collar to the wall ring. As usual, I stooped down and pinched and pulled on her nipples, and asked, "Are you ready to look?" She nodded, and even though this was the sixth time, was still breathing rapidly as she waited. I went through the ritual of taking the enameled box down from the shelf, setting it on a stool in front of her, inserting my key and turning it. I walked behind her, again stooped down and reached around to bobble her titties a bit, then removed the key from around her neck. I turned her key in the lock, then very deliberately, put it on the shelf with mine. I looked at her, but she had eyes only for the box. She was continually licking her dry lips as she waited.
I opened the lid, pulled the card out and looked at it. Then I looked at her. She was holding her breath, waiting. Slowly, I turned the card around to show her the ace of diamonds. Her jaw dropped in total shock, then out came a long wail of "NOOOOOOOOO." I left her and walked back to the cave to get a dose of GHB. When I returned she was still wailing. She refused the drink, which I expected, so I walked next door to get a ball gag with a center hole, returned and forced it into her mouth. That stopped the continual pleadings, but not the noise as she still tried to protest through the gag.
I stuck a funnel into the hole in the ball, pulled her head back by her hair, then slapped her hard across the face and ordered her to stop shaking her head. I then poured the contents of the glass in to the funnel. She choked and blew some out from around the gag, but had to swallow most of it. I removed the gag, then just sat down and watched. Gradually her beseechings became lower in volume then tailed off into incomprehensible jabbering, then finally stopped. She just sat on her haunches with her body orbiting in a slow circle. I unhooked the chain to the wall, then the one holding her ankles to her wrists, put her over my shoulder, and carried her to her new home.
The next morning, I remembered the ante in her safe, and got a major shock when I opened it. It was filled with bearer bonds, payable on sight to whomever presented them. Holy shit, the whole idea of the ante was just to add some spice to the game. I expected her to put a few thousand dollars in it over time. She either had converted most of her fortune to these bonds, or she was far wealthier than I had imagined. I didn't need them, but obviously the option of sending them back to her estate was not available.
Twinkie, aka Mrs S., became the third member of my harem.
Money is the key to traveling. In some countries, a normal social security income would make a person the wealthiest individual in the town or village. That made me the equivalent of a multi-billionaire. I met people and saw things that weren't on any travel brochure anywhere. I was in Turkey for a couple of weeks, a very pleasant vacation spot, as long as you avoid the tourist traps. I had learned enough to ask where the train station was, and which way is the bathroom and normal phrases like those. One that I didn't learn and didn't ask was, "Does Turkey have many earthquakes?" As it turned out, the answer is "Yes." The other question that would have been good to know was, "Are buildings in Turkey built to California earthquake standards?" That answer, I found out, was "No."
I was just wandering through the commercial section of a medium sized city, enjoying the different shops and the barterings of the people. I turned to enter a long brick tunnel - holding up a viaduct - I think - to get back to the main drag. Once I was in it, I got the most peculiar sensation of... something. I had never experienced an earthquake in my life so my senses just flat didn't recognize what was happening for several seconds. Then, instead of hotfooting for open territory, I paused to wonder what to do. Finally, some kind of horsesense came to the fore, and I sprinted for the opening, with bricks starting to fall everywhere. I saw a young boy in front of me go down under a shower of masonry and, without thinking, grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him with me as fast as I could go. A falling brick hit my shoulder and the pain almost made me fall myself. Finally we just made it to the arch opening when the entire tunnel collapsed behind us with a roar. I stopped, let go of the young boy's shirt, then rotated and sat down hard on the brick street. I was sure that my shoulder was broken - it hurt enough to be fractured in a dozen places.
Through all the chaos, a woman had run up to the young boy followed by two men, who appeared to be servants. She was probably his mother, since she was wailing with the normal anguished cries of any mother the world over in such a situation. One of the men picked him up, and ran down the street. The woman pointed to me, said something in Turkish, and ran after him. The other man, stooped before me, asked a totally unintelligible question, then motioned that I should get to my feet. He helped me up, and we started off in the same direction as the others. Only my shoulder was damaged - my legs were working fine and we made good time away from there and actually caught up the the others in a couple of blocks..
By now the earthquake had stopped, but the cries and shouts of individuals blended into one massive overwhelming sound. As I found out later, it was not all that powerful of a quake, but the unreinforced masonry of this part of the city had no resistance to any earth movement at all.
Eventually we came to a wide street, and entered an automobile. A half hour later, we pulled through a gate and stopped in front of a large building. I learned later that it was a konak, or mansion. Apparently someone had called ahead, as a doctor (I think) met them as the doors opened. My companion led me into a foyer, and bade me sit down on a large divan. He then left and returned shortly with a large pitcher of some kind of fruit juice which I immediately almost inhaled, I was so thirsty. In a half hour or so, the doctor and a female attendant, a nurse, I suppose, even though she wasn't dressed like one, entered the room. The doctor said something to me, then began to unbutton my shirt. After it was pulled down, he gently poked and prodded my shoulder for a few minutes. He smiled and made a motion with both hands as if he were breaking a stick, all the while shaking his head. From that, I assumed that he was telling me that my shoulder wasn't broken. The nurse cleaned up the wound and taped a bandage over it as the doctor handed me a bottle of pills. He held up 4 fingers and made a circular motion with his other hand and finger like the hour hand of a clock, which I translated to mean, take 4 pills a day. With another few words and more smiles, they left. I laid back and relaxed and wondered how I would get back to my hotel from here, and if it was even standing.
I guess I dozed, but in an indeterminate while, a man entered the room with two more servants in tow, including my original companion. From his clothes, I could tell that this was the main man of the establishment. He stopped in front of me and bowed deeply. Then he said, "Sie deutsch?" A pause. "Vous franais?"
"No, I am American," I replied.
"Ah olumlum, Amerikan," he said with a smile and another deep bow. "I am Ayhan Mustafa. I 'ave 'eard from my abla, of your bravery in which you saved my son from the... the... kargaa... earth movement."
I tried to stand up but he motion me to stay on the divan. "My name is Bill Tatum, Sir. And all I did was help him up when part of the tunnel fell." Actually it was an automatic reflex. I would have done the same thing for a dog or cat.
"I 'ave 'eard differently, Meester Tatum." He had a very deep accent, but nevertheless spoke good English - far far better than I spoke Turkish. I won't attempt to copy his accent further. "You will consider yourself my honored guest until such time as your injury heals. For now, you need to bathe and rest." The first part was true for sure. I was sitting on a beautiful piece of furniture, in a elegant foyer and looking like a gravel pit worker. He turned, clapped his hands and gave instructions to the two men who appeared. "We will speak further, when you are rested."
I was led to a bathroom straight out of a hollywood version of the Arabian Nights, and with difficulty managed to convince my two helpers that I didn't need any assistance in taking a bath. Actually, it wasn't really a bathtub - it was more like a small pool. My clothes were whisked away and replaced with a heavy robe and slippers. In an hour or so, I felt like rejoining the human race - the pill had kicked in apparently, and my shoulder was down to a dull throb.
I was then led to a large study, with Mr. Mustafa sitting behind a desk and his wife in a chair. When I entered the room, she jumped up, moved quickly to me, grabbed my hand and bowed. And gave forth a stream of talk which I understood to be gratitude, but that was only a guess. I guessed Mustafa to be in his late thirties or early forties, but his wife was much younger. She couldn't have been much older than twenty five.
Mr. Mustafa rose, and bowed again. "Meester Tatum. My sister wishes to express her infinite gratitude for my son's life. The debt cannot be repaid, but you will consider yourself to be a member of our family. That is my wish, also."
Sister! Not his wife. "Uh... Thank you. Please thank her for me." A thought suddenly struck me. "I assume that your son is not badly injured."
"He has two broken bones, and many... how do you say... lacer... cuts... on his body, but the hekim... doctor says that he will recover. Had you left him in that amak... tnel... tunnel? Yes, tunnel, we would now be mourning our loss. Please sit yourself."
His sister left us alone, but only after expressing her gratitude another dozen times, and we began to get acquainted. He was an exporter of chemicals and related products, and had inherited the business from his father. His wife had died years before, and his widowed sister had come to help raise his son. He was obviously very wealthy, and had a villa somewhere near the sea, and another retreat in the mountains. After a sumptuous dinner, we retreated to his den, and continued our conversation. He had sent a minion to my hotel, who found it damaged but not destroyed and retrieved my luggage.
I had been wondering just what to tell him what my line of business was, then decided to just stick to the truth. He was fascinated by the idea of women paying for submission. In his country, it came with the gender - not actually B&D submission, but, except for the major cities, woman's liberation was still in the future. He wondered if I had any pictures of my women. I reluctantly had to tell him that I didn't but that I would be sure and bring some when I returned.
By this time I knew that he was a ladies man, and not only from his conversation. A young woman, lush but not totally overweight, came into the room with refreshments, and as she served them he patted her in a way that indicated in no uncertain terms that he liked female flesh as much as I. He also indicated that if I desired a bed companion, I would only need to ask the porter who was looking after me. I was tempted, but figured that I didn't need bounce on a bed with a shoulder that felt fairly bad even with pain pills.
I only had a few days left, before I had to return. I had reservations scheduled back at my the hotel, but Ayhan, as he had me call him now, made me absolutely promise to return in the summer for a month long visit. And to bring pictures of my females.
What I always feared would happen, finally did. It was partially my fault, since I didn't rein in my clients who started getting addicted to B&D. This was Mrs L, another sub who started light and got into it as deeply as she could go. The problem with these clients, is that as the obsession grew, then the attention they paid to keeping it secret was attended to less and less. It was like being addicted to crack, or meth - the growing desire gradually overrode any fear of exposure. Finally, her husband suspected something, had her followed and had full pictures of her entering and leaving the driveway of my hotel. I assumed that my computer security stood up because in the preliminary divorce proceedings, only the facts about the "affair" were brought up, and nothing appeared about B&D. Also, fortunately, Mrs. L. came to her senses and acted like it was normal extra-marital affair.
On my webpage, which, of course, could only be accessed by a computer with the appropriate flash drive and encryption key, I announced what had happened, and that the hotel would be closed until we saw how the incident would play out. I also used the unfortunate occurrence to lecture my customers on the absolute importance of paying total attention to keeping their B&D activities secret.
In this case, her husband was anxious to keep the dirty laundry from hitting any front pages, and gave Mrs L. a settlement which was quite sufficient for her lifestyle. Afterward, the hotel resumed operation, but with myself always reminding my clients to be fanatically discrete.
Mrs. L moved to another city, and resumed her activities at my establishment. Only, now, she didn't have anyone to hide it from anyone. Unfortunately, that attitude carried over to the hotel itself. She would just drive up during the middle of the day, without a reservation, and want to start another session. When I realized that she wasn't going to change, I started making plans to solve the problem. I would give her the opportunity to solve the problem herself, or then I would take action. I knew that there was no way that I could just tell her to go away, that she was more trouble than she was worth. She would turn in to the woman scorned, in spades.
I scheduled a meeting with her.
"Evelyn," I said. I could use her name now since she had nothing to hide and was no longer afraid of exposure. "You are a problem for me. And my other clients."
She was apprehensive. I think she was afraid that I WAS actually going to cut her off. "Mr. Harris. (A phony name - nobody except Stephanie knew my real one) I'm sorry for my actions. I'll do anything you want me to do."
I steepled my fingers while looking at her for a few seconds. The pause was phony. I knew exactly how my half of the conversation was going to go. "Evelyn," I repeated. "You apparently want to be a full time sub, correct?"
She looked up in surprise. "Yes... Yes that would be wonderful. But how? Sometimes you are gone from here for weeks at a time."
"Correct," I answered. "Nevertheless, I have arranged it for other clients."
Now her eyes widened in even more surprise. "But... How? With who?"
"Those two questions won't be answered until and unless you decide to do it, also." I waited.
"Yes. Yes. Please. I have dreamed of that. Over and over."
I leaned forward and picked up a piece of paper and pretended to study it. "What did you do with the proceeds from your divorce settlement?"
That question was not one that she was expecting. "Well, I just cashed the... I mean, deposited the check in my new bank account."
"Ok, here is the deal. If you become a full timer, you will effectively disappear from society. You can't leave that amount of money just sitting in a bank. There is too much chance of the bank deciding that you have abandoned it and then confiscating the whole thing - they love to do that. Plus, you can't just disappear without someone asking questions. A runaway teen can, but not a rich woman." I handed her the sheet of paper. "You will need to go to this broker in your town, and purchase these items. And tell them that you will pick up the certificates." It was a list of bearer bonds. I had done an exhaustive research of them after the Twinkie affair. They had no owner's name on the bonds. Whoever held them, owned them. "Then you will bring them up here and put them in a safe that I will show you. Agreed?"
"When that is done, we will move to the next step."
Several weeks went by as she converted her settlement. The bonds were in the safe, her apartment lease was canceled. I had her buy, with a credit card, a first class ticket to San Francisco and then check into an exclusive hotel. Her orders were to reserve and pay for the room for a week. I told her be sure and tell everybody - her landlord, broker, anyone - where she was going. She didn't know what she would do then, but I told her to just check in and enjoy herself. And on Wednesday, she would walk to a certain corner just down from the hotel and be standing there at exactly 6 pm.
And at the designated time, I pulled up in a cab, told her to get in and off we went to the airport. A small plane charter flight got us back to the mountaintop by the afternoon of the next day. She was bubbling over with the idea of her new life. I don't think she planned on it being for life, however.
I took her into a room, chained her up and enjoyed pumping her for a while, then left her there to wait for dark. Later, I entered her room with two glasses of wine. Her's had a slightly different formulation than mine. We toasted her new submissive status, and in about fifteen minutes she was orbiting in never-never land.
I now had four slaves in my harem. That in itself wasn't any big deal - The cave would have held fifty easily. But the logistics were starting to become the problem. A grocery cart filled to the top didn't go far between five people, but still produced a large amount of garbage that I had to take off. I started buying basic foodstuffs in bulk. Fifty pound bags of rice, flour, beans, sugar, whatever. I would arrive with a full pickup load. The girls would start making meals from scratch, rather than single cans and packages of supermarket food. That solved that problem. The other thing I worried about, was, eventually one of them would get sick for real, or have a bad tooth - then what would I do? I was still searching for an answer to that potential problem.
I got an interesting request from Mrs. A. She was a divorcee, no childen, so she had far less to worry about than a married woman as far as being exposed. She liked tight bondage, but very light pain. She was also one who never wanted sex acts performed on herself.
On the comment form of her next reservation, she requested that she be fitted with a chastity belt. WTF?!, I wondered. I knew nothing of them, since I had no interest in something that would prevent sex. But, this was a paying customer and I started doing research. When she arrived for her next session, I discussed the matter with her in my office, in front of the computer. I had several on-line examples for her to look at. For some reason, she was fascinated with the devices. As it turned out, this was not going to be a temporary piece of wearable hardware - she selected one that, when put on the woman, could not be removed. At least, not without some heavy duty high speed cutting tool - used with great care.
Once again, she was the customer, and what she paid for, I supplied. I measured her for size according to the manufacturer's instructions, and ordered it.
A month later it came in - a fifteen hundred dollar work of art. It was made of woven stainless steel braid, had a belly band from which the crotch band descended to just beyond her pussy hole. From there a stainless cord went up through the crack of her ass and connected to the back band at the joining part of the belt. The cord went over the top of her asshole and prevented any entry into it, but was small enough that when she had to shit, the soft poop would just split and go around the cord. The pussy plate had the usual grid for peeing and a small hole so that a small douche syringe could be inserted for cleaning inside.
She was shaking with excitement as she looked at the belt laying on the table. I shook my head - getting excited about something that would prevent sex was - well, nuts. She took a shower, and stood in front of me as I fitted it to her. There were mechanisms that could be adjusted to get the exact fit, and for for a while I would set it to a certain tightness, and she would walk or sit or just generally move around, testing the comfort. Finally, she was satisfied.
"Ok, are you sure about this? When I set the internal latch, this isn't coming off until we buy some special tools." Which will ruin the belt, I didn't add.
"Do it," she said. I inserted the allen key in the hole of the belt at the small of her back, turned it ninety degrees and heard a metallic "snap."
I had lost two clients after the Evelyn affair. (Her name was now Cherry Pie). Both were lightly into bondage, coming two or three times a year at most. I had a last meeting with each one, separately, of course. They were apologetic, and regretful at their loss, but they had gotten scared. The fear of exposure of their secret lives overrode the pleasure they got from mild bondage. I assured them that I fully understood their anxieties, and guaranteed them that, before the day was over, any and all information that I had on them and their activities on the mountaintop would be totally erased. And if they smashed and threw away their personal flash drives, there would be absolutely no trail from their homes to the mountaintop. I left them with the hope that, if circumstances changed for them, that they would someday come back to the mountaintop.
Actually, I was not at all disturbed. I still wasn't accepting new clients. And in fact, didn't want as many as I had. Money was not the object now, I had all that I could ever use and more. I only kept the mountaintop hotel going because I really liked my job.
A few months later, I blocked out a month, and headed back to Turkey.
Ayhan met me at the airport, threw his arms around me and generally greeted me in the Turkish way - that is to say, effusively. The rest of the day was filled with small talk, and I was introduced to his son, now totally well from his experience. I got a tour of his the estate, then his place of business.
That night, over glasses of yakut, he asked if I had brought pictures of my harem. I smiled and handed him a flash drive. I moved a chair around beside his and waited for him to pull up the folder with the pictures. I had dozens of pictures, showing them both restrained and standing in various poses with no bonds at all. He was a connoisseur, instead of just paging though, he inspected the girl in each picture and commented extensively. He really enjoyed looking at Pancake and kept coming back to her over and over.
The Turkish wine had just about done me in, not to mention major jet lag, so I excused myself and headed for my room. He wished me a good night, but still sat there looking at the pictures. That night, I did avail myself of some of the pleasures of the flesh. My servant brought me a plump, big tittied desert. She didn't speak a word of English, and I barely could find the bathroom with Turkish, but we managed to find all the right spots. Later, a game developed where I would touch, pinch or poke certain places and she would tell me the correct Turkish word for that part. And I would give her the English version. Finally, despite the fun, my body shut down for the night, automatically.
The next day, Ayhan had to handle business, but that was fine with me. I roamed all around the city, thoroughly enjoying myself. That night, I got a major surprise. He brought up my pictures again, pointed to Pancake again and said, "Bill, my friend." Actually, it came out Beel, but that was all right. I expect that I was butchering their names, also. He continued, "I am unaware of customs in Amerika, so please forgive me if I offend you."
Somewhat surprised, I said, "Sure, go ahead."
He pointed to the picture of Pancake, then Twinkie again. "Would you consider to sell one, or both?"
I managed to keep the mouthful of very good wine from going the wrong way - mostly. "Sell?" I managed to get out.
"Yes, they are beautiful. I do not blame you for wanting to keep them." Beautiful? Pancake was a wonderful slave girl, fully trained in multiple ways to empty my balls and leave nothing but a hanging empty sac. She was not bad looking, but beautiful? I never thought of her that way. She was chubby and large breasted, but they were fairly pendulous. Her teenage girlish waist was long gone. Of course, I knew that in this part of the world, the Western idea of the skinny, almost anorexic female was not the ideal. Twinkie was very desirable also, but still, she wouldn't win any beauty contests. She was overweight also, like most American women.
"I don't understand. Can you buy girls in this country?" If so, that was a shocker. Turkey was almost a full member of the EU and I doubted that slavery was optional for entry.
"No, not of nationals, of course. And as far as the law is concerned, one person cannot be owned by another. But, many immigrants are sold here as domestics and bed partners. Our immigration laws are strict and the prisons are hell on earth - few illegal persons would go to the police and complain - about anything." He looked up from the computer. "If you wish, we can visit a trader tomorrow."
"A real slave trader!?" I was, if not exactly stunned, then was at least having major trouble with the concept.
"Well, they are not called by that term, but in fact, that is what they are."
The next day, in the afternoon we took a cab across the city to what can only be described charitably as the wrong side of the tracks. The poverty was worse than anything I had seen anywhere, although I didn't usually take tours of slums. Walking up to a blank door, Ayhan knocked. It was opened a crack, then wider as the person inside apparently recognized my host. It was a dark and dingy hall that we were guided down, but it opened into a brightly lit room, with chairs and a platform at one end - the auction site, I assumed - correctly, I found out later. Shortly a fat middle aged man waddled into the room. He was introduced as Tarkan, the proprietor of this - whatever it was. He was friendly, and when he found out that I was from America, he went through the standard spiel of telling me, through Ayhan, of his uncle in New York and his brother-in-law in Chicago.
I got a tour of the holding rooms. Not barred cells like in the movies, just rooms with locked doors and thick windows facing the hall. I went from window to window looking at the... merchandise. Again, this was not Hollywood, with bevies of beauties in silks and golden chains. They were of every type, size and age. Young girls, ancient crones, middle aged women. Pretty, cute, ugly, deformed, short, tall, fat, very fat, skinny, you name it. Even the boys... Boys? I turned to Ayhan to ask, but he anticipated. "Yes, like anywhere else in the world, boys are wanted by a certain type of person."
After the tour, we went into Tarkan's quarters for a glass of wine - not nearly up to the standards of what I had been swilling at Ayhan's, but I needed a drink, nonetheless.
"How do you get these... persons?," I asked through Ayhan.
"Many ways," Tarkan replied. "From rural police stations, rounder-uppers..." by which I assume he meant crimps, "other traders." He emptied what had to be his forth glass and filled it up again. "And there are men who move around the world filling specific orders. A blond or redheaded woman will bring four or five times as much as a dark haired girl from the Balkans."
Holy shit, I thought. My girls were slaves, but they were willing or mostly willing, but this... I put my glass out for a fill up.
"How do you get an unwilling girl from somewhere else in the world from there to here?" I was still having trouble grasping this.
This time, Aylan answered. "I don't know the details, but there are many men for who the transport of such cargo is their full time business."
Wow. I just sat there looking at the wall, thinking.
Then, Ayhan stood up, and thanked Tarkan, I assume, for the tour. He invited us back for the auction tomorrow night. We gave our respects and left.
Later that night, in his study, Ayhan said, "You are troubled, my friend."
"No. no. I grew up in a fairly boring part of America. All this is just taking a little time getting used to. I am definitely not what is called 'continental.'"
After a while, I asked. "Were you serious about wanting one of my girls?"
"They are all of a very desirable appearance, but I would not offend you for any woman."
"How would we get one from America to Turkey?" I asked. "She has no identification or passport and can't get any."
"Beyefendi, are you serious?" He came around the desk toward me. "But, of course, such a girl would be of great value. A price must be agreed upon."
"You have been a wonderful host, Ayhan. I would have her be a gift for my gratitude."
"But that is impossible," he exclaimed. "One does not simply give a precious stone for mere gratitude."
"Ayhan." I put my hands on his shoulders. "I don't need money. I am very rich, even for an American. I have few friends and make new ones rarely. When I make one, such as you, that friendship has no price." I smiled and sat back down. "Now, how do we get her here?"
He picked up the bottle, and filled both glasses. "That is a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, let us drink to our friendship."
The next day, after lunch, we were once again at Tarkan slave pit, as I thought of it. This time, the large room had twenty or thirty people in it, all males, of course. I sat down while Ayhan left the room. A little while later, he return with a young man that he introduced to me as Francois. French maybe? As it turned out, he was, but he also spoke English with almost no accent.
"Mr. Tatum, I am given to understand that you need a person moved from somewhere in the US to here."
Well, well, a genuine slaver of the 21st century. "Yes," I answered, not sure what else to say.
"Is there a rush?" I shook my head. "Is she famous?" Another shake. "She is just an ordinary woman. Nothing special."
He thought for a moment. "The fee will be twenty three thousand lira." I started to calculate, but he immediately said, "Fifteen thousand dollars."
Ayhan spoke up. "I will pay that, of course." I started to protest, but he held up his hand. Looking at Francois, he said just one word, "Done."
Francois looked around, "The auction is about to start. I will come by your house tonight." With that he left.
It went on for a couple of hours. I had been to cattle auctions, and estate auctions, but this one was nothing like those. The men in the room might have been in a coffee shop, for all the interest they displayed toward the merchandise. A girl, or boy, would be brought out by two of the toughest bouncers that I have ever seen. One looked like he shaved with acid, and the other had so many knife scars, it was hard to tell where his mouth began and ended. I resolved not to piss them either one of them off in any way.
The barker, or whatever he was called, was of course speaking in Turkish, so I had no clue what was being said, but he was as casual also. There was none of that steady stream of auctioneer chant common to an American auction. A man in the audience would occasionally hold up a hand, or pipe, or the business end of a hooka. Then the slave would be escorted off stage, sold, I assumed, and another brought out. Eventually, it was over and the men filed out. Tarkan came up to us and asked, again through Ayhan, what I had thought of the merchandise. I made the remark that every woman that I had seen was... I had to search for a word that wouldn't offend... plump. I hope that translated. Ayhan and he talked, laughed, then asked me. "Do all Americans like their women narrow?"
I smiled. "The word you are looking for is, 'skinny.'"
Ayhan translated and Tarkan said the word, "Skeeny. Skeeeeey." They both laughed and conversed again.
"Tarkan says he has a few skeeny women. Would you like to see them?" Sure, why not?
We walked back to the holding rooms, now mostly empty, then on down a corridor to a really dingy room. At the far end, he unlocked a door and invited us in. The smell was somewhat terrific, but the room contained about eight persons. Skinny, was an understatement. They were all women, and a couple were nothing but skin and bones. I mean, real concentration camp inmates. At least that is what they looked like. I turned around to where my cohorts were talking, and was about to ask, "what the hell," when Ayhan spoke...
"Those two women have actually been fattened up," he said. "When they came here, they were almost dead from consumption, probably from being lost at sea. Somehow they lived. They can't be just given large amounts of food. That would just kill them almost immediately. So they are put on a special... diet?" I nodded. "...diet until they put on enough weight to be able to eat normal meals.
I shook my head, and stood in the corridor as Tarkan relocked the room. He opened a door in the adjacent wall, and gestured us in. This time, there were only three girls, none starved, but I had eyes for only one. A tall, long legged, raven haired beauty. A huge bust, triple D's at least and high on her chest. With tits that high, she couldn't have been over eighteen to twenty years of age. She had all her hair - pubic, legs, pits, but I knew that smooth women were a western fashion only. Her skin was brown, but she was not of negroid stock that I could tell. Not thin, but no extra fat anywhere. I looked at Tarkan. "Why is she back here? This is prime beef on the hoof." That didn't work - Ayhan's English didn't cover western slang. I tried again. "Why wasn't she at auction?"
Ayhan asked, then said, "She has been, twice. Neither time has she gotten a minimum bid."
"For God's sake, why?" I blurted, then remember that while Turkey was mostly secular, it was still a Muslim country. "I mean, what is wrong with her?"
"Other than being skeeny, as you say, she is a thief. Look at the brand on her thigh. I had missed that. It was some symbol that didn't look like anything to me. On the other thigh was another brand. I pointed to it and looked questioningly at Avahan.
He paused, hesitated, and said, "That mark is for being a blasphemer. Actually, I don't understand why she wasn't stoned to death."
"Holy shit on a shingle," I murmured under my breath as I bent over to look at the brand. This little country boy is a long way from the mountaintop hotel.
I saw Tarkan glance at Ayhan, then say something. Ayhan said, 'Perhaps you might wish to purchase her. Go ahead, inspect all you want."
"Holy shit on a shingle, squared and raised to the nth power," I murmured again. I don't believe this. I am in a real slave auction house with an offer to finger a real slave. A LONG LONG way from my hotel.
She smelled pretty bad, so I didn't inspect any openings, other than with my eyes, but as far as I could see, she was perfect. Good teeth, also. I couldn't say why, but I was fascinated by her.
We walked back to his office, which looked like an unsuccessful garage sale. As we sat down, I asked, "What is your price for her?"
I had been gone for almost a month, and my entry into the cave was a surprise to all, but I was satisfied that everything was in order. Jet lag was hitting me badly, so I had the girls give me a bath, then had Pancake lock them up and I fastened her into my bed. A quick fuck, and I was asleep. The next morning, I woke late. Of course everybody else was long since awake, and probably hungry, so I released Pancake and let her get on with the morning routine.
I thought about my present to Ayhan, then decided to send him both Twinkie and Cherry Pie. If he didn't want two, he would not have a problem getting rid of one or the other. I had learned that educated white American women came with a premium price tag in certain parts of the world. I told Pancake that both were leaving, permanently, and to lock them into a cage. Later that night, I drugged them and took them back to the hotel. There, I chained both in one of the mostly unused rooms.
The next week, I walked around, inspecting the property, then looked at the server data to see what might have come in. Just the usual requests for B&D sessions. I started to work on a schedule so that I could reply, when the phone rang.
"Mr. Tatum?" "Yes," I replied. "This is RDX delivery. We have a package for you. Will there be someone available to receive it."
My heart started racing. This was my new siren, about to be unwrapped. "Yes," I replied again.
"I see that you also have a package scheduled for pickup. Will it be ready?"
"Yes. But I have two packages for the same destination. Will that be possible at this time?"
"Certainly, Sir. The truck should arrive by this afternoon."
After an interminable morning, in which I couldn't concentrate on anything whatsoever, I heard a truck pull up the driveway. I walked outside and motioned a small rental truck to an area between the buildings where there was no chance of observation by anybody who wasn't on the top of the mountain. Francois stepped out. Interesting - the man did his own dirty work.
After a few pleasantries, he opened the truck and we carried an air conditioner box into a room. He cut open the top of the box, and there lay my new possession, curled up and unconscious. "She will come to in a few hours," he said.
"Has she been drugged ever since she left Turkey?" I asked, somewhat concerned.
He shook his head. "No, certainly not. Only for the trip from... the point of entry to here.
Just for safety, I reached in and locked a chained collar around her neck. Then I led Francois next door to where my two gifts were waiting. He examined them, took a bottle out of his pocket, and gave me two large pills. "One for each."
I filled a glass with water, and holding a whip, placed one in each girl's mouth and gave them a swallow of water. They weren't happy with the totally uncertainty of what was happening, but were afraid to protest in the presence of the whip and a stranger.
"That will take about twenty minutes. Monsieur," We stepped over to my office for refreshments and to conclude the transaction. He informed me that my friend had paid for the delivery of my new girl, so I asked about the fee for the unexpected extra girl. He gave me a price of twenty five thousand for both. I counted out two hundred and fifty one hundred dollar bills, gave them to him to count - which he didn't - then a couple of envelopes to put them in. I thought all Frenchmen drank nothing but wine, but he enjoyed my coffee instead. After some pleasant and random conversation - and some information for the future - we returned to find both girls unconscious on the floor. I unchained them, took their manacles off and we took them to the truck. Since there were two, we had to reuse the box that my present came in, but soon they were sealed and ready to go. We shook hands and he drove off.
I relocked the gate, looked around just for safety sake since it was still daylight, then picked up my new acquisition - not easily - she was a big girl - and took her down to the cave. She was much cleaner than the time I saw her in the slave pit, but still was going to need a lot of work to get her up to my standards of appearance.
Of course, Pancake and Cupcake were the only two girls in the dungeon now, and were very subdued. Things had been happening since I got back that they didn't understand. Two girls were suddenly missing and, now, here was a new girl, totally unlike any others that they had seen, and their uncertainty was not decreased when they saw her. I locked her in a cage, and told Pancake to just feed her when she woke up, but do nothing else. I didn't know if I would have a tiger in the cage when the drug wore off, or just a pussy.
Ever since my return from Turkey, my attitude toward my current occupation had changed one hundred and eighty degrees. I had seen real slaves, and now owned one. The idea of playing games with rich women, now seemed to be... well, just that. A game. I decided to get out of the business, or at least cut it way down. When my next two clients arrived, I hinted that I was thinking of shutting the hotel down, "for a while." The reaction was immediate, and unwelcome. I had to backtrack and assure them that it would not affect our relationship in any way. Now I had a problem. It would appear that I was on the back of a tiger and there was no apparent way to get off.
Based on the reactions of those two clients, it appeared that there was too much danger of an incident - whether based on desperation, selfishness, greed, or whatever - that would expose the whole operation. I wouldn't have cared, except for my dungeon that couldn't be moved and wasn't far enough away from the hotel for me to just shut down and disappear. I supposed that I could find or build another somewhere, but that would be time consuming and probably difficult to conceal. I thought about the problem off and on as I became acquainted with my new possession.
Chocolate was her name. I had no idea what her real and previous name was. In fact, I knew nothing about her. Where she was from, what language she spoke, her real age - nothing. She gradually woke from the drug, that evening. I wondered if she would panic, but apparently the months or years of her captivity had taught her patience. She just sat there, looking out between the bars, with no discernible expression her face. I had Pancake prepare several different dishes for her since I had no idea of what she was used to eating. She had a healthy appetite, and gobbled down the rice, beans, and most of the other items on her tray. She didn't use the plastic fork or spoon that were on the tray - just ate with her fingers. That meant that she was probably uneducated and from some remote third world country. She had no problem using the bucket that was provided for her needs, whether anyone was in sight or not. Another indication of a primitive upbringing.
The next morning, she willingly allowed me to attach a leash around her neck and she was brought to the shower by the girls and scrubbed all over. I didn't know if she knew what a toothbrush was for, but it didn't matter since Cupcake did the task for her, as well as she could. After that, she was put on the examination table, with everything spread and open. There she was waxed all over till she was smooth as an egg below the neck. Later when the stubble started to return, I would have the girls start electrolysis on her. I was walking around with a swinging hardon the entire time, which was very apparent since, like everyone else, I never wore clothes in the cave unless I was arriving or leaving.
I knew that, given the circumstances of her life, that there was almost no chance of her being a virgin and in fact, had probably not been once since before puberty. The fact was of no matter to me at all. I agreed with my favorite author who wrote : "Virginity is a correctable problem of no importance."
After a second shower, she was fitted with a permanent collar, and wrist and ankle bracelets. I put both Pancake and Cupcake in hard restraints, gagged and blindfolded and then led Chocolate to my bed where I loosely bound her hands over her head to the headboard. Moving slowly, I lay down beside her then gently began to explore her body. I closely examined her brands, but still could make no sense of them. Her knockers were not grotesquely massive, but were large, and on her body with the narrow waist and proper proportions, they looked huge. I was going to have to fashion or buy some kind of boulder holder or they were going to sag badly in a few years. She was very pliant, spreading her legs when my hand went between them. Apparently, just kind treatment was something that she had never had and was responding to it. My finger soon proved the lack of virginity. I gently rolled her over and spread her again and inspected her cute little brown ass dimple. With a little spit on my finger, I tested it and found it to be very close to virginal, if not totally. She would have to be expanded some before it would be comfortable to have her shit packed. Her nipples were large and prominent, and were a pleasure to pinch and pull. Her boobs where very high and firm, even laying on her back. I revised my estimate of her age downward. Possibly to sixteen or seventeen.
Finally, the pressures became overwhelming. I lubed myself, bent her legs to raise her knees off the mattress, then lay between her long brown legs and slowly fed my shaft into her channel. Not long later, I was back to laying beside her, spent, and casually squeezing and fondling her body.
The next client happened to be another Mrs. L. She was not hard core, but definitely liked her restraints to be uncomfortable and her pain to be considerable. She was also one of the thirty or so percent who wanted sex with her ordeal. This time as usual, she signed up for two days. I assumed that meant that her husband was usually away to somewhere for that length of time - something in politics. From her talk of him, I assumed that he could stay away for six months for all she cared.
The session was normal until that night. I had finished for the day, she had been put to bed, and I was sitting in my office surfing, when a motion sensor alarm went off. A few years back, I had installed them in various places around the grounds, along with cameras as an adjunct to my passion for security. On occasion, one went off when an animal wandered through the area, but other than that they were never activated for any real reason. I no longer considered them of much use, and in fact, the only controls were in my office, so they were useless if I was gone or in the dungeon. I looked at the red light on the control board, then saw it go off. I went back to my surfing, then another one triggered. And then another. If it was an animal, then it was fairly large and was moving around rapidly. The last thing I wanted to do on my way to the cave, was run into a bear in the dark, so I activated the cameras and started scanning from one to the other. In a few seconds, I was in red alert mode. In the inflared view, I could see a person slinking down the outside of the first wing of rooms - the one that I never used. He - or she - was trying the doors and since none of them were locked, and in fact, a couple of rooms didn't even have a door, he could look inside with no problem. Then he went around the end and out of view.
I was wondering what to do, because I needed to do it immediately. Since I had a client chained on the premises, I didn't want to call 911 and have the sheriff and deputies crawling all over the place. But I couldn't just let this guy have free rein to search. If was just a burglar, and found my client, he might think that her confinement was for real, then hell would come to lunch for sure. On the other hand, why would a burglar be snooping around an abandoned hotel at night, anyway? This place was a long way from anywhere - he had to have come in a car.
By now, I had a shotgun on the premises, mainly for varmints, and in a few seconds I had it in my hands and loaded. I still had a dilemma - the law was still going to show up, no matter what I did. Whether I held the guy at gunpoint or shot him full of holes. I realized that this was something that I should have planned for and practiced long before now. This kind of on-the-job-training could turn into a mess in short order. I saw him reappear on another camera, and he started at the far end of the active wing of the hotel, moving toward my office. That was it - I had to do something...
I had an idea of which way he probably going to proceed, so I slipped out the back door, around the front of the hotel, then halfway down the far side of the wing. At that point was a walkway that probably used to contain coke and ice machines. I moved up to the corner, and barely peeked around. I could see him coming down the wing, looking in each room as he came. I had no military experience or anything even close to weapons training and tactics, other than what came with computer games, and my heart was pounding so hard I was afraid that he could here it. I watched and waited. Finally as he checked the last room at that end, I stepped out, leveled a flashlight and the gun, and said "Freeze!" At least I didn't blurt out some asininity like, "Make my day," or "Feeling lucky, punk?"
He apparently wasn't a hardened criminal since he just about collapsed in shock and fear and threw his hands in the air like they were chained to the ceiling. "Ppp....Please don't shoot, mister. I'm not doing anything."
"Sit down!" I demanded. I figured if he was on the ground, there was no way he could jump me before I pulled the trigger. He immediately complied. "What the fuck are you trying to steal?" I wiggled the barrel. "Keep your hands high."
"Nothing, Mister. Honest. I was just looking." He looked to be maybe in his late teens, but in the flashlight beam, that was no certainty.
"Looking for what?", I demanded again.
He hesitated, started to say something, then apparently thought better off it. "How about I just shoot you now and throw your carcass off the cliff back there?" Where the hell did that come from? Too many DVDs at night, I guessed.
He shook his head violently. "Please. I was trying to find a girl... a woman." He hesitated, again. "I followed her up here this morning."
With a sinking feeling, I wiggled the barrel again. "Go on. Searching for whom."
"Susan Larson. She said she comes up here for... for... some kind of sex... training." Holy fuck. This was going bad by the second.
I made an instant decision. I knew I had to sound like I meant what I said. In fact, I really needed to mean what I was about to say. I slowly moved behind him. "Ok, listen very carefully. This is a 12 gauge shotgun. If I pull the trigger I will have to spend hours cleaning up the mess. I want you to stand up, very slowly. Go ahead, do it." He did. "Now walk slowly forward." We progressed down the line of rooms until we came to a furnished one, number 5. I told him to open the door, reach in and turn on the light.
This was a bedroom, not a B&D chamber, just like the one that Mrs. L (what the heck, Susan) was in right now. Before he could look around and see what it was, I said "Move to the back wall and kneel down on the floor, hands on your head." He did that also. I poked the gun in his back, making sure that I didn't have a finger on the trigger, reached over for the slave collar laying on the bed, then quickly snapped it around his neck. It was attached to the wall ring with about 6 feet of chain. Then I backed up to the door and sighed. At least the situation was under my control, now.
"Ok," I said. "Sit on the bed and spill it. What you are doing here and what is going on."
He reached up to the collar and in some surprise felt of it as he got to his feet and sat down on the mattress. "What is this?" he asked.
"Just something to stabilize the situation. Now talk." I waved the shotgun again. "How do you know Susan?"
"I...I... " he stammered. "She and I... sometimes meet and... have sex." I waited. "She told me that she goes somewhere and gets tied up and trained."
"Keep going. What does she have you do to her."
"Well, sometimes I tie her to a bed, and fuck her. Sometimes she has me tie a rag around her head and mouth." Shit! Playing out two-bit bondage scenes with a pimply faced kid. So much for assuming that an Ivy League education automatically makes you intelligent.
"Did she tell you how to get here?" I asked.
"No. I followed her when she left her home, this morning." Right, he had already said that. So at least he couldn't have told anyone where he was going.
"Give me your wallet, phone and car keys. NOW!" I demanded when he hesitated. He did. I immediately turned the phone off, then asked. "Where did you leave your car?"
"In a little trail, down the hill." I thought I knew where. Just a path though the woods that hunters sometimes used.
I left, shut the door, and started down the driveway, thinking furiously. At the gate, I manually opened it and started walking down the road. Several scenarios were drawn up and discarded by the time I found his car. None seemed to have promise. I drove his car back to the hotel and locked it in a garage. Then just sat there thinking.
That dumb bitch! Fucking a teenage cock and telling him about her bondage sessions! She might as well have sent a notice to the society pages. Hell, there is no pressure on earth like that of a horny boy to brag about the older woman he's shagging!
Back in my office, I sat at my desk trying to put together a plan that would hold water. I looked in his wallet. His name was John Hafner. No indication of what he did for a living. His address apparently was an apartment. The Internet didn't find any information on him, except for his phone number and the address.
In my mind, I clicked off the situational facts one by one.
One. Susan, Mrs. L., didn't know that she had been followed.
Two. Nobody would know where the kid went.
Three. Susan's session was over tomorrow evening - not enough time to do much of anything, no matter what the plan.
Four. I had to do something about Susan, asap, before she wrecked the entire setup.
By morning, I had no sleep, but did have a plan that might or might not work.
At dawn, I walked quickly to the cave, rousted Pancake and Cupcake out of bed, and told them to fix me three breakfasts, pronto. While that was being prepared, I went over my plans again and again. Back on the mountain top, I woke Susan and gave her breakfast. Then I walked to room 5. The kid was laying back asleep, but woke instantly when I shut the door. I walked over and unlatched the collar from around his neck.
"Sorry, kid." I said. "I thought you were either a burglar or a blackmailer. But you check out ok." I handed him his wallet and other stuff. "Come on to my office. We'll have breakfast and talk."
We sat down, and I pointed to the huge plate of bacon, eggs, toast and piles of other stuff that Pancake had cooked. "Dig in." I helped myself to a healthy portion, even though I had no interest in food at the moment. "Where to you live? What do you do for a living?"
Apparently relieved that he was not on his way to jail, he had scooped a teenage portion of food onto his plate. "Just a single bedroom apartment. I do work for Smitters Plumbing... whenever's there's work." he added. Great, a minimum wage slave. As he ate I pumped him for information.
Finally, "How long has Susan been... seeing you?"
He thought for a moment, "Oh, 'bout since winter. I was helping fix something in her bathroom. When old man Smitters had to leave to to buy a part or something, she... " He looked up and wondered how far to go.
"Go ahead," I encouraged. "Fucking is a normal thing around her, and a lot of other stuff."
"Well," he continued. She took me to a back room, had me tie her hands to the bedposts, and fuck her." More swallowing. "We have been meeting at various motels about every, oh, two or three weeks."
"And she told you about this place?"
"Well, not exactly," he answered. "She said that she was enrolled in a real bondage school where they taught women how to be slaves. I didn't really believe her, but when she said that she was coming up here yesterday, I waited for her across from the compound she lives in, and followed." More food. "I saw her turn in here, but the gate closed after her and I parked down the road and climbed the back of the hill." God almighty damn. If it had been the other side of the hill, he would have been close to the cave entrance. I made note to put up some fencing. He went on. "I was afraid to come up during the day, so I waited till night. I wanted to see if it was a real bondage school."
I sat back in thought. That was close, at least in principle, to what I was expecting. That stupid cunt was just trying to get exposed and me with her.
I leaned forward again. "Well, she was correct. This IS a real bondage school and she is a student right now." Now the bait. "If you would like, I will show you how we train women here." His eyes lit up, like I knew would happen on any horny male teen. Now to set the hook. "You can ever participate if you want. You would probably like to stick your dick in her again, right? He left his mouth open, as his mind replayed what I had just said. This place didn't look like heaven, but he was about convinced that he had entered the pearly gates.
As he finished up, I told him to wait and went to get Susan prepared. She was squatting on the floor, in the proper position. I manacled her hands behind her back, then put a half hood over her head, with ear pads and a ball gag. Then went back to my office.
He was waiting, and on an erotic edge, obviously. Or else he was carrying a roll of quarters in his front pocket. "A couple of things before we start." He nodded. "First, this place is a total secret. You can mention it to absolutely no one. Understand?" He nodded vigorously. "That is important. These are the wives of very rich and powerful men. If any of this got out and involved any of them in a scandal, their wrath would be terrible. They would probably have you committed as a sex offender, if you lived." He gulped, but nodded again. "Total secrecy." I said again.
"Susan has a set of pads over her ears and is blindfolded, so as long as we speak softly, she can't hear. She can't know that you followed her - she might tell her husband. Ok?" Hah. Fat chance of that.
"Yes, Sir," he answered.
We entered Susan's sleeping quarters, where the sight of her - naked, blind, deaf, dumb and manacled, absolutely overwhelmed the young man. His eyes were saucers, his breathing was almost to the hyperventilation state, and his roll of quarters turned into half dollars. We towed her next door into the bondage chamber where I put her on the sawhorse rack, then began to remove my clothes. I motioned to John to take his off. After some hesitation, he did. Nice pecker, bigger than mine, a little, and ready to go.
I handed him an eye mask. "Put this on. I have to take some pictures and I don't want your face in it. I put on one also, although I didn't plan to have myself in the view. I set the video camera on a stool facing Susan at an angle to get her face and all of her, including anyone who was pounding her rear end. I dropped a towel over it, making sure the lens wasn't covered, but rumpled it up so that the camera underneath wasn't obvious. Since the cable ran to a laptop on the shelf, it could go for hours without danger of running out of storage.
I handed John the crop. Quietly, I said. "Let's get her ass warmed up a little," and pointed. He stood there with the whip in his hand in disbelief that this was happening to him. I moved my hand in a whipping motion, and pointed again to her butt. He moved to the side, took a deep breath and whacked her with a swat. Not hard, but it was feelable. We heard a "uhhhhh" around the gag. "Harder," I said. This time he whacked her good and got an "UUUHHHHHH" and muscle spasms as she tried to react to the pain. I held up four fingers, then sat back and watched. Now the sound was higher and was a continual shriek from the gag. His nuts were about to blow - I could see a drop of cum almost dripping from the little hole in his cock. If he shot it out prematurely, that was no problem. At his age, and with the intense stimulation, he could probably get off four or five times today.
After the strokes, I had him sit down and try to cool off for a moment, then went over and unbuckled her gag. She immediately responded with pleas for the Master to stop. That the slave would be good and would do anything... and so on. In Johns ear, I said. "You need to get some of the pressure relieved. Stick it in her mouth and let her suck you off." In seconds he was offering it to her. When she felt it touch her face, she knew exactly what was expected. It only took about thirty seconds of sucking, before he filled her mouth full. She choked as she attempted to hold it in, knowing from past experience that if one drop was spilled, she would feel the whip again. She finally got it down, and automatically started to clean him up. Then I sat him down again before his knees totally buckled.
Meanwhile, the pressures on my cohones were reaching criticality also. Especially since I hadn't had any last night. I scooped some ass cream from the jar on the shelf, lubed my rod and her dimple, then proceeded to ream her asshole. After I blew out the wad, I also was sitting on the bed, there only being one chair in the room.
I let him play with her for a while, after giving warning not to move the half hood to allow her to see, and also not to speak. As I left, he was massaging her dangling titties. I called my doctor's office and arranged for a certain appointment later in the week. Shortly, I was back in the room where my young apprentice was letting his fingers do the walking up and down and in her pussy. I needed a video shot with her face in the picture, so I warned John not to step in front of her, pulled her hood off, and tied her ponytail back with cord so that her face was pointed up at a forty five degree angle. There was no way she could see behind her. I moved out of video range and her eyeshot and motioned for him to feed his cock to her pussy from behind, also signaling quiet with my finger to my lips. He willingly grabbed hold of both hips, inserted his dong and pounded away. When he unloaded into her, I had him move back out of range, untied her hair, and put the hood back on. With the gag.
For the rest of the day, except for her rest period, I let him fuck and feel however he wanted. She was put in various positions and suffered various restraints and punishments. Finally, as the evening came on, I released her, she cleaned up and left. As her car coasted down the driveway, I called John from my bedroom where he was waiting.
"Well, what did you think?"
He was still having trouble believing his luck. "God Mr. Davis," - another phony name - "I didn't even know that stuff like this happened." He sat down at my gesture.
"I am thinking of a permanent position for you on the mountain top. Are you interested?" Hah. Would an altar boy be interested in being the gate keeper in Heaven?
"Shit yes. I mean... Yes, Sir." He nodded till I thought his neck would cramp.
"Ok, great. Heres the deal. Remember, total secrecy. And I mean total! Got it? I would hate to see you in jail for ten years or so and then stuck with a sex offender tag for the rest of your life."
Yes, Sir. Not a word."
"You will need to get a vasectomy. I already have one - they don't hurt and can be reversed someday if you want. But we can't be getting any woman pregnant - and, we don't use condoms here." I handed him a slip of paper. "Here is the doctor's office - the appointment is on Thursday and it is paid for."
"There isn't another client scheduled until next Saturday morning. So I will see you back here either that morning at dawn or the night before. Ok." As he got up, I flipped him a wad of cash. "By the way, here's an advance on your wages." His eyes widened at the view of more money than he made in three months.
I unlocked the garage and watched him drive down the driveway and onto the road.
Then I walked into my office and collapsed in my chair. Thirty six hours or more without sleep on top of a fricking unbelievable day and night, was catching up with me. After a few minutes, I headed for the Dungeon and didn't even bother to pinch Chocolate as I lay down and collapsed.
I had decided to leave Chocolate on a short neck chain at my bed - about eight feet in length - unless she was having to do something elsewhere. She could stand up and move a little, but would be always ready for me. I made sure that she had a bucket available for bodily functions. That next morning I was more than ready to bury myself in some part of her. However I stayed with her pussy since I wanted to stretch her a bit before pumping her rear hole. After I was done, I just continued to lay on her for a while, then she actually said something in a language that I totally didn't recognize.
While waiting for breakfast, I twiddled her clit - just casually rubbing it for a while, then got more serious, then finally tried to bring her off. She enjoyed it apparently, as her nipples grew hard and she got a sheen of sweat on her body, but I could never push her over the edge. At least, she was responding to the physical contact.
I had a busy day ahead, in fact a busy week. Mrs L., aka Susan, would probably schedule again in three months or so and I had to be ready for her by then. I got in the car and headed to a visit of my bookie - the man who knew where all the bodies were buried, and of everybody who would exchange any kind of work for cash.
When I got back, I began to view the video session that we had made, selecting certain frames for saving.
Dropping some hints about retiring with some other clients had convinced me that they were not going to give up their sessions lightly. I was going to have to make a whole new business plan. After weeks of thought, I finally reached the conclusion that if they wanted submission, then that was what they were going to get. I inspected the problem from all sides then decided that I would cross the Rubicon as soon as I got ready.
I began to make a major change in the access to the mountaintop. Emphasizing secrecy and the dangers of too many automobiles arriving at my establishment, I began to have the girls park at a long term lot in their own city - usually the airport - and picked them up in a car with the wrong license plates. The plates were valid and belonged on a car like mine, but a car that was not in my name and in fact, was stored in an old anonymous building somewhere. That was to fix the problem of video cameras possibly capturing my presence somewhere I didn't want to be seen. Like leaving the same lot that my client's car was parked in. I never speeded and the only danger was being randomly stopped and the plates being found to be wrong. But that was what high paid attorneys were for as I would have claimed ignorance and would have said that all I could do is put on the plates that the state sent me. If they sent the wrong ones, then talk to them. It was a very low level danger.
I began to dismantle all but two rooms - a sleeping chamber and one next to it that held B&D furniture. The hotel was an old 1950's structure, made of cinderblock and single story. It was built as two wings of ordinary motel rooms like hundreds of others that I had seen beside the highways all over America. I hadn't refurbished the entire hotel, just a few rooms of one wing, and not at all from the outside. The external appearance of even the finished rooms still looked like an abandoned structure - on purpose. Except for the two rooms that I was keeping, I began to remove all fixtures, rings on the walls and ceilings, and generally trying to put them back to looking like the dusty dirt filled cubicles that I had found years ago. Originally, the landscape around the hotel had been cut back to allow for a view in all directions, and the edifice could be seen from miles away, especially if the lights were on. But at least forty years of neglect had huge trees and brush growing in place of landscaping and as a result, the hotel couldn't even be glimpsed until the top of the driveway was reached.
Pancake was still first girl, even though Chocolate was my favorite bedwarmer and was usually the girl that I slept with unless it was her time of the month. Then one of the others filled in. I had Pancake train her to the restraints, but much more carefully than an American woman would be. I was sure that Chocolate would have absolutely no concept of the erotic pleasures of B&D. To her, being chained up was just something that a master did to keep her in one place. Pain fell into the same non-erotic category also. There was nothing fun about it - it was punishment, plain and simple, and was something to be avoided. So when I wanted any B&D pleasures, I had to turn to my original girls. Tormenting Chocolate would be like beating a small puppy - neither would have any understanding of what was going on and why.
Any bondage of Chocolate only gave pleasure to myself, not her. Nonetheless, she was trained to be obedient, instantly and totally. She began to pick up the rudiments of English, but not anywhere near enough to tell us where she was from. I finally got her to orgasm by using a normal woman's dildo vibrator, which absolutely fascinated her. She would have carried it with her all day, if I had let her. And in fact, at night would beg for the "bibrater."
However, Chocolate was not immune to the discipline of the cave. One night when she demanded the vibrator and was refused, she rolled over on her side away from me in the mistaken idea that she could withhold her services. She discovered her error quickly, as I yanked her over to the whipping posts by her hair, strung her up, and had Pancake stripe her a dozen times with the strap. She made no more refusals again after that.
Chocolate was wonderful on a cold winter evening when the wind and snow were howling up the mountainside. The inside of the cave was alway the same temperature, about 75 degrees, year around, but nevertheless, the human body still has a perception of chilliness when entering a room after being outside in the cold. Curling up under the covers, inside of long legs next to big warm boobs was heaven itself.
By now, all the girls were wearing some kind of halter for their tits. I had no interest in a bunch of third world looking titties sagging down to their navels. Especially Cupcake's, who's were large and Chocolates's who's were huge. Pancake was old enough that hers were drooping considerably, but I saw no reason to hasten the decent.
In the outside world, I lost another client to a husband who discovered the pleasures of B&D. So I was slowly whittling down my client list.
Naturally, my new teenage partner showed up early Friday night. He wasn't taking a chance on missing anything. I had some sandwiches in the 'fridge, just in case he showed up that night. Like all young men, he was all gonads and very little thought process. He was so focused on tail that he never even questioned where the food was coming from. I gave him a choice of drinks, and he selected a beer, which I opened and served in a glass for him. We sat in my office and talked - or I should say, he asked question after question - all about the B&D routines. Eventually, he started losing his focus, then began to slur words, and finally just sat back staring at nothing. When night fell, I steered him slowly down to the cave.
The girls were told that he was coming, so they were ready. He immediately went onto the examination table, and was waxed from the neck down, just as if he was a cunt. After that, I opened a box that I had ordered the day after he left here the first time, and pulled out a male chastity belt. This wasn't a sex shop toy, but a custom made device of stainless steel, totally unescapable. Three sets of internal gears allowed for slack to be given or taken out about an inch, and could be exactly snugged to fit. The straps were a woven stainless steel flexible band around the waist, with a strap descending to a penis and ball cage, made of stainless steel rods. This cage allowed his equipment to be seen, and had room for an erection, but totally prevented any access of anything larger than a pencil. From the bottom, another woven V belt went under and up the back to attach to the waist belt. The lock was in the back, and when unlocked allow the whole unit to be removed by dropping it down like a set of underwear.
It left his asshole available for any use, but I had never had an experience with a male. It wasn't that I was repelled by the idea, just that I found women much more desirable. The lock was supposedly unpickable. The warning with the package warned against the loss of the keys. It was several thousand dollars worth of equipment.
I noticed that his balls were still slightly swollen from the operation.
Afterward, a collar and ankle and wrist bracelets were permanently attached, just as were on the girls, and he was placed in a cage, which I locked and kept the key.
Half of the latest security problem was solved.
The Mountaintop and parts east
In the next two months, the operation of the hotel went normally. A client or two each week, wanting anywhere from just light confinement, to whippings and tight restraints. Mrs. T. wanted to be hanged again, only this time after two days of severe punishment. What the heck. The customer is always right, is my motto.
Mrs L., aka Susan, scheduled again. Only after two months. Her husband was so busy in politics that I guess she assumed that nothing she did would attract his attention. I wondered what she was thinking about the disappearance of her teenage toy. The second half of my plan was set into motion. As soon as she arrived, I just set her on the bed, left a plate full of sandwiches and a large gallon bottle of water beside it, locked the door and left. I am sure she was wondering what was going on, but I was too busy to worry about her. I drove to her home city, then parked down the street from the building where her husband's office was situated. I had weeks ago identified his car, and his parking space. I got out, dressed in a business suit, and headed for his building. Unfortunately, just as I was passing his automobile, I dropped the sheaf of papers that I was carrying. I had to get down on my hand an knees to retrieve them, but soon did, then continued down the street, around the block and back to my car. I looked down the street to where is auto was still parked, now with a magnetic GPS sender attached under the rear bumper, started up and drove to a hotel a few blocks away. In my room, I plugged my laptop into their network, brought up my tracker program, then relaxed back on the bed and watched TV.
It was late that night when his car started moving. I checked out, then drove to an all night Internet cafe and watched him drive home. As he was about there, I got in my car and drove to a 24 hour supermarket, and parked. Then I called his cell phone. The number was private, but had paid my bookie to find out what it was. He might have had a whitelist access set up where only phone numbers in his address would allow the phone to ring, but that was no problem. My phone was spoofing the number of his chief of staff, also supplied to me by my bookie.
"Hey, Burt, he answered.
"I'm not Burt Harris, Mr. Larson. I am a friend that is trying to prevent you from losing the election." He was running for Mayor, and had a good chance of getting it.
"What the hell. How did you get Burt's phone?"
I had to keep him from hanging up. "This is about your wife, who isn't at your house right now. Before you answer, let me state that I am not a blackmailer. I don't want money or anything from you. I am a businessman who wants that current green movement, tax and spend, paper hanging son-of-a-bitch out of office. You have the best chance of beating him. Are you interested?" His answer would determine which of two paths I would take.
"Go ahead," he said coldly.
"Ok. In short, your wife is in a sex club, playing games with a teenager every few days - mostly when you are out of town. Or very busy, like this month. I could care less about that, but if it hits the papers you are dead meat, as far as the election goes."
"Bullshit. My wife is attending an alumni conference in..."
"Bullshit yourself," I retorted. "Your wife at this moment is chained to a bed waiting to be fucked. Now if you don't believe me, you are going to lose the election. If you hang up, you are going to lose the election. If you don't do something about your wife, you are going to lose the election. Now, do I have your attention?"
"When this call is over, go out to your car. Under the back bumper is a magnetic device. It is a GPS tracker. All it was for is to tell me when you were home so we could talk in private. But also attached to it is a small USB drive with some pictures and a movie. Proof of what I am saying. Just plug it into to your computer and click on the pictures."
I continued. "Go get it. I will call you back from a different phone in fifteen minutes. If you are not interested, don't answer and I will forget that I called you. You can call the police if you want, but I am using a GO phone that can't be traced back to me. Besides, if the authorities get in on this, it gets all over the media and you not only lose the election, but are not going to like the pictures that the Internet is going to be full of. Remember, I'm on your side." I then hung up.
Time passed. About fifteen minutes worth.
He answered. This time he didn't try to play the tough guy. I started. "Ok, I assume that you have looked at some of the pictures."
"Yes," he said quietly.
"Now, first, let me assure you that the young man in the pictures will not be appearing with your wife in pictures anymore. I have had him taken care of. I did not keep a copy of them and I don't think any more exist. When you destroy yours, they will be gone. Your wife needs to disappear until after the election - do you agree?
"What do you mean, disappear?" he asked.
"I mean, leave the country, say for a trip to Europe for some reason. Make up whatever you want. I know that there is nothing left in your marriage of any value. The only reason you are staying together is because of your political career and her society climbing. Your marriage has been over for years, effectively. I am offering you a chance to move on without her. After the election, you can file for divorce - she won't contest it."
"What are you saying. That you will have her killed? I'm not going..." I interrupted him.
"Certainly not. That would just cause an investigation that might bring who-knows-what to light. But she can't stay here. The other members of the club will not let her stop her activities - they will blackmail her, not you. And I can't have all of them disposed of. For one thing, I don't know who all of the club members are."
He hesitated. "I have to think about this..." Another interruption.
"NO! This is the last contact you will have with me. If you say no, then I drop out and you can fix the problem yourself. If you say yes, then you can get on about winning the election and knowing that she will be too busy and too far away to play sex games. After the election, you can do what you want. Which is it?" I waited. I knew that he would have to pull himself together for at least a few seconds. If I had him pegged correctly, then his desire for political gain would override any other consideration.
Finally, in a low voice he said. "Ok, yes. Do what you have to."
"Very well, Mr. Larson. Put together a story about her going overseas last week. I suggest that she drove to Mexico and got on a plane from there. Maybe a friend whom she wanted to take along is on the US no fly list, or something like that, so they had to take an out of country flight. You have been so busy lately, that you can't remember the details. Make it simple and believable. Her car is at the airport, section H16, Lot 5. Write that down and have someone go get it."
"Good luck, Mr. Larson."
I broke both phones in half, and when I crossed the river, threw them over the side of the bridge.
In a couple of days, I found a local news item on the Web. It appeared that the candidate's wife had gone to Mexico City to consult a specialist, then to Europe to a private clinic because of a rare skin disease.
It was very late when I got back. Susan still sat in her room, chained by the neck all day, undoubtedly wondering what the hell was going on. Well, it didn't matter what she thought now. I would take care of her tomorrow. I went to the cave, snuggled up next to Chocolate, and was immediately asleep.
The next morning, I took breakfast to Susan. Since I also had the whip in my hand, she didn't blurt out the questions that she wanted to demand answers to. All I said, was "Eat," and left.
I relaxed in the dungeon all day. By now my new unnamed male slave had gotten over his utter surprise in waking up in a cage, rather than as the new employee of a sex hotel. Pancake taught him very quickly that he spoke only when spoken to. He stayed in his cage all the time, eating, pissing and pooping, except that he was brought out every morning after breakfast and fastened to the examination rack. Two girls used their electrolysis units on him for several hours a day, and he was gradually losing his hair from his feet to his eyes. Every few weeks at the first, he was waxed again. On occasion, I removed the chastity belt so his public hair could be worked on, making sure that one of the girls didn't decide to take advantage of the situation.
Had he not had the chastity belt on I had no doubt that the girls would have fought each other for access to his rod. As it was, they enjoyed tormenting him by swinging their titties over him and against him "accidentally" as they removed his hair. Or bending over his legs or pubic area during their electrolysis with their rear end toward his face with their entire crack showing everything. As a result, he was continually in a state of massive hardon frustration. This morning was no different.
I had never played sexual games with a male. It just wasn't anything that I had ever even thought about or looked to do. But now I had one for experimentation. After the girls were finished for the morning, I had Cupcake strap a gag on him. Then began to examine his body, stretched out as for a gynecological examination, legs wide and up, knees bent. The difference from a doctor's office, was that his arms were fastened above his head. Of course, I couldn't touch his genitals, but I ran my fingers up and down his torso, legs and arms. He was not a large boy, about 5 feet 8 inches, and somewhere around 130 pounds. No fat, which made him in the minority for these days. Unless he had had a wet dream or just had just gone off from sheer pressure, I knew that he hadn't come for days or weeks. I decided to see what it would take. Dipping my finger in some lube, I stuck it in his tight little asshole, and stirred it around. As soon as I touched his prostate, he jumped as if he had been electrocuted. I told Cupcake to bend over him and let her titties sway back and forth with her nipples dragging his chest. As I massaged, he just groaned, with his fists clinching and unclenching and his feet straining as his toes pointed away from his body. In no time at all, he went over the top and shuddered in a massive orgasm as he blew a load all over his stomach. I told them to put him back in his cage.
That evening, I went back to the hotel to visit Susan. Unknown to her, she was in for a rough evening. Or course she jumped up and squatted the instant that I came in the door. With the whip in full view, I told her to stand up. I then laced her arms into a single glove, added a ball gag, removed the collar from her neck and replaced it with a leash. Then I towed her down the wing to another room. There I sat her down on a mat and locked her ankle bracelets together. As she began to look around, she saw a stool with a noose hanging from the ceiling. A moment of disbelief, then she began to try to scream through the gag. I left her and shut the door.
I did some paperwork and surfing in my office, then an hour later went to look in on her. She had calmed down somewhat, but was still mewing though her gag. When she saw me, she shook her head violently and began to try to shout again. I picked her up from behind, and moved toward the stool under the noose. She absolutely panicked. She was thrashing her entire body, and was kicking out with her bound legs. As I got to the stool, she kicked it over. This wasn't going to work.
The noose had a different setup from before, this time going though a pulley in the ceiling to a clamp on the wall. I loosened the clamp, dropped the noose to where I could put it around her neck, then began to draw it back toward the ceiling. This time she had to follow it, or choke. When I had her on tiptoes, I set the stool back, and with one arm lifted her and with the other pulled the slack out of the rope. I reached down and unlocked the fastener holding her ankles together. Then I stood back and looked.
She was standing fully erect, with the noose snug, but not tight. Her feet were standing flat on the top of the stool and of course, her arms were still in the single glove. She was now just moaning as she looked at me from her perch. I sat down in a chair in front of her and waited for her to run down a bit. Of course, she was drooling around the gag. She was a beautiful sight, standing there with her titties bobbing up and down and back and forth with her struggles. As her knees were together, her pussy was just a crack, from the bottom of her Venus mound to where it disappeared between her thighs. Like most women, she had a small dimple at the very top where it started.
In a few minutes, I swatted her stomach lightly with the crop. "Be quiet." I ordered. She calmed down and waited with expanded eyes. "Thats better, " I said and sat back down in the chair.
"I have a message from your husband, the honorable Mr. Larson." Now she got very quiet, and her jaw would have dropped open if it hadn't already been spread by the gag. "He knows about your little meetings with your young boy-toy. And..." I continued, "about your predilection for bondage sports." Now she not only deathly quiet, she was becoming goggle eyed. "And, besides totally violating my rules about keeping this enterprise secret, you have done just about everything you could to expose it." Now she was shaking her head and trying to say "OOOOOO" around the gag. I paused for a minute.
"Anyway," I continued, "I talked with Mr. Larson last night and he has decided that you are a surplus and unneeded item for his political career." Another pause. "He and I agreed that you should drop out of the picture. I believe the word we used, was 'disappear.'" I went outside for a minute then returned with a tall barstool. "So, we both agreed that your disappearance would solve both his and my problems."
Again I left, then return with a large glass object. It took her a second or so to finally determine that it was a huge hourglass. Not as large as the one in the OZ movie, but still over a foot tall. It was an item I had picked up on one of my trips around the state. And, it was a real hourglass - that is, it held an hour's worth of sand. I made a production of flipping it over and setting it on the barstool.
"Watch this," I said. "When the sand run out, yours does also." I left a very terrified woman standing and watching a thin trickle of sand measure her lifespan.
The Mountain top
In the two months that since I had picked up my male slave, I finally noticed an undercurrent of... something... every time when I came back to the dungeon after being away for the day. Something was going on and I didn't know what. The fix for that problem was a hidden camera connected to a computer that would record all day while I was gone. It took exactly one day to find out what was going on.
Every morning, the boy would be removed from his cage, and brought to the examination table to continue his depilation routine. The girls would first have him back up to the bars, and Pancake would lock his wrists together. I had warned them to never let him out of his cage without his wrists being locked behind his back. He was not that large, but he was still male and they were female. Despite the fact that women's libbers hated to admit it, the average man was stronger than the average woman. Besides, most boys learned early how to fight and most girls almost never did. They would not remove the lock between his wrists until he was on the table and his ankles were spread wide and fastened. When the session was over, the reverse procedure was used. First his wrists were freed, he was sat up and they were re-secured behind his back, then his ankles released.
After he arrived, I had made a change in the entrance. The original disguised door was there, but inside was a steel wall about six feet down the tunnel. This had an electronic lock with a keypad. Six feet even further down the tunnel was still another steel wall with a high security key lock in the door. Unlike most secure areas, these locked doors were made to be secure from exiting the area, rather than entering. To get out, I had to have the key to the first door, then key in the code to the second door, then exit the outside door.
My reasoning was that, instead of having just women, all of whom where almost totally ignorant of things and tools mechanical, I now had a young man who knew how to use tools - in fact, he had been a plumber's helper. Given time, he could probably break out of the ordinary outside door. This scheme would at least slow him down.
Nevertheless, anytime I was gone for more than a day, everyone in the cave had attachment chains leading to the huge eyebolt in the back cave wall. And he was always locked in his cage during those times and I kept the key.
When I viewed the video that night, I saw that the girls took the opportunity of a bound and spread helpless male, and, one at a time, to sit on his face and let him lick them to orgasm. As I sat back from the computer, I thought over what I had just seen. At that age I would probably have thought I was in heaven if I had been allowed to eat three delicious cunts, but I wondered what he thought of the exercises. I mused that it was probably a good thing that he had the chastity belt on, otherwise he might be down to 85 pounds by now.
Almost an hour had gone by, and my pulse was racing, just like it had done the last two times that I had performed this act with Mrs T. I peeked around the door and saw that the sand had not quite run out. Susan was trying to say something over and over through her gag. I waited out of view and watched the hourglass. Finally, the last grain dropped through the narrow opening. I entered the room and immediately noticed that Susan had already, in the last hour sometime, lost control of her bladder. There was piss all over the floor under the stool. She wailed and screamed through the gag as I walked up and pulled the stool out from under her.
The sounds from her mouth were choked off but her dance on air immediately began. Her legs swung widely, desperately trying to find something to stand on to relieve the choking pressure on her windpipe. Then she lost control of her bowels, and the shit poured out of her, splashing on the stool and floor. Shortly, her struggles began to slow down, and finally she hung there just swinging to and fro. I sat and watched as her pendulum swings slowed to a stop. What a waste. This was a passionate and desirable woman. If her husband had only bothered to lift his head out of his political and business interests and just looked with seeing eyes, he could now not only be a successful man, but at night he could be going home to paradisiacal delights.
The critical ninety seconds was not yet up, but I pulled the release latch on the clamp and lowered her to the floor. I removed the gag and made sure that she had started to breath. Then, I threw her over my shoulder, and walked out into the night toward the cave.
Entering, I handed her over to Pancake, and told her to get her cleaned up. As they did that, Susan slowly came to her senses, but Pancake whacked her when she started to ask questions. After that she just obediently followed instructions. When I had ordered the chastity belt for my boy, I had also ordered several for women. These were in various sizes and I really don't know why I did. Just the thought that they might come in handy some day. I selected one that should fit on Susan, took it over and waited for her to be dried off. Then she was stood up and I had her step into it, pulled it up to her waist, made a couple of adjustments, then closed the lock. Unlike the one that I had bought for Mrs A, this one could be taken off. I examined her from all sides, tried to finger her around the belt, failed, and then told Pancake to throw her in the cage with her ex-boy-toy.
Next. The hotel evolves.
End of Book 2
Copyright© 2011 by Morlock. All rights reserved.