The beautiful, smartly dressed, tousle hair blond who was visiting the shabby apartment in New York looked somewhat out of place. She was a glorious vision, beneath a black leather jacket she wore a light blue blouse through which a delightful pair of breasts, thrust eagerly. A small white lacy bra, barely needed to support their shapely firmness, 3/4 tantalizingly visible through the wispy top, enhanced them. Below that, a blue pleated miniskirt clung to the tightly rounded of a, so touchable, bottom revealing much of her tanned shapely thighs and slim legs.
An observer, collecting his thoughts might have wonder why the girl stood with legs widely, immodestly space! More unusually, her hands were raised high above her head, uplifting her breasts still higher. Further into that dingy room, it would be see that her lovely green eyes, framed in a doll-like face, were wide with fear. They were fixed on the wheelchair-bound figure of an obese Chinese slob just before her. Looking like a loathsome toad, he was the sort of creature that such a wondrous beauty would cross a busy street to avoid.
It would now be apparent that the Oriental man had some kind of hold over the girl. That was confirmed by the gray sub-nose gun protruding toy-like from the man's large fist. Furthermore, as if evidence was needed of the trouble the girl was in, there was the figure of a young man slumped beside the wheelchair. Blood oozed into the cheap carpet from a gash in his head, Behind the wheelchair stood an old frumpy Chinese woman, smirking at the scene, content to simply watch the act unfolding before her. When the girl, following the orders of the old man, began unbuttoning her jacket, shuddering as she did so, her awful predicament would be all too clear.
***** ***** *****
Rosemary's eyes were wide with despair, her bowels a hot liquid pit of churning fear. It was difficult to remain absolutely still, as she had been instructed, hands above her head and tongue fully extended to balance her police identity card on it. She looked and felt ridiculous, that was the idea she guessed. To add to her humiliation before the gloating slob in the wheelchair, she had been made to strip completely naked. Her captor had also clipped her police lapel badge to one delicate throbbing nipple. It tinkled with every anguished breath.
How could she and Michael, whose body was slumped unconscious on the floor, have allowed themselves to walk into the trap? Why had she volunteered to go on these raids? She didn't have to. But if Rosemary was honest with herself, it was revenge and it had been most sweet - until now.
Only a few minutes ago she had been totally in control. Holding her slim Biretta handgun in marksmen's twin-handed grip, she had assumed a routine crouch to one side of the apartment door the rugged, handsome figure of her fellow agent.
Michael - also British, and ex-SAS - was on the opposite side. Despite the three months of intensive training in Hereford, and her subsequent experience of such missions, she still felt the thrill of adrenaline course through her body. There was also the shiver of pleasure when Michael had affectionately (sensually she had wondered?) patted her bottom, making her tingle. She had then wanted to complete the job before the moment between them was lost. Maybe preoccupation had blunted caution?
Subsequent to her training she had enjoyed a successful six months working with a team of undercover agents seconded to the US and British police. They were in American now because the white slave and drug running gang they were after had gone to ground in this country. Recruited for her knowledge of that criminal empire, run by her old adversaries Sheik Macom and Matilda, she was a member of a squad tracking down the remaining gang members.
They had captured all the fiends that had so tormented her over the last year, Matilda, the crone's husband Keith, Clive, Fu-Lick, Me-Lin, Greta. She recalled now the wonderful sense of power, almost like an aphrodisiac, as her adversaries realized that the girl who had been their slave, their sexual plaything, now called the shots. Initially disbelieving, they soon appreciated the reality of the steady gun in her hands. So unnaturally for such people who unthinkingly dominated others, they had to obey Rosemary's curt commands. She enjoyed seeing their gloating expressions changing to shock as they realized it was all over - and that she had achieved it.
Sheik Macom had been captured, by herself, during her and husband Donald's rescue by the SAS from his Middle Eastern palace. She recalled his expression at her threat to castrate him. Now, the ringleaders, apart from Angelica, had been caught and the assignment was, she gathered, shortly to be wrapped up.
For Rosemary her job as an agent was perfect. Allowing her to renew her career as a model whilst providing perfect cover for her undercover police activities. Modeling assignments would conveniently' take place in locations near to suspected gang members and a covert operation undertaken to capture them. She knew she would be at a loss when she reverted to being just a model or housewife again. Apart from the power, there were also the secret feelings for her partner, Michael. Feelings which she knew she must hide from her husband, Donald. It would be an anti-climax when Angelica herself had been brought to justice. The Negress, her ex-maid, had originally, by blackmail, turned her and her husband's lives in London upside down, making her do disgusting, vile things. The vixen had been ultimately responsible for making slaves of them both in the harem and subsequently Matilda's mansion in England.
Now defeat stared Rosemary in the face. Maybe she and Michael should have been concentrating harder on the task in hand. However, their informant had said that the man in the apartment, who could lead them to Angelica, was an invalid. Indeed, he had been recently photographed at a hospital in a wheelchair. Living only with his elderly wife he could hardly they thought, "Present a potent threat!"
There had been silence from within the apartment and Michael's careful turn of the handle ascertained that the door was locked. Rosemary had maintained her posture, checking the corridor was empty. Whilst he deftly gained access. On the, practiced, count of three they had leapt into the darkened and seemingly empty lounge. Lowering their guns, relaxing a little, they individually checked the rooms, which led off it.
'The bastard's out ... Rosemary had begun.
Crack!
As she began to turn instinctively towards the sickening sound of metal hitting bone, a voice called out of the darkness. It was chillingly frightening.
"Freeze, bitch! One more move ... you and partner be history."
Rosemary's belly flip-flopped as she obediently stopped. Whoever was in the room must have been expecting them, a set up. Suddenly her feelings of invincibility and power evaporated. After being in control in so many of these situations she was again on the receiving end.
Total silence. Then a small sidelight was switched on, chasing away some of the shadows. Moving only her eyes she could just make out a large seated figure and Michael's slumped form by it. He was groaning softly and she could see the sheen of a small pool by his head.
"Let me help him, he's bleeding!" screamed Rosemary but, as she made to move, the room erupted in a blaze of light and she saw more clearly the fat, gloating slob in the wheelchair.
"I said fucking freeze!" he shouted.
He was Oriental, somewhere in his fifties she guessed. Bald, slimy utterly repellent. His small slanted eyes, like two currants in bowl of rice, glinted fiercely. In addition to a gun, he held a knife. She stared at the tiny, blue-gray blade caressing her partner's helpless face. It mesmerized her like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights, making her realize just how much that man meant to her.
The greasy toad's eyes darted greedily over the gorgeous creature standing immobile before him.
"Quite looker for Western woman, but I take no chances, I hear you dangerous. Look at friend later. First we worry about you. With one hand put gun safety catch on. Then drop. Good," he continued as she reluctantly obeyed, "now, kick over to me, then spread pretty legs wide."
Her captor's slobbish exterior had been apparent from his photos in hospital. However, nothing could have prepared her for the reality of those coal-black eyes. They could have been pitched up from the darkest recess of hell to penetrate her soul. He was confined to a wheelchair by the plaster casts on his legs. So their informant had been right about the man being helpless - but had misled them about his remaining abilities.
Then, from behind him, Rosemary saw with dawning realization, the fat homely figure of the old Chinese woman whose information had brought them here. The glasses and wig she had worn at the police station were now lying on the chair. Grunting with effort, she picked up Rosemary's discarded gun and gave it to the man.
"Yes, Mrs. Pierce, you already meet Tina here," the man spoke with a hint of a laugh but without taking his eyes off her. "Unfortunately for you, she my devoted wife."
He caught her eyes looking at his legs and patted the casts on them, laughing.
"You should see other fellow! After my road accident, I paid well to act as decoy. Lure you to helpless old man - before my casts removed tomorrow."
"Please, now let me help my friend, he's hurt," pleaded Rosemary.
"He live - unfortunately," the man's eyes didn't falter from her. "You and he apparently cause many people much grief, so suffering appropriate." He licked his lips. "Now I see what else you have on you. Tip contents of handbag onto floor."
Rosemary's secondary weapon of an immobilizing spray fell uselessly at her feet with other more mundane and personal things.
"So many surprises for young lady. But you learning to obey good. Now, remove all clothing and kick over here, please. I need no tell what will happen to you, or him, if disobey." He added with menace.
Her mind raced, considering but discarding numerous alternatives. She was undoubtedly the most able-bodied person in the room that counted for nothing against a knife and gun. All her high-flown plans and dreams of remaining in this line of 'exciting' work were collapsing. With dread she realized she was once again a helpless captive, rather than a glamorous secret agent.
Her hands in constant view, Rosemary undressed. Trembling fingers, seemingly now as big as cucumbers, clumsily undid buttons and zips. Each discarded garment was her trappings of civilization, symbols of her power and authority. Finally the wispy undergarments slid to a pool at her feet until she stood naked and helpless.
Shivering, gooseflesh bubbling on her shoulders, the memories of similar predicaments came flooding back, memories she wanted to forget. It was so demeaning to be forced to undress before anyone, let alone such a gloating creep as this. The contrast with her previous power as a police agent was absolute in its juxtaposition.
"That better, but still a police-lady. Must make sure you conceal nothing. Lift breasts with hands please, turn slowly, we make sure nothing taped under them."
Crimson, she pushed up her breasts and turned to face him.
"Hold up higher."
Unable to meet for long the piggy eyes devouring her abject humiliation, she squashed her breasts upward like a pornographic model.
"Good, they nice. Now hands out away from sides, I have Tina frisk properly, I think," he grinned, his face etching into creases. Releasing her boobs and standing as directed, Rosemary grimaced as the horrible old crone slouched over. She was made to open her mouth for the woman to peer inside, and then the woman's paws thoroughly explored her curves. She smelt of tobacco and sweat, and had teeth which had not recently made acquaintance with a toothbrush.
"Open legs, we look here too, girl." Her hand trailed over the soft down and roughly between her victim's thighs.
"Oohh, alili," Rosemary winced as callous fingers probed her intimately.
"Tight little arse," the woman chuckled as her finger pushed unnaturally past the sphincter before patting the firm cheeks of her bottom.
Meanwhile the man had been examining Rosemary's things, holding up her blouse and skirt, tiny lace undergarments, running the silken perfumed material through his fingers with a leer.
"She no dressed without police badge. Stick tongue right out. Rest her ID card on it, Tina," as he had instructed, "and clip badge on Tit so we know who she is. It reminds her, too. Hands behind you, girl. Use her own cuffs, Tina."
Rosemary stood mute and helpless as, brutally, the old woman cuffed her hands behind, painfully constricting the skin in a metallic embrace. Her exposed breasts jutting towards her tormentors. She cringed and winced as the witch roughly fastened the clip to bite onto one delicate tit.
"Not too tight, I hope," the woman chortled sadistically, slapping the silken flesh to make the delicious fruit jiggle - and Rosemary wince with cruel, intimate pain.
The hag then turned to Michael, stripping his clothes off, laughing at his small penis, flipping his limpness. Eventually though, she did bandage his wound.
The blonde tried to ignore the various discomforts from her shivering nudity, her throbbing nipple and stretched tongue. The tight cuffs were also constricting her circulation, making her fingers grow numb. However, she knew that any plea for mercy would simply be music to her captors.
Despite a growing dread, she remained obediently unmoving when the man wheeled himself behind her. However, she jumped when his sweaty hand groped her breasts, patted and then fondled the cheeks of her bottom.
"Juicy," he commented.
How quickly, Rosemary realized, had she slipped back into her previous lifestyle - unquestioning obedience on fear of punishment. She was a woman of the world, with hopes, ambitions and dreams. Now these evaporated fast as she lost control, her own wants and desires fading into insignificance as she was mauled like a show animal.
A shudder rippled over her silken flesh, delighting the heavily breathing man. Then, the doorbell interrupted him.
"Nice upholstery. If you want keep it that way, little pink tongue stays right out without sound while we see who at the door."
Hope surged through her. Maybe it was a back-up team?
When the visitor shook hands with her captor, handing him money, all such hopes vanished. Rosemary knew she was lost! He too looked slimy and evil. His eyes drilled into hers above flared nostrils, below, which a pencil-thin moustache curled. She guessed his age to be early twenties. That he was Mexican, with maybe Spanish blood, seemed apparent from his coffee colored complexion and jet black curly hair. Somewhat out of place against his mean countenance, he wore a doctor's gown. Behind him was a beautiful Spanish-looking woman of a similar age wearing a nurse uniform, her dark hair piled into a bun. She giggled at Rosemary's humiliating pose.
"What a pretty picture," she laughed richly with a trace of accent, shaking her head almost unbelievably.
The Mexican initially ignored Rosemary, but, after briefly ascertaining that Michael was all right, he turned to her. Whistling softly, he eyed her slowly up and down, casually taking her ID card from her out-stretched tongue.
"She's a beauty, Wang." he remarked to the Chinese man, "The client will be pleased you caught the little chick. She sure doesn't look much like police standing like that, but she's made a real nuisance of herself.
Rosemary winced as he crudely squeezed her breast and flicked the swinging badge attached to it, making her gasp in smarting pain. As she squirmed helplessly in his arms, he crushed her to him, lifting her cuffed wrists to give her bottom a hard slap. She felt an obscene lump pressing against her pubic mound.
"Better get them under and on their way, Senita," he spoke to the girl in the nurse's uniform. "I'll get the ambulance ready."
"Too right, Miguel or you'll be fucking her here and now," the girl spoke icily to the Mexican, her eyes flashing.
Abruptly she grabbed one of Rosemary's pinioned aims. "Come here, slut, let mamma put you to sleep."
"Please, just let us go and..." the bound girl began to struggle but Senita's response was a teeth-rattling slap.
"You'll not get out of this one, girl," Senita snarled, "besides I hear you're used to a bit of rough." She smiled cruelly, concentrating on preparing a hypodermic needle. "Don't move or I might accidentally jab your face - or somewhere else - with the needle. I wonder if the men would still like you then?"
Rosemary recoiled as the needle slowly circled below her wide, horror-struck eyes. Then it traced patterns over the trembling globe of a breast. Thankfully, she felt the jab only in her arm. Slumping to her knees as the drug took effect, she saw the woman inject Michael. Everything appeared in triplicate before she collapsed to the carpet.
Chapter 2
Rosemary had been dreaming that she was a policewoman in trouble - but she was really having a lay-in at home under starched crisp white sheets. Sensing sunlight beyond her eyelids and movement around her, she guessed Donald was bringing her breakfast in bed. Her mind told her hands to push down to sit her up, but she seemed unable to move. Opening her eyes, she realized with alarm that they only responded sluggishly. When they did scroll up, Rosemary appreciated the terrible reality.
She was in an unfamiliar white booth. A buxom nurse in her forties hummed cheerfully to herself. Again Rosemary tried to move, but her brain's command failed to reach any of her limbs. Only her eyes could move. They appealed, helplessly, to the uniformed figure now looking down on her.
"Awake are you now, sweetheart?" she spoke with an American accent, plumping up Rosemary's pillows. "You'll be all right, though' you'll have that paralysis till the drug wears off. We'll make sure all's well before you leave."
The nurse looked down almost pityingly on the pretty girl. Those wide green eyes, the only pan of her body she could move, strained to tell her something. With a final glance at the silent, still figure, blonde hair fanned across the white pillows, she pulled the screening curtains behind her and left to look at her other charge.
Desperately, Rosemary tried to signal with her eyes but the crate enclosed her again. She must let them know that she was a police agent, that her partner was hurt, that the other nurse and doctor were bogus! If only the curtain was not drawn. There must, she thought, be other staff or patients in this hospital? Somehow she must let them know that her suspects were escaping? Maybe they could be recaptured? She could hear a radio and beyond that the nurse bustling over someone else. There were other faint indistinguishable voices - all tantalizingly out of her sight or proper hearing.
She concentrated all her energy on one hand. After an eternity, with sweat pooling in her eyes, she managed to move the upper joint of one finger a fraction of an inch. It was a start. Over the next hour she strained, her body sweating under the sheet. Now she was able to move one finger and toe! Voices and hospital sounds were so close, just beyond the screen, but they might have been in another world.
Suddenly the curtain opened and the nurse returned.
"Let's see how you're doing, darlin'."
She pulled the sheet right off to reveal her patient's nudity and saw the sheen of effort.
"Good girl, keep trying to move. Can you grip this pencil?"
She dangled it in the palm of Rosemary's hand but only one finger curled to greet it.
"It won't be long now; meantime, I'll check you over."
Her body was a lump of meat in the capable clinical hands, invaded, probed, turned this way and that. She hated the indignity of the thermometer jutting rudely from her buttock cheeks, the tubes in her, but at least she was able to empty an uncomfortably full bladder She didn't care. Another finger was tingling, surely the effects would wear off soon and she could get out of the bed and explain what had happened? The cool hands of the nurse were familiar around her bare shoulders, spooning soup into her slack mouth, a napkin wiping away the dribbles. It tasted horrible but Rosemary guessed that it would give her some strength, help her to regain her mobility more quickly. If she could only talk, or if the nurse would leave the screen open. So many ifs!
After two more hours on the bed she slowly felt sensation returning all over. Busily she practiced stretching and bending every muscle to encourage the return of their usefulness. Even her lips had regained some feeling. Hope was building in her now. Lifting her head from the pillow, Rosemary planned her route to the curtained screen. She could make it in four steps. She could now almost talk in a croak and imagined herself snatching aside that screen, nudity unimportant right now, and announcing to the ward that she was a Government agent, then demanding the use of a phone. Her self-confidence returned with her feelings. She would make this stupid hospital suffer for not even checking who she was!
All going to plan, Rosemary was out of the bed and clutching the chair. One more step to the curtain. Taking a deep breath, she snatched the screen away. Then her mouth dropped open with surprise and horror, whilst the nurse sitting at the end of the ward clapped her hands.
Michael lay naked strapped to a trolley. Apart from a bandage around his head and appearing drowsy he looked fine. There were no other occupants in the beds and Rosemary guessed, correctly, that the 'hospital' consisted solely of this one tiny ward.
"Ready to move on, are you, honey?' inquirer the nurse. "I wouldn't be too keen, personally. Anyway, I've checked you both over and you look OK now. I've done my bit and I can get on home."
Rosemary sobbed as the bogus doctor and nurse who had drugged her rose from playing cards with the nurse and strolled across to her.
"Hello again, beautiful. That's right, no need to dress," Miguel laughed, playfully slapping her bottom, making her stagger. "Yeah, the organization uses this place as a half-way house. It ensures no one has been following, and that you're not bugged. There are other purposes too, which you'll soon discover!"
The drug still was rendering Rosemary as weak as a kitten. Senita had no difficulty in laying her on another trolley. Like Michael, she was secured tightly, like a dangerous patient. Broad straps crossed her stomach and thighs. Her wrists similarly fastened to the sides of the trolley.
The nurse sighed. She was paid well to do a job without asking questions. What happened to the 'patients' after her care, or what they were doing here anyway, was no concern of hers? She just had to ensure they were fit for anything. Nevertheless, the pretty girl's pitiful look of despair and horror made her impulsively reach out to brush a lock of damp hair from the forehead. "Take care, honey, and be brave." She gave a weak smile as she left them to their fate.
***** ***** *****
They were pushed along endless deserted corridors of the large hospital, presumably closed long ago to legitimate business. Miguel and Senita, holding torches to ward off the gloom, carelessly crashed the trolleys through swing doors, painfully jolting Rosemary, making her cringe at the reverberations inches from her bound body. They opened the doors of a lift. Descending, it felt as if the dark, dank, echoing liftshaft led into hell. Shivering with fear and cold, she was wheeled out again.
Electric lights illuminated their destination - a room that could once have been a large subterranean operating theatre. The cold, antiseptic feel of the place, which still retained many surgical implements, electrical machines and furniture, was emphasized by gleaming white tiles on the walls and ceiling, and drains in the floor.
However, any resemblance to a hospital was dispelled by the sight of two steel, dome-like cages, set at either end of a large desk. With a shock, Rosemary recalled the awful and vivid dreams she had when she had first fallen into Angelica 's web of blackmail. In the dreams, she and her husband Donald were confined in such cages until being taken out and vilely tortured. With terrible foreboding, she wondered whether the dream was almost some kind of premonition of events, which were to happen now, a year later?
After releasing her from the trolley. A gleeful Senita, fitted wrist, ankle and neck cuff to Rosemary's, still weak limbs. Abruptly her hands were fastened helplessly behind her head, and then she was pushed into the terrible constriction of the cage. As in the dream, she was forced to crouch on the balls of her feet, immediately sending shafts of pain into the cramped calf muscles supporting her whole weight. For balance, her thighs had to be splayed immodestly wide and Senita clipped Rosemary's ankles to the bars, preventing her easing herself by slipping her feet through the widely spaced bars and sitting. As the cage door clanged shut, red twinges of pain traveled the length of her spine painfully curved within the approximate three-foot prison.
Squatting, breasts jutting just above her knees, Rosemary saw Michael being similarly confined like a large pink parrot. Grinning, Senita seductively stroked the length of his penis, licking her lips as it grew under her ministrations. Then, cruelly, she flicked the organ swinging between his thighs, making him gasp in agony.
Unconsciously, Rosemary's eyes widened in appreciation at her first real sight of the man to whom she had grown so close. Their eyes met in mutual sympathy. After he glanced at the velvet feast which she was forced to display between her open thighs, she noted the consequential thickening again of his interest. In despair, they watched as various unpleasant-looking devices were laid out neatly on the desk between the two cages.
"Hey! Shall we ... you know, give them a treat before they suffer?" Senita swung seductively across to Miguel, her hand stroking over the growing bulge in his jeans. "I want it now!"
Crudely, he jerked up the hem of her short dress and ripped off her panties whilst she tugged at his zip to ease out his brown penis. Gripping her bottom he seated her on the edge of the desk. "You," he ordered Michael, "look down. If I see your eyes anywhere but on your tiny prick, I'll cut it off. You though, Blondie, will continue to look at us while we do it. I'll cut your boobs off, if you don't."
"He means it," purred Senita, rubbing the Mexican's chest as she swiveled her bottom on the desk to face her lover.
Immediately, Michael looked down like a child caught staring at adults. Rosemary had to crane her neck up to stare at the couple before her. When Senita flung her legs wide around Miguel's waist, Rosemary couldn't help but notice the profusion of dark hair guarding the pouting pink orifice.
Small white teeth bared with lust, Senita winked at the caged girl as her lover thrust deep into her depths. The look conveyed to the prisoner how she was simply a caged animal whilst her captor was free to enjoy herself, flaunt and show off.
Michael could hear their grunts and gasps, the slap of flesh against flesh. The sounds grew in pace, the girl's cries becoming higher pitched. Then the Mexican grunted like a pig as he satisfied his lust.
"We'll leave you to stew for a while," he said when they had adjusted their clothing. "There are buckets in the desk below your little perches so feel free to piss if you wish - but I'd advise you to watch your aim and not mess the desk," he grinned. "Your interrogator, the person who arranged all of this, should be here soon. I would suggest that you hold nothing back because we already know most of what we need. However, we will squeeze out the last drops." He grinned coldly.
Rosemary and Michael regarded each other with wide frightened eyes as their tormentors left the room. Although they were close enough to hold hands, if they had been free, they were each caged, unable to help one another in any way. She felt so fearful, so vulnerable. Why had she been so stupid as to think she could be an agent? Was the thin veneer of power of being a policewoman really worth it? She was not a fearless heroine now, simply a frightened woman who now needed comfort, reassurance and help. A need to empty her bladder made it self-known, but natural modesty prevented her performing like an animal before Michael.
Things had been so different during her training. That had been fun and exciting, apart from a couple of occasions. Once someone had kicked her stomach too hard during unarmed combat and the camp doctors had insisted on checking her thoroughly in hospital for a couple of days. All was OK though, apart from feeling rather sick and sore from the anaesthetic and probes.
The other incident she would rather forget. It had been her training to resist interrogation. The masked, burly soldiers had been waiting on her return to her room after a disco on the camp. Although she had been warned to expect it sometime during her training, the experience was still frightening. Hooded and with her wrists cuffed behind her she was dragged into the back of a truck, thrown to the floor and driven off. Her captors had remained ominously silent, kicking her if she talked or moved.
Taken from the truck, her cuffs were removed. However, it seemed for hours that, still frighteningly hooded, she had to lean on stiff arms and widely spaced legs against a wall. Whenever she moved someone would lash her body with what felt like a baton, screaming at her to remain still. When she thought she could no longer stand, her arms and legs quivering with strain, she was roughly dragged down further corridors and her hood snatched off. A masked man and woman ordered her to remove her dress. It was a short black mini and the woman laughed, holding it up as Rosemary shivered in her delicate lace underwear, covering herself with her hands from the harsh eyes. For an hour she had to stand on a table before them in just her bra and panties, holding a chair above her head and answering endless questions about her training. The man and woman would shout, making her jump. If the chair lowered or if she gave what they considered an inadequate answer, they had her doing push-ups at their feet. After the man left, the woman then made her strip completely. She probed all over and into her before hooding her again and dragging her off, stark naked, through cold draughty corridors.
The questions resumed with Rosemary now leaning naked against the tiled wall of what sounded and smelt like a lavatory. She felt incredibly vulnerable within the darkness of her hood as she heard men coming and going. As they used the lavatory, men patted and touched her, raucous laughter echoed. Still the questions continued - did the woman have no consideration for a fellow woman's feelings? She was, Rosemary decided a butch Army NCO who wanted to take this pretty 'civvy' to the limit - make her break. Little did she know of Rosemary's previous experiences and, although her ordeal was unpleasant, she learnt afterwards that she had given a good account of herself.
Shaking herself, Rosemary knew this was for real, not part of her training, she couldn't quit the course. These people could do anything they wanted with her. She doubted her ability to hold up, and looked at Michael for support.
"I'm so sorry about this, don't hold back, tell them anything they want to know," managed Michael now able to talk clearly. Guessing the room was bugged; he needed to tell their captors that they would co-operate. They had; in any case, little information which could do any real harm, and he had come to realize that well being of the beautiful woman bound next to him was paramount to him. He longed to kiss away the fear in her eyes and run his hands through her tousled blonde hair. To take her in his arms, stroke her silken loveliness and down the cruelly con-toned curve of her spine, re-assure and ease her suffering.
"I'm -I'm sorry too. I couldn't get us out of ... aaghhh, out of this-this mess..." Rosemary whispered, interrupted by a agonizing cramp taking one of her muscles in its spiteful embrace, "I want so-so in-much to be ... to be brave, but I'm frightened. I'll be no good if they h-hurt us..."
"I'll do the talking, don't worry," he assured her, "they'll know it's not your doing, that you are just assisting the police." He tried to sound convincing.
Time passed slowly. In dread, Rosemary's eyes were drawn to the implements on the desk, her imagination giving them power, hopefully, far beyond the reality. Sweat dripped onto her bare feet. Hot lances drove along muscles, which she longed to unfold from their cramped positions. More demons with pitchforks jabbed her folded calves - how she longed to stretch her legs and ease her weight. A muscle spasm pierced her spine and she gasped in a vain attempt to ease her posture.
Chapter 3
Footsteps echoing in the corridor heralded more torment. Rosemary heard the door open but fear prevented her turning to satisfy her curiosity.
"Well, well, well. It's been a while, Rosie."
Despite the pain, Rosemary turned her stiff neck, mouth sagging open in shock and dread at the sight before her. The tall Negress was just as she recalled from her nightmares and from the last time she had seen her outside the 'People's Prison' at Matilda's mansion. Angelica's powerful body rippled and her voice contained its usual venom. Without ado she had reached through the bars to grip the blonde's sensuous face in an iron grip, stroking the soft skin.
"How could someone as beautiful do what you have done? Force me to leave England, trash my flat, cause me so many problems?" she spat, pinching a pink nipple between long black, spiteful fingers.
"Haaah, oh pl-please. Angelica, I'm s-sorry, I went through-through so much, with-with you, the Sheik and-and Matilda and "Leave her, she knows nothing," interrupted Michael. "I'm the policeman you want to talk to, she was just helping to identify...AAAAAAARGHHH!"
In an instant, the black tigress had moved to Michael's cage and silenced him by squeezing his hanging balls in her large fist.
"Wrong, man," she purred at his contorted gasping face, "you might have some useful information, it's true. However, revenge is a dish best eaten cold. I've had this dish in the freezer for months, dreaming of my old friend Rosie. Both of you will only speak when spoken to and then you'll address me as 'Madam', that is unless you want to lose this apology for a prick or Rosie have her tits cut off before we start. Carl here will do whatever I order."
Both prisoners for the first time saw the bespectacled figure in the white coat that had closed the door behind Angelica. In his sixties, he had a timid, yet sinister air, purposeful in the knowledge of his absolute power over his bound victims. Light reflected from the half-moon lenses of his glasses, reminding Rosemary of film portrayals of Gestapo torturers.
"You understand? ... Answer me!"
"Y-yes M-madam," Rosemary responded. Knowing how ruthless the Negress was she set the tone for Michael, to prevent any heroics?
"Yes ... Madam," he finally replied as Angelica's eyes flicked to a large scalpel on the desk.
"Very wise, sonny," she purred cruelly - knowing she held all the aces. "Carl is the resident expert in pain in this organization, which I am paying so much to use. You'll be begging for the release of death long before he finishes." The Negress slid sensuous fingers over his heaving chest, circling his nipples. Her other hand pushed through Rosemary's bars to stroke the quivering thighs and pat the taut curve of her bottom. "Your only hope is in absolute obedience, and truth in your answers. Then you might escape with your lives. Prepare them, Carl."
Carefully wiping his glasses on a handkerchief he stared into the wide frightened eyes of the caged woman squatting helplessly before him on the desk. His own, almost childlike eyes, devoured her lush nudity which shone with fear. The breasts were a perfect 36A and she was probably a size 12, he guessed accurately. Her belly, which fluttered as he stoked over it, was flat. Below that, a curly blond thatch and the mauve delights covered in soft down tickling his finger. The sex lips pouting between her splayed thighs, was a dream. She shuddered as his finger probed the puckered ring beyond, feeling it try to reject the intruder. She was, he thought, one of the most beautiful women who had passed through his hands. He delighted in her look of revulsion as he took intimate liberties with her.
Rosemary had to endure the fiend's clammy hands on her body as he expertly inserted metal probes into her vagina and anus, sliding them lovingly into her, filling and stretching. After he had carefully rolled her nipples to stiff erection he attached clips to those sensitive buds. Just their cruel bite made her grimace. Electrodes were also fastened to her temples. Wires led from each attachment to a box on the desk.
Just as painstakingly, Carl wired up Michael to an identical box. Angelica sat, regarding her two victims festooned with wires, probes jutting obscenely from, the dark slashes between their splayed thighs.
"I'll hood the man and we're ready," Carl announced softly.
***** ***** *****
Rosemary knew she had given what Angelica considered to be another dubious, hesitant answer about the extent of her knowledge of the criminal activities of the Negress. But how could she be expected to know so many aspects of the overall investigation?
She gulped as the Negress nodded to Carl. As if in slow motion her torturer's hand moved to the box controlling her body. It could turn her into an animal, her brain and organs to jelly, turn her almost inside out with excruciating pain.
Unable to produce enough saliva to plead for mercy yet again, the familiar explosion of fire erupted within her. It seemed to blossom in her belly, extending along every ragged nerve ending to the extremities of her body. With a crash her rigid body jerked in spasm against the confining bars, her eyes closed and teeth bared in a rictus of unbelievable pain. It gripped her vitals as if in a giant vice, crushing her. Breathe, hissed in a thin screaming howl and she remained, for what seemed a lifetime, a taut bowstring. The electricity continued to pulse through her innards making her, uncaringly, empty the remaining contents of her bladder and bowels to join earlier evacuations in the bucket below. Her muscles corded and knotted, she could only wonder that they didn't burst through her damp tightly stretched skin. Finally, the current switched off. She sagged the few inches allowed by her bonds, mouth gaping to suck in forgotten air, groaning like an animal. The pounding of her heart, as it sought to restore some semblance of order to the rhythms of her body, hammered loudly in her ears. Opening pain-dulled eyes, blinking back the pools of sweat, she saw her tormentors sitting relaxed, ready to repeat the question.
Rosemary knew she was totally and utterly trapped like a mouse in a laboratory maze. There was nothing, simply nothing, she would not do or say to avoid that pain. When the question was inevitably repeated she held nothing back. Every scrap of acquired knowledge frothed to the surface in an attempt to please her interrogators. While she was talking, and they not looking displeased, she avoided pain.
Sometimes Carl would ask unrelated, intimate questions about her sex life. She presumed that was how he got his kicks and that Angelica was happy for the temporary distraction to formulate more questions of her own. It also, of course lulled the victim into a false sense of security.
"When did you have your first lesbian experience?" he puffed inquiringly, catching her off-balance.
"I, er - AAARGGHHHHH."
A hardly noticeable movement of his thumb made a bolt of fire scorch across the tips of her breasts.
"Think, girl, quickly. You would be unique if you hadn't experimented, perhaps you explored new feelings with a school friend, maybe a teacher?"
Being desperate to tell him anything to avoid more pain, the truth was the easiest to recall - no matter how shameful. She gasped out the sordid details, aware of Angelica's smirk as a woman's most dark, secret intimacies were dragged into public scrutiny.
"After gaining experience with your friend Penny, you gave yourself to Miss Masterson - your ballet teacher?" he interrupted her desperate outpouring.
He made it sound so terrible but explanation, justification or contradictions were luxuries denied her. If she wanted to avoid the twitch of his thumb and the inevitable scourge of pain within her, she had to keep up the torrent of filth he required, detailing every aspect without pulling punches.
"Y-yes, she-she, kissed me. And then we went to bed a few times."
"Details?"
"She, she was very experienced, lovely cool hands scented with peaches and ... HAARGGH!"
It was just a tiny jolt of pain to signify annoyance.
"Sexual details."
"She undressed me and touched me everywhere. It was the first time I'd seen a proper vibrator; she used it bet-between my legs as she kissed my nipples. Then, she showed me how to use my tongue between ... ARGHH!"
"I said use only explicit, crude words girl."
"I licked her cunt, chewing her clitoris. We pressed ourselves together, rubbing our private...our cunts together. She made me come first and then I finished her."
"The first time you were fucked by a boy or man?"
"I-I was six-sixteen, his name was Pete and we ... he fucked me in his father's garden shed after we played strip poker..."
The mental torment continued until, without warning, Angelica interrupted with a relevant question again. Rosemary told everything she knew. All guile, pretence and pride were gone, washed away by pain.
It seemed forever, but in reality was less than two hours, that the caged woman's, large green eyes had been mesmerized by Carl's fingers and the insistent voices of her questioners. If he even curled a finger towards the black control box, she would involuntarily tense, muscles knotted, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut in dread anticipation. Such power. He played and manipulated her mind and body like a conductor with an orchestra. With one finger he could metaphorically reach every intimate area of her body, making it raw with convulsions. A washed in a melody of pain. He could imagine those same beautiful orifices, currently host to the demons of electricity, lovingly clasping his organ or finger. It was only imagination, though - he had never actually made love to a woman. However, he thought, who cared? One twitch of his finger gained possession of her whole being anyway!
Disappointingly, Angelica had finished with the woman for the moment. He removed the mask from the man. Solid black rubber, it contained only a slit to allow the victim to breathe through the nose - no other senses were permitted. Blind, gagged with an in-built rubber phallus, white noise from in-built earphones. He had designed it himself to isolate those awaiting interrogation. Whilst it had been on the man's sweating features, he would have no idea of the answers given by his companion.
Now it was Rosemary's turn to be enclosed by the hood, still moist from Michael. At least she could recover her ragged senses and nerves, but she imagined only too vividly the torments he would be suffering. In fact, the absence of acute pain allowed her other discomforts to surface. Her curved spine was awash in a sea of agony from muscle cramps and her calves were solid rods of fire. Tears trickled from under the hood as, for an eternity of solitude, she squatted in agony.
Suddenly, sight and sound were restored to her in a frightening explosion of noise and light. Blinking, she saw Michael's handsome face ashen with pain, his dark hair matted and sweat beading over his folded, muscular body. He seemed to have shrunk under the hammer-blows of pain. Then Angelica was speaking.
"As I explained," she purred to her captive audience," I'll compare your two sets of answers. Where there is conflict you will both be punished and answer again and again. Perhaps I should also mention that the probes on your head are lie-detectors."
She smiled cruelly at the expressions of shock crawling onto their pain-ravaged faces. "For the moment though. I require complete silence whilst I check answers."
It was deja vu, thought Rosemary. Her ordeal was so similar to her dream. Perhaps she was ordained to suffer the torment of the damned? Had she been a sinner in some previous existence?
Michael looked longingly at the ravishing blonde. The only visible signs of her torment were a tiny trickle of blood from a bitten lip and the obscenity of the probes and clips on her gorgeous body. He longed to tear away those hateful symbols of pain, ease her from the cage and take her in his arms.
Like the claws of tiny demons, the clips claimed her sensitive flesh; the wires trailing like a strip-tease dancer's tassels. Those, nipples, were instead designed to be pressed against the heel of a loving hand, crushed against a muscular chest, hard buttons of desire to be tenderly sucked into a man's mouth.
He wanted to run his fingers and tongue down every golden notch of her spine, now so cruelly curved. To stroke those nodules, making her shiver with delight as she melted against him. Below the magnificent swelling curve of her buttocks that were sculpture to be caressed and tenderly held as a man thrust deep into her quivering succulence. Instead, she squatted in a hideous cage, the entrancing secrets between her thighs invaded and on view to her evil tormentors - rather than privately to a lover. She was a woman made for sensuality, fun and lovemaking, not this hideous torture. Tantalizingly, he wondered how that body would feel molded beside him in bed, the vivid mauve slash of her sex gripping his eager manhood, sucking his juices as they writhed in a rhythm of lust; With a shock that Michael realized the strength of his feelings for her. Was it all now too late?
Angelica cleared her throat.
"You named six men on the undercover team, Rosie. You named eight, Michael. Concentrate their winds please, Carl," she nodded.
"Please I can explaaaAAAAAGGGHHHHH!" Michael's plea was transformed into a howl as bolts of fire ate into him. He was vaguely aware of Rosemary's higher pitched scream, until the awful surge left them to sag weakly against the bars, breath shuddering through starved lungs.
"Let's try that again, shall we?" the Negress spoke brightly. "Now how many in the fucking team and why were your answers different?"
"I-I counted two part-time d-desk officers that Rosemary wasn't aware of," Michael desperately offered details to avoid them more pain. He held nothing back.
It continued for a further hour with the only variation being Carl, tiring of electricity, demonstrating his prowess as a dentist. Softly, he explained to his victims, as he easily prised and held open their jaws with one hand, how he had once been in that profession.
The long drill expertly located excruciatingly painful nerves beneath her rear molars. Enable to move her gaping jaws, Rosemary's mesmerized eyes saw the hideous drill slide between the bars and disappear into her mouth. Then the top of her head exploded as a white shaft of whirring, grinding, pain surged directly into her brain. Interspersed between explanations and pleas, the torture seemed to gouge channels of pure agony into her soul.
Carl held their trembling flesh; tears dripping onto him as he laid bare seams of pain like a prospector, feeling them judder helplessly under his hands. It was a disappointment for him to eventually fill the tiny holes in their rear teeth when the interrogation was over.
Dragged helpless from their confinement, the returning blood to their cramped limbs made them gasp anew with pain.
"You two are going into storage until needed again. Maybe we can play again later, though?" her moon-faced interrogator spoke softly, making Rosemary shiver He cruelly twisted her wrists up between her shoulder blades, cuffing them together so she stooped forward in pain.
"Oooof," she gasped as his fist punched the exposed belly, doubling her up in agony, mouth gaping.
Producing a rag, smelling as if it had served many unnatural purposes, he gagged her, securing it within her bulging lips with a strip of wide black tape. With her cramped limbs unable to function properly, he carried her to a row of steel cabinets in an adjoining room. They resembled slim metal wardrobes with a tiny grille near the top of each. Crushing her softness against him, he grasped her buttocks, fingers straying between the cool cleft as she squirmed helplessly in his arms, legs feebly kicking. He thrust her into a cabinet; the door clanging shut to engulf her in darkness.
There was only sufficient space to stand. Slumping, her shoulders and breasts jammed against the confines of her tiny box-like prison, she stared out of the grille providing her only light and air. Michael, similarly bound, was shoved into a cabinet alongside.
***** ***** *****
Hand in hand, Rosemary and Michael walked Grand Central Station, trying to look casual, and not at the figure they knew was videoing them. The clock showed midday and the film would record them strolling casually free, each carrying a suitcase filled with bricks to add weight.
Help and freedom were tantalizingly close. Although amongst the throng of people all innocently going about their business. Rosemary and Michael were still drastically isolated. They were prisoners no matter how real their freedom seemed.
The uncomfortably stretched feeling within their rectums reminded them of the tiny intruding probes. They gave their victims even more to fear than the similar devices used in the cages. Operated by remote control, these ensured by pain complete control. Additionally, the microphones each wore would relay the slightest whisper to those who watched.
After being filmed, they were collected outside the station by the Mexican thug, Miguel, in an unmarked van. Senita bound their hands, tightly, behind them with thin wire, forcing tears to Rosemary's eyes. They were told that within an hour of them, returning to the 'hospital' the Chinaman's wife would be handing to the police the film she had taken. Tina would explain how she had thought Rosemary and Michael had acted suspiciously when interviewing the wheel chair bound man, how she had overheard them arranging to meet at the station. Naturally, being an upright citizen, she had also gone there and filmed the couple running away together.
Rosemary stared in wide-eyed mute appeal at her tormentors over the familiar, horrid, strip of black tape sealing her lips. She just wanted the spiteful plug taken from her anus. The threats of it being exploded within her, or burning her insides away if she offered then slightest disobedience or resistance, were all too frightening.
Chapter 4
Grinning, Carl strapped a rubber and metal harness onto Rosemary's chest. Rather like the skeleton frame of a large black bra without cups, it tightly encircled the base of each breast with a metal band through which the luscious fruit was thrust tightly forward. Each band had a slot around its circumference to which was hinged a pair of small shears with gleaming metal blades. With his fingers curling around the handle of one blade, he moved it slightly to nick the shrinking skin of her bosoms. Carl expounded on his invention, explaining that if those razor-sharp shears were drawn together, her breast would be amputated.
She longed to rip the awful device from her precious orbs to avoid such terrible and painful mutilation, but was unable to do so. Her widely spaced wrists were stretched by chains and secured painfully above her, forcing her to stand on tiptoe. Shackles also held her ankles far apart and a gag prevented speech.
Those, wicked blades glinted just inches below her bulging eyes and she went cold as the monster's fingers cruelly twitched them. After patting her clenching buttocks, he also retrieved Michael from the cabinets, which had confined them since going to the station.
Carl first hosed both Michael and his cabinet down, as he had with Rosemary. They had lost track of time in the tiny cells but had to perform their bodily functions standing within them. Occasionally having gags removed to be fed and watered. As Carl finished securing Michael in a similar cross-like fashion to Rosemary, the Spanish girl assisted in attaching a smaller device to Michael, his manhood was protruding through the encircling blades. Beads of sweat popped out on Rosemary's brow as Carl again fingered the knives. She was in the hands of a monster but Angelica - who presumably wanted her alive - was nowhere in sight. Without the gag she would have pleaded. Offered the brute anything not to close those blades. She saw Senita, with a wicked grin, stroke Michael to a hard erection whilst flexing his knives. Surely they couldn't, wouldn't?
Thankfully, a woman's agonized scream from the torture chamber next door interrupted events.
"Angelica will give you two a choice when she's finished with two sluts next door," the Spanish girl spoke with an impish grin. "You can either make a tape recording to your husband back in England whilst you two have been gallivanting over here. Alternatively, you'll lose certain bits of your bodies. Carl would love to do it - he has before. Think about it and be ready when Angelica returns."
As she walked out behind Carl, her body wriggled suggestively under a tight dress for Michael's benefit. The door clanged shut to leave the two hanging figures shaking with relief and fear.
For several hours they heard screams and pleas from the next room. Interspersed with subdued speech. They could only guess at the passing of time but it seemed forever to their aching toes.
***** ***** *****
"Donald, it-it's Rosemary. This is the hardest thing I've ever had to say but, but I'm leaving you."
Rosemary read the message to her husband from Angelica's script whilst Carl stroked the blades. "I've found someone else, someone I've been working with. The job's over now. It seems that Angelica is dead so we've got them all. But I cannot stop seeing this man. Michael means so much to me. We're going away together, he's borrowed some money and we have to get away fast. Don't try to find us. Goodbye."
Tears ran down Rosemary's cheeks as Angelica removed the cassette from the tape recorder.
"Well done, Rosie, that's the version we shall deliberately let fall into police hands," she squeezed her anguished victim's wet face. "You are sensible to co-operate because, if you disobey in any way, Michael here will also lose flesh. The tape will have them chasing round for a while but they'll forget about me. Now for another version, this will be a video to go direct to Dear Donald in a couple of weeks. I'll do the talking."
"Hi Donald, bet you didn't expect to see us both again like this; eh?"
Angelica spoke from a position beside Rosemary, who was still on tiptoe, the blades glinting against her straining breasts. One black arm curled around the hanging blonde's slim white waist and the other around Michael's. She fingered the knives, ready should any gesture give the lie to her words.
"I allowed Rosie to find me in America and I've now got her with me in a private place in Texas." she lied. "I'll take good care of her and her boyfriend. You'll not see her any more - at least for some time. She's mine now and will soon forget about you, you pathetic worm. However, if you do want to keep in touch with her, maybe have her back, we might be able to come to an arrangement. Give it a year, Rosie owes me a lot of sweat for all the trouble she's caused. Then, if you write a groveling letter accompanied by a check for $500.00 to the address, which will accompany this letter, I will send you another video of the tramp's progress. If you still want her back and pay another $500.000, you can have her. It's totally up to you. I know you can afford it - and so does Rosie. Is she worth a million to you? If she is very good she may still have her tits, but if not..."
Angelica sadistically teased the blades as Rosemary's eyes screwed shut with pain. A thin line of blood trickled down one orb. Grinning, the Negress licked it off the trembling flesh.
"Oops, I'll try and keep them intact until I know whether you want to buy her back. Needless to say, if you show this film to anyone, I shall find out - I have many contacts in the police. Rosie will then lose her boobs, as indeed she, will if you don't send the money in a year's time - I'll post them to you. Now, a taste, for you both, of things to come."
The silence was broken only by the video's soft whir as Angelica, slowly stripping, stood before the hanging blonde. Down to just a tiny white G-string, her large black breasts pointing almost accusingly at the bound girl, she strapped on a huge black dildo. With a wicked grin she advanced on her trembling victim.
"Just like the old days, eh poppet?" she murmured, cupping Rosemary's face, kissing her deeply. "Now we'll remind Donald of what he'll miss."
Desperately, Rosemary tried to distance her mind from the, so knowledgeable, black fingers playing tunes with her exposed body, teasing over her quaking, fluttering flesh, seeking out reactions, stimulating, enriching.
"You can run, little Rosie, but you cannot hide your essence from me. You know you like it - don't hold back."
She was quite unable to prevent the camera capturing her reluctant arousal under her tormentor's hands. The large lips and sharp teeth sucked and nibbled her erect nipples, sending pulses of desire spiraling out. The hands sought out her inner sanctum between damp thighs, taming her being inside out as she panted and squirmed under the skilful manipulations, haunches jerking. Winking at the camera, Angelica thrust her hips, the huge phallus brushing and rubbing the moist portals of Rosemary's now throbbing sex.
"Huh, hum, mmmmmm."
Unpreventable moans of pleasure escaped her slack mouth as the rubber entered her body, stretching, pumping in and out, protrusions ticking her clitoris.
Other protrusions also stimulated Angelica and, feeling her orgasm close, the lips of the Negress descended again over her victim's panting mouth. Her active tongue invaded, conquered her lips, as did her dildo below. Black hands tightly gripped the smooth, white buttocks with each thrust. Their bodies melded and crushed together, black on white, breast to breast, sweat flowed and mingled. Her delicious pet squirmed, impaled like a butterfly in a collection. A long finger, stretching the girl's reluctant anus, felt the increase of her heat, the urgent gripping as her orgasm began. This triggered the Negress to climax. Her hands closed like black talons on the white bottom. Cruelly biting the swollen breasts, making Rosemary scream, she savagely pumped into her jerking body.
"Now, the cane is in order, we'll have her silenced again, please. Carl."
Rosemary, head hanging shamefully, gasped feebly as the pervert forced the gag into her mouth. The camera caught her look of even greater dread as Carl produced a thin cane. Mouth bulging, she whimpered, flinching back the extent her bonds would allow, but her breasts still thrust vulnerably towards the flexing implement. It cracked down across one orb.
Fire erupted in her sensitive flesh. Snorting through the gag, she tried to absorb the line of agony. Her spread feet momentarily jerked up, leaving her swinging by her wrists until her scrabbling toes again managed to support her weight. Sinews stood out on her throat as she threw her head back in pain. Chest heaving, she blinked sweat from her eyes as Carl's arm was again raised, this time above her other breast. She felt unable to take another stroke. Already, one breast throbbed in raw agony as if rapidly expanding and contracting whilst tightly bound in red-hot barbed wire. Such was her pain that she almost wished that they would cut it off.
Michael looked with anguish at the four red stripes now adorning Rosemary's cleavage. He felt for her, and would do anything to end her pain - just as he had so wished to prevent her humiliation under the hands of the black dyke. Yet he knew this whole performance was for her husband. His feelings for the beauty had made him come to hate her husband. He felt almost a perverse satisfaction that he, Michael, shared her pain, and not Donald. He hoped the guy sweated when he saw the film - he also hoped that he would not want Rosemary back.
After four strokes across her breasts and another four across her flinching, clenching bottom, Rosemary was left hanging from her wrists. Head down, her tousled hair curtained the tears baptizing the strained beauty of her face. Then, Angelica continued her dialogue.
"Think about little Rosie, what will be happening to her, and Get in touch in a year, goodbye, Donald. Rosie would say goodbye too - if only she could."
She ordered the film to be faded out to her lifting the chin of the bound girl. Kissing her cheek, one hand fondled the lush breasts, the other patting the heat of her bottom. The touch of the large black hand across her agonized, throbbing, flesh made Rosemary writhe back onto her toes in a desperate but useless attempt to avoid it.
"Well done," Angelica, the former maid, smugly congratulated her victims. "If dear Donald does show the film to anyone, they'll be looking for us on the wrong side of America - but, by then, we'll have left the country anyway. Hopefully the mug will pay up the first installment - men like him never learn. You may still be around for me to claim the second part, it depends on your behavior, also whether I decide to buy you back from your new owner."
The resigned look in Rosemary's face as her future was outlined was a picture. Then, the look changed too even greater terrors as she continued.
I'm getting an early night. We're going on a long journey tomorrow. However, Carl wants to play with you first - and I cannot deny him that. So, I'll leave you in his capable hands."
Rosemary would have screamed if she could. Would have pleaded with the huge black Amazon not to leave her with the deranged pervert. But the filthy rag stuffing her mouth prevented her.
***** ***** *****
Now she hung alone. Carl had restored Michael to his cabinet. Also, two tiny prisons alongside him now contained the bound, naked, figures of the two women being tortured earlier. When, Carl carried them in, Rosemary saw that although the women appeared to be at either end of the age spectrum, they were both good looking. Now, like Michael, their eyes wide above gags looked pitifully out through their grilles as Carl advanced on her.
Michael's fists clenched, tied impotently behind his back as he saw the adorable blonde shudder. Her tormentor had undressed to reveal a totally hairless body. Drooling slightly, he stroked the stubby protrusion of his flaccid manhood until it reached semi-hardness. His fingers making sticky, slapping noises. Then he pressed himself against her body, making her wobble on aching, outstretched thighs. Her revulsion was obvious from the expression on her face as the limpness of his tiny penis thrust between her outspread thighs.
Crouched in his cage, powerless to assist, triggered for Michael memories of a similar impotence several years ago. His then live-in girlfriend, Lindsey, had left their apartment in Maidstone to call at a local bank. A free-lance management consultant, she had a meeting there. How could anyone to know that a terrorist group also had an unscheduled appointment?
It was Michael's day off and he had remained in the bed where they had recently made passionate love. The musky smell and her jasmine scent lingered on the skimpy nightie, which had recently clung to her eager body. Teasingly, he had made her hold it above her with both hands whilst she lay on the bed, legs raised. Forbidding her to move, he lovingly slid in and out of her. Finally, unable to control herself, she had pulled him deeper into her clinging sex, loins jerking in frenzied unison with his.
With the first news reports and pictures of the hostage taking, came bowel-quaking dread. Instinctively, he had known Lindsey was in the bank and this was soon confirmed. He clung to her discarded nightie as a comfort when he saw her on the cameras. Correctly, he guessed that, being beautiful, the terrorists had chosen her to advance their cause. Her obvious vulnerability would encourage compliance with their demands.
Unmistakable in her short black dress, long hair bobbing to her shoulders, she stood. Hands on head, in an open doorway. A masked figure holding a gun to her head. Another terrorist held a noose around her neck. Also a script from which she read in a shaking voice.
"You have heard the reasonable demands of the People's Poplar Front and the fate of the hostages if they are not met. They are legitimate prisoners of war and will be treated in a similar fashion to those of our comrades languishing in your filthy prisons. The hostages will be strip-searched and interrogated. They will remain naked to discourage escape. To prevent unauthorized release they will have explosives strapped to them. Cameramen of our choice will film these events and, as part of our demands, they will be shown live on television. Failure to comply will result in the first execution."
With her arms raised, an occasional flash of her white panties was visible below her short dress. Remembering to breathe, Michael saw a masked figure familiarly patting Lindsey's bottom as she was led back inside. Such an action would normally have provoked an outburst, but fear had dowsed her normal firebrand temperament.
Although graphic details were avoided to ensure the pictures would be broadcast, his imagination supplemented all too vividly. The camera remained outside a doctor-like screen, whilst a female terrorist ordered Lindsey to undress and pass out each garment for inspection. With only the top halves of their bodies visible above the screen, Michael saw the woman thoroughly body searches his red-faced girlfriend. Later the camera was behind her as she stood hands on head, being interrogated by the two masked figures seated at a desk. Although the room was in semi-darkness, spotlights illuminated a little of her nudity. Her shoulder blades and buttocks flexed and contracted with tension. The questions were pointless and humiliating - the intimate minutiae of her personal life dragged out for dissection.
Their initial demands met by authorities trying to prevent outrage backfiring on them, the terrorists tired of the propaganda exercise. However, Michael suffered more after the cameras had left the bank. Knowing ruthless people willing to blow her up, maybe violate her, as soon as stub out a cigarette. He found himself desperately clutching her nightie as if it would it least mentally cover her body.
It had seemed like days, rather than just 24 hours, before his police colleagues had silently crept into the sewers and stormed the building. All the hostages were rescued but all the terrorists killed.
Lindsey never would say fully, at least to Michael, what had gone on behind those walls. She felt resentful at her ordeal whilst he felt so useless at being unable to prevent her shame. Only in a thousand different scenarios privately played out, had he single-handed stormed the building and rescued his grateful damsel in distress. It was so different from the reality and their relationship had broken up soon after.
However, he understood that she had received many marriage proposals and offers of film work - whilst also mourning a young male terrorist who had befriended her! Rosemary's scream jerked him fully back to reality.
"I've no hair, so I'll take some of yours, my little pet," Carl puffed sickeningly, running his hand intrusively over the pout of her pubic mound, twirling the few golden strands he had plucked in his fingers. "But we can do better than that."
Her eyes bulged with horror as he advanced with a bowl of bubbling wax.
"I'll just take some - to remind me and put in my collection."
Searing torment washed over her groin from the kiss of the hot liquid. When that agony had eased, she saw his eyes staring curiously into hers as he, painfully slowly, pulled the hardened mass from her delicate mound. He held each soft petal of her sex, tearing out the wispy strands of her femininity. The brute was intruding in a woman's most intimate, private act. Eyes wet with tears, she pushed towards his hands, trying to ease the cruel hurt as her hair was thinned, almost oblivious to his fingers now delving into her vagina.
He absorbed her degradation and pain, pressing and rubbing his, almost feminine, body against her bound curves. Jerking even higher on straining toes, she felt a finger thrusting deep into her bottom, scratching. Gripping her buttocks, his flaccid manhood rubbed horizontally over her slinging love-lips, spittle dribbling onto her ravaged bosom.
She shuddered as he briefly stiffened and spat his lust down her inner thigh.
Chapter 5
"Raise clothing and prepare to remove panties," barked Angelica. Power flowed like wine through the veins of the Negress as she drank in the fear and humiliation of her victims. The three sophisticated Western women stood in the sultry heat of the jungle beside a lake. Their travel-worn, yet elegant clothes and high heels looked so out of place in the rain forest. Further out of place in such lush surroundings was their tense faces, also that they each stood rigidly to attention. The ceremonial stripping of her victims at this spot had become almost a ritual on these trips; the accompanying shame normally kept them compliant for the journey.
Each wore the clothes in which they had been kidnapped in New York a few days earlier. After leaving the 'hospital' they had traveled for 12 hours, a commercial flight on a '747' to Columbia, then a charter to a small airfield east of Ecuador. From there, an hour by van to a trading post to pick up provisions and stores, then ten minutes march to a deserted hut Angelica rented at the beginnings of the Amazon forest.
Although disheveled, the natural beauty of the captives shone through. Lined up obediently, army-fashion, before their lone tormentor in the heat of the jungle. They were not obviously being threatened. However, the reason for their obedience now, and on the journey, was clear. Angelica held something similar to a remote control for a TV and the eyes of each woman was riveted on it. They flinched when she touched the red button on the control panel. It reminded them, uncomfortably, of the potential pain from the almost familiar electrical probe, which intruded into the anus of each of them.
Beside Rosemary was the wife of an American judge Angelica had bribed. She was a beautiful 44-year-old English woman with long dark hair. Cathy was. Angelica guessed, probably now regretting leaving England, and her first husband and children, to move to America.
Next to her was Laura, a large-breasted 18-year-old American girl with an innocent oval face bounded by long brown hair to her waist. Her father, a policeman, had also accepted bribes from Angelica to ignore the criminal activities of the Negress in America.
These two women were not yet as familiar with servitude as Rosemary and both had tears trickling down their crimson faces. However, the pain they had both suffered these last few days at the 'hospital,' to drain them of any useful information, had begun to teach them.
Angelica had no sympathy; they were acquainted and both had contributed to their own downfalls. Used to easy money, their greed had driven them further. A careless mistake by her gather had revealed to Laura the source of his extra money. Cathy and Laura had conspired together, seeking to persuade Angelica to pay extra hush money secretly into their own personal accounts. They made the mistake of merely hinting to the Negress that they might have incriminating evidence of her bribery.
The trap had been sprung with ease. After agreeing to meet the two conspirators in a public restaurant to pay them, the drugged coffees had their inevitable effect, Miguel and Senita picked up the two apparently sick women in their ambulance. Angelica, of course, acted with the utmost concern for the benefit of anyone watching.
The two women had revealed, under 'hospital treatment' the totality of their bluff and that the judge and policeman knew nothing of the scheming of their womenfolk. Angelica had simply brought forward by a few months a plan she had anyway evolved to add two more lovelies to the growing list of women she had sold into slavery. No one threatened the squeeze on her.
Their families thought the women were holidaying together in South America, recovering from their fainting attack; they recorded the appropriate messages from their cages. The husband and father would subsequently realize this was not quite the case, when 'helpful' Angelica established that they had been kidnapped!
The officials, had both provided Angelica with useful information on Rosemary's activities. Later, if she wanted more assistance from the judge or policeman, rather than payment, she would apply the pressure of a favor for a favor by 'trying' to obtain the release of the wife and daughter from their captors. It was an intermediary role she had employed so well last year with Rosemary.
The unexpected greed of her two new victims, and thus their captured had coincided with her planned trip to sell Rosemary and Michael into a life of servitude. All four, she considered, should fetch a good price at their destination, as had the previous victims she had delivered there.
Angelica turned as Senita and Miguel, old friends of hers, emerged from the nearby hut where they were packing provisions. Senita pulled Michael along by a leash around his neck. Naked, his powerful body was helplessly at the mercy of the girl. With outstretched arms fastened to a wooden yoke across his shoulders he could only groan and squirm as she roughly grabbed his swinging penis.
"Move it, you lazy bastard"" she snapped, kicking his buttocks.
On another leash, Miguel led a pack-mule laden with some of their provisions. Angelica had invited her friends on the trek to ensure she had no trouble with the larger number of prisoners. The fat Chinese man who had acted as decoy to trap Rosemary limped behind, cursing and struggling with a walking stick. The casts had been removed a few days ago but his legs needed to regain their strength.
"It's Ok Wang, you won't have to walk all the way," Angelica laughed, "We've got a mule and four willing slaves. I'll get them organized presently."
The old Chinaman, an ex-mobster, had decided that to speed the healing of his legs, he needed this jungle trek. Also she supposed, it gave him a break with nubile women, away from a fat slob of a wife. Having lured Rosemary, Angelica supposed that he deserved a favor. She would, naturally, reduce his fee but she also figured an extra pair of hands might come in handy.
Angelica returned her attention to the women all immodestly, ridiculously; holding there dresses and slips high to reveal beautiful thighs, tiny flashes of satiny color at their apex.
"On the count of three, remove panties and hold them up for collection."
Angelica drank in the sobs of shame. It was a pure aphrodisiac. The women naturally hated the thought of having to remove their underwear in public, especially as it would be somewhat less than pristine, having been worn for the last five days. The clearing was witness to feminine wriggles as they slid down their intimate wisps of satin. These were private sounds and sights more appropriate to privacy of a woman's bedroom than a jungle, and before an audience.
Cathy, more used to cocktail parties with civic dignitaries, would scarcely have believed a week ago that she could ever be in this predicament. The indignity of removing her soiled pants and holding them up for inspection with sarcastic comments and twitching noses. She sobbed, as did Rosemary and Laura, when their undergarments were eagerly passed amongst the jeering audience. The greasy Mexican and fat Chinese each put a pair in their pockets whilst the panties belonging to Rosemary were pulled over the yoked man's face.
Worse, they had to strip completely and stand at attention. There was no question of argument or disobedience. They had each felt the agonizing burning to there, buns from those probes.
Cathy unfocused her eyes, shutting off her mind from the humiliation of public nudity. She longed for a cigarette. A beautiful, totally heterosexual, middle class woman, she had always felt somewhat ill at ease with the giant, gay, Negress. Angelica exuded athletic power and grace. Now, completely in her power, she felt frightened and inadequate. She knew that, at a whim, the black monster could do anything with her, maybe give her to the leering men.
Naked, the main reason for their absolute obedience was visible. Each probe was connected to a minuscule g-string of slim golden chains. Outwardly resembling a decorative waist cinch, secondary links disappeared enticingly between buttock cheeks and pubic thatches to hold the tubes firmly within the sphincter muscles.
The pain, which turned their bowels to liquid when Angelica's finger touched that button, was sufficient to make them do anything to avoid it. Similar agony, on a sliding scale to infinity, was experienced automatically if they either strayed too far from the remote control, or close enough to touch it. Further, the probes would explode if anyone tried to remove them without their dusky captor de-activating the devices with a secret code.
The enemas all four prisoners had been given at the 'hospital' were designed to eliminate the need to empty their bowels en-route. Thus, when Laura pleaded like a child to use the plane's lavatory for that purpose, Angelica locked on a spare probe as an impromptu necklace, whilst the other was temporarily de-activated. How Laura had longed to tell the friendly stewardesses she was being kidnapped under their eyes. But, whenever her conversation became too intense, a tingle from her bowels together with Angelica's look reined her back. Every eventuality had been considered.
"Dig a hole in the dirt, ladies. Not with spades," she laughed as the women looked around, "your bare hands, like the dogs you are."
A pit of wretchedness opened in Laura's belly. She feared they were digging their own grave.
"Please!" she sobbed uncontrollably.
Slap!
The young girl's face stung from the large, black, hand cracking across it.
"Silence! On your knees with the others and dig. Now, girl!" The Negress kicked Laura's backside.
Tears rolling down her face, she thought this was the end. She recalled the things she had wanted to do with her life - especially with the extra money she and Cathy had planned. Now her friend looked like sharing a similar fate. How out of place, she thought, three naked white women kneeling in a forest digging a hole.
Laura wanted to be at home with her parents, even with drippy boyfriend, Jake - anywhere but here. She had minor pans in an American 'soap,' making her ponder her director's reaction if he could see her now. A real life drama! Even the drudge of college would be paradise compared to this living nightmare.
"Enough!" instructed Angelica. "Pick up your rags and bury them. You'll not need them on your holiday trek."
Cathy sobbed. Relief coursed through her, she too had thought they were to be killed. Mixed with that emotion was the sheer incongruity of the situation. Almost, laughable if it wasn't so hideous. She was standing without a stitch burying all of her finery. The lovely white dress which had cost her husband $800 dollars was now just a dirty crumpled rag. She gritted her teeth as, contemptuously; the Mexican thug urinated into the hole, to the giggles of his girlfriend.
The three captives were ordered to scoop the earth back into the hole. They had already been made to hand over all their jewelry and watches back in New York. With their handbags and passports confiscated after the final leg of their journey, they were now naked in the jungle without any trappings whatsoever of civilization.
A modem woman relies on her identity and credit cards to negotiate her way through life, perhaps too a diary to record her secret, innermost thoughts and jewelry to recall loved ones and indicate status. They had to surrender everything. The diaries had brought much sniggering and light relief on the journey as their captors passed them around. Layer by layer they had been reduced to nonentities.
With a jolt Cathy realized that, several thousand miles away, almost in a different world, she was due to attend a civic reception alongside her husband. Now, instead, the lovely clothes she had intended wearing had been pissed on and buried in an Amazon jungle. Bitterly, she wondered whether her husband would, right now, be making excuses for her, maybe his arm draped casually around his bitch of a secretary?
Such thoughts gave Cathy an even greater black core of hate and fear in her belly for the Negress. Although her tormentor was only half her age, in that terrible hospital, Angelica had treated her like a child. Cringing with shame, she recalled lying naked on her belly whilst the creep, Carl, who had tortured her, gave her a public enema.
Buttocks involuntarily clenching at his probing fingers around her elastic ring, the cold rubber tube pushed deep into her. Whilst the hot clammy hands played over her, the Negress had gloated, making small talk.
"Are you comfortable, my dear Cathy? Try to relax," Angelica crooned, patting her victim's bottom.
Her globes had continued to clench, vice-grip-like, vainly attempting to prevent the inevitable and public evacuation. The bitch stroked her damp hair, offering 'soothing' words of encouragement as her shame increased in proportion to the filling of the bucket below her buttocks. Subsequently, it was as bad for her to be lying between the other two women as they received similar treatment. The smell and noise, although revolting to the three recipients, seemed to be music to the ears of the muscular Negress and the perverted torturer. She had felt so sorry, so responsible, as she saw the creepy hands explore Laura's young body.
With her clothing buried, Laura shuddered, feeling the amused eyes of the Negress flick over her body. Like her two companions, she had been ordered to stand upright in the jungle heat, hands clasped behind her neck. She longed to cover her large breasts, emphasized by her posture, but she dare not. Did Angelica not know the shame caused to her fellow women exposed like that before the lecherous eyes of the Mexican and the old Chinese man? Laura guessed she did, and that the black she-devil enjoyed it.
Prior to the last couple of days she had never exposed her body before under such circumstances. She had maybe used it, teasingly, to get what she wanted. Now it seemed that it was no longer hers to use. However, she well knew the penalty for disobeying the witch in whose power she now was.
With another shudder the young American girl recalled the creepy eyes of Carl back in New York as he took her to previously unimaginable depths of pain and shame whilst she squatted in that awful cage. In between, making her suffer he had amused himself by plucking out the occasional strand of hair adorning her sex lips gaping so immodestly and helplessly before him. She recalled with shame having to tell the pervert the explicit details he demanded about her sex life. It was made doubly worse by having to reveal such degradation before her friend Cathy and to also hear her sex act secrets too. However, their suffering ensured that neither dared to hold anything back.
Why, she asked herself again, had she told Cathy about her father's bribes? Cathy's plan to make some pocket money had appeared foolproof. It was all a game to siphon off money, eventually intended for her father, and Cathy's pompous husband, for themselves. They hadn't asked for much, and Angelica had seemed so understanding, not even seeming to mind when they implied that they could put her in a bad light if she refused. She knew differently now. The black monster's hands were stroking, almost maternally, the long brown hair hanging down the curve of her back to possessively pat her flinching bottom.
In the solitude of the jungle there was no need for the more discreet anal probes. All four victims retched when Angelica, after unlocking the probes, instructed they remove them and lick them clean. Senita took great delight in extracting Michael's and shoving it into the yoked man's mouth.
Before Rosemary or Michael could consider any way of overpowering their captors, however, each slave was fitted with collars. With electrical circuits, they served a similar purpose to the anal plugs and were operated from the same control. After being given to wear tiny black thong swimming costumes, the women were yoked like Michael - who Senita had garbed in a male equivalent. Angelica explained that she wanted to protect the value of her merchandise against damage. However, that she would permit gradual exposure of their intimacies to the sun as the journey progressed, acclimatizing them to their new life.
Minimally garbed, as if for a swim on the Riviera, they were in reality packhorse slaves under the command of sadists. Their captors wore slacks and shirts and carried small packs. Cathy and Laura each had hundred pound packs swinging from each arm of their yokes whilst Rosemary and Michael carried Wang. He reclined on a canvas seat stretched front to back between their yokes. Smirking, his hands often strayed to the curvaceous bottom swaying before him, while totally ignoring Michael behind. The mule happily lumbered along with the remaining provisions. Thankful that it was alternating the burden of the fat Chinaman with two humans. Canes lashing their backs, the dense jungle swallowed them up as if they had never been.
Within two hours the branches and tendrils of the trees and bushes had left their marks on their shining bodies. Yoked, they couldn't protect themselves from the undergrowth. However, that was of no concern to their owner.
Chapter 6
Pain surged through Rosemary's upper thighs with every movement. The merciless rays of the sun had scorched down on her glinting body throughout that first day. The wispy bikini provided scant covering, merely supporting and thrusting out her breasts and covering her pubic mound before disappearing into the enticing cleft of her buttocks.
Sunburn made her flesh feel it was on fire; as if her nerve endings had been scraped with sandpaper and her skin shrunk tautly over them to produce the maximum agony. Sun-cream was denied them; the Negress merely promised balm each evening to soothe their suffering.
Their first night's camp Rosemary knew that easing her pain was not what Angelica had in mind. Every step towards her grinning tormentor sent shivers of jolting agony along her burnt calves and thighs. Surely, she would have mercy? With the pain she was already suffering, her Mistress couldn't carry out her threat to strap her for 'slackness' and 'rudeness? It had just been impossible for her not to squirm away from the cruel probing hands of the Chinaman, on her burnt, skin.
She halted before the Negress on the spot indicated by a booted foot. With yoked arms outstretched, she might be awaiting crucifixion. It hurt to be simply touched - she preferred not to imagine being lashed.
"You look like a lobster, Rosie." Smirked the black Amazonian; her rough fingers ignored the sun's painful tattoos on the blonde's body as she slid the thong down the long thighs, lifting her top aside to expose her breasts.
"Aghh, p-please Mistress, it-it already hurts so much," Rosemary gasped as pincer-like fingers gouged into her inflamed skin. "You should have thought about that before shirking your duties, you slowed us all down. Also, you were fucking rude to Wang - and that reflects badly on me. He only wanted a feel. Now, instead of the cream the others are getting, you're getting this."
Slap!
"Hargghhhh!" Rosemary screamed, squirming ineffectually under the black, hand gripping her agonized shoulder. The wide leather belt snaked out, cracking across the already burning flesh of her thighs.
"Kneel back on your heels, legs wide. Wider, slut, and stick your tits out."
In addition to the pain of movement on her burnt flesh was the rough ground against her knees. Pushing her tender breasts towards her tormentor, she dearly wished her hands were free to least cover them. She also wished that Michael wasn't a witness.
He longed to run to the gorgeous, vulnerable blonde, to protect her. Untie her, and then kick her grinning black tormentor away. Such thoughts were, he knew, just fantasy, though. He simply had to watch the black hands pawing the woman he cared for, stroking the shrinking flesh intimately, then substituted the cracking belt. The arch-bitch held the sobbing woman, offering mock comfort, wiping her tears, kissing the red lines of agony across breast, flank and thigh.
However, Michael had his own worries when Senita took him for his evening toilet. Standing behind his yoked body, she slipped his thong off. He couldn't prevent himself growing under the soft hands holding him whilst he urinated. The swell of her breasts, bare under her shirt, pressed against his back. After shaking the drips, her hand slid over his shaft, his scrotum tightening. Her other hand tweaked his erect nipples then delved between the hard buttocks into the tight heat of his sphincter. With a laugh, she abandoned him, telling him to perform any other toilet requirement, wiping him afterwards in a stream - as if he were a child. Angelica had completed Rosemary's chastisement and was stroking balm into her cringing flesh whilst Miguel and Wang were each occupied with the other two slaves. As night's cloak deepened. Michael found himself kneeling before Senita's now naked form. Her thighs clasped his head in a vice-like grip as she hoarsely directed his mouth and tongue.
***** ***** *****
The following evening their yokes were removed, but Michael's fists balled impotently as he washed the cooking utensils; the fat Chinaman had beckoned Rosemary over to him. His hatred for these people, who could do anything they wanted with the girl he now knew he loved, took his mind off his constant gnawing hunger The captives did all of the hard work yet received only half rations in order, he supposed, to keep them in check.
Yet, he couldn't prevent his thoughts dwelling on the beautiful blonde. Savagely he squeezed water from a dish-cloth as the Chinaman's yellow hand slid down the delicious, sensual curve of her back to possessively stroke the exquisite bottom whilst she stood passively before him.
"You take off I think ... yes?'
Michael caught the downturn of her mouth and the brief shudder before her fingers slid under the thong to drop both flimsy strips of cloth at her feet and stand naked before his gross folds of yellow skin. Her nates clenched involuntarily as a hand folded around one delicious curving cheek, a finger trailing into the cleft between. The Chinaman winked conspiratorially at Michael, almost goading him, as he then fondled the lush globes of her breasts. Impotent tension surged within him as the leering Wang freely handled the flesh, which he so longed to touch.
"Sit on lap. A kiss for old man, make happy eh, you know how," Wang smiled, sitting on a tree stump.
Michael's guts wound into a tight ball as the sensuous creature perched her bottom delicately on the flabby lap, as if trying to avoid a hard lump. Pressing her full lips to Wang's, her arms around his grossness, she squashed her breasts against him. Wang recalled being beside his wife on sun-drenched beaches when gorgeous creatures such as the blonde had glided past. Their gyrating bodies were on view to tease but not to be touched. He had often fantasized about doing to those girls what he now could to this English blonde.
After Rosemary's earlier 'hesitation' it had been made clear to her what he expected and she was sufficiently skilled to make her actions appear almost willing. He recalled that she had been a harem slave. That must have taught her much, he thought, as the tips of her swinging bosoms pressed against him. She even unbuttoned his shirt to enhance the contact whilst her wine-sweet mouth opened, her tiny pink tongue sliding over his. The look of revulsion in her eyes was more difficult to conceal however, but she still wriggled with seeming eagerness as his flabby fingers slid up her thigh. She immediately opened wider, proffering her delicate ripeness as he delved into the liquid honey pot.
Shuddering in pleasure, he slobbered over a cool, hard nipple whilst his other hand wandered down the arched curve of her spine to the silken cheeks below moving between the cool cleft he rammed a finger, crudely, straight up into the tight, hot bud of her anus. Squirming, he nevertheless felt her grip the digit moving within her.
"Lips."
At his command, she immediately eased off his lap to kneel between the plump thighs and unzip him with fingers light as feathers. In heaven, he looked down on her bulging cheeks, the bobbing, blonde head, and the gleaming dip of her spine. Fingers running down the sheen, and over each joint. He gripped the delicious swelling of her buttocks. Her expertise, hot, sucking mouth and darting, minnow-like tongue wove their magic spell.
"Stand, lean forward, legs spread."
Rising, she leaned over the tree stump, thrusting out her buttocks. The delightful furry oyster of her sex beckoned between her thighs. Without preamble he dropped his trousers and plunged into the hot succulence. Painfully grabbing her swinging breasts, he urgently pumped in and out, his balls slapping against her tight cheeks until his lust jetted into her. Wang's pleasure was enhanced at the look of impotent hatred in Michael's eyes. Winking, he possessively squeezed Rosemary's slim waist as he withdrew from her with a liquid slither.
Chapter 7
"Greetings, friends," a large blonde woman exclaimed in a German accent as she emerged from the trees. Critically, she eyed the naked figures that had toiled through the jungle with their captors for the past few days. "Looks like they're good - like your fax said. I don't know how we'd replenish the stocks without you. I can always rely on you. Angelica; even carting them here yourself to save yourself money - and us a helicopter flight." She clasped the Negress warmly to her, paying no further attention to the four captives however, the armed guards who had accompanied her shouted orders in a German accent for them to remain still. Exhausted, hungry and hot, the neck collars a reminder of obedience, they had neither the intention or will to resist.
With wrists bound together behind their shoulder blades, gagged and sweating under stifling hoods, the four captives were led naked, blindly, through the jungle. Nooses around their necks were connected to a long rope. Presently came the sound of a helicopter starting up.
"A bit of luxury to end your journey - your destination is only easily accessible by helicopter - to keep out unwanted guests. Certainly a better fate than the mule." the blonde laughed. "As usual it will come in handy for slave food."
They lay curled, taut as bowstrings on the hot, dirty floor of the helicopter, still bound, hooded and gagged. Additionally, their nooses were now tied to their fettered ankles. They remained, trussed like chickens, in that painful posture as the craft threw them around. Any attempt to ease their position made the noose choke them under the stifling hood. Naturally, their captors were oblivious to their plight or suffering. During the short flight they rested their boots on the prone bodies, otherwise totally ignoring their choking cries.
Still bound, their blindfolds and ankles were released before they were helped down from the helicopter. They were in a small clearing on what appeared to be a plateau. Before them was a large wooden stockade hidden from the air by trees.
"Camp Dreamis Extremis," the sign read on the gate.
The large blonde snapped her fingers and immediately four beautiful naked teenage girls, a Negress, an Oriental, a blonde and brunette scurried across to pick up the baggage of the guests.
"I'll get Naomi and Nathan to explain things for the new slaves whilst I see about refreshments for yourselves. We can then finalize terms for their purchase. I hope you can stay for the usual week or two," the woman gushed to Angelica and the others. Then, turning to the bound figures: "Stand straight, in a line. Listen and obey, I'll see you later," she ordered before ushering the others away.
As they shuffled into a line and forced their aching bodies upright; a hard-faced boy and girl approached them in their late teens wearing only skimpy swim-ware. They had Brazilian features with contrasting blue eyes and dark curly hair. Scowling guards stood watchful, ogling the new flesh.
'That was Madam Helga, we're in charge after her, so we get respect." the girl spoke first. "We're twins, a liaison between our father. A respected German exile, and a native Mayan descendent. To you we are gods. We say jump. You ask how high - right?"
"Yes," they murmured.
Slap!
Like black panthers, the vicious cubs leapt before each newcomer, to give him or her a teeth-rattling slap.
"It's Miss to you, scum! Sir for my brother! Got it?"
"Yes Miss," answered the tired newcomers dejectedly too thoroughly broken by their ordeal to resist.
"This is Dreamis Extremis. Get your butts through those gates!" the boy-thug, shouted.
They were again lined up, whilst the girl-thug removed their bonds. The stockade gate shut behind them with a thud of awful finality.
Michael couldn't prevent a stirring of his manhood as the girl's scantily clad body brushed his nudity whilst she untied him. With a cruel smile, she punched him in the belly, doubling him up with a gasp.
"You are owned by Extremis to pleasure and serve the guests who use it - not yourselves," her watching brother resumed, pulling him upright. "They stay in a hotel through the trees," he pointed to the far side of the camp, "but this camp is your new home, assholes. It holds around a hundred prisoners and you will be trained and punished for the amusement of the guests. It's a no-holds barred brothel for rich and discerning customers who prefer the unusual. They can deal with you personally or watch the videos made of the camp activities. You will be their absolute slaves; they pay much for it and expect much in return. No one escapes. Sometimes slaves are sold to guests, or, regrettably, some even die in the course of their duty - or for disobedience." The coffee-skinned girl, warning them to remain compliant under her touch, took off their existing collars, fixing large jeweled necklaces around each of their throats, each with a number engraved in it.
"These collars were designed by someone who used to work here. Carl, an acquaintance of Angelica," she explained, amused by the shudders the name evoked. "You are thus already familiar with the general principle. They can be electrified to bring you pain or death if you disobey, or stray from the complex. Also, miniature microphones are built into them. If we choose, we can hear what you can. You have no privacy. It also allows us to pick up any useful information from, or on, the guests," she said with a smile. "They have your slave numbers on them which you will later memorize."
The young girl looked at Laura. "I've seen you somewhere, slut - American television?"
"Y-yes I'm quite often on 'Lovers'. You like it?" Desperately, Laura tried to curry favor.
Crack! Crack!
"Ugghh!" the young American captive gasped in shock and pain from the unexpected slaps, holding her hands to her stinging breasts.
"You forget yourself, big tits. You're nothing now, not a smarty-pants actress, just a no-pants slave. No one gonna' miss you on that trash. More importantly you address me as 'Miss.'. Got it?"
"Y-yes, Miss."
"Apologize."
"Sorry, Miss," Laura groveled, lost and humiliated.
Spitting on the ground, Naomi continued her introduction.
"We will know, from video surveillance, of any messages you try to pass via the guests. They won't want to know, anyway, but the punishment for trying is execution. Before inspection and medical checks, you'll run around the perimeter of the compound to work up a sweat - keeping hands on heads. Just follow the fence. It's electrified in many places - and remember the cameras will be watching. You'll need to run hard because if you're fat, asses aren't back here in fifteen minutes I'll warm them up.
The four panted around the camp, enduring the stares and jeers of the guards as they ran. With hands awkwardly clasped to their necks, their breasts and buttocks bounced wildly. For their captors, sipping drinks under shades, it was a party atmosphere. The introduction was harsher for the slaves. A shout, or a guard's whip, encouraged them to run faster as, lungs burning, they took in their new home.
The camp had male and female sections and groups of slaves were engaged in various activities under the harsh, watchful eyes of male and female guards wielding canes and whips. Mostly the slaves were naked or only scantily clad in thongs or small tee shirts. Their ages ranged from teens to forties. Away from the main compound, in grassed and wooded areas, some slaves were harnessed in twos or threes pulling several small carts containing laughing guests. Bits prevented the girls screaming when the passenger's whips added further lines of torment to the sheen on their bodies. Through out the compound other slaves were marching, or physical exercise activities, were taking place - again encouraged liberally with leather or wood. Slaves of the same, and opposite sex, were publicly copulating, under the eye and instruction, of guards or guests.
Other slaves seemed to be engaged in more practical matters. Vegetable patches were tended and massive treadmills turned. The poor unfortunates confined within ran frantically - Rosemary rightly guessed to provide power for the isolated camp. Water was being hauled up and carried from wells whilst some slaves were busy with brooms or paintbrushes.
When they got back, Naomi and Nathan led them to the medical center. However, this was not like any usual visit to the doctor.
"Stand straight for doctor's inspection," stabbed Naomi's grating voice as her fist sunk into Laura's flat belly. "You never slouch, remember you're on display, girl."
The Brazilian girl's brown hand grabbed the American's hair, tugging her upright. She pushed against the sensuous curve of Laura's back, tugging her arms and legs until she was satisfied. Then she strolled down the line as the other three automatically stood as directed.
Icy cool and immaculate in a white coat, the Chinese doctor, a girl in her twenties, was in direct contrast to the line of naked, sweating slaves standing hands on head, legs astride. Standing before them, her pony-tailed head flicked up and down as she read details of each prisoner from a chart.
"We hate filth, you'll learn that. You four are a disgrace."
Rosemary felt the doctor's disdainful eyes stripping away further layers of her, now low, self-esteem. It was as if the woman penetrated her very soul, finding it wanting. Whilst running round the perimeter of the camp she had seen the elegant, slit-skirted, woman chatting breezily to Wang and the others. It scarcely seemed possible that this was the same person!
"Disgusting," she spoke with sarcastic venom before the crop, looped to her coat, cracked across their bodies in turn. "Just a taste of what happens to animals," she spat as the four yelped in unexpected agony. Naomi and Nathan jabbed them back into position. "Let's look at you."
After basic blood pressure and heart checks, followed by cold showers to clean them up, it was a thorough, intimate and public examination. They stood in a shivering pink line.
"Belly to back, I don't wanna' see no daylight in between you while you wait," demanded Nathan.
Michael couldn't prevent himself stirring between Cathy's cool buttock cheeks whilst Rosemary's soft breasts and thatch pressed tightly against him from behind.
One at a time, and shamefully before their friends and tormentors, they were examined by the inscrutable Chinese woman. She probed every muscle and into every orifice, playing them like musical instruments. The hands knew their bodies and responses better than they did. They gave up their secrets and provided every reaction and sample she required.
"Your tests will be analyzed. If you are unhealthy you will be disposed of, so..." her unsmiling face concealed the delight and power she felt at the shocked expressions of her prisoners, "you'd better hope you are healthy." She made them each swallow a pill. "These are newly designed to prevent your monthly cycles and thus any unwanted pregnancy. We are told they also prevent any type of sexual disease, thus the male gets one. All of our guests are screened for disease, in case any staff want a taste, but you never know..."
Next she produced a large tube of ointment.
"This balm is applied nightly to all slaves as required. It doesn't ease the pain of punishments much but ensures that most of the skin damage is healed within 12 or 24 hours. It shows what a group of German scientific outcasts from the war, and their offspring, can achieve in primitive conditions. You may go."
Nathan and Naomi marched the four prisoners smartly out to a center courtyard where they waited to attention until Helga arrived. She was in her thirties, the archetype German blonde, with pretty blue eyes trapped within a harsh aquiline face.
"Welcome to Extremis. I gather you have passed your medical." Knowing the alternative, the four breathed a sigh of relief at being accepted into hell.
"My name is Helga, but slaves call me Madam - you will find any other form of address extremely painful. I inherited Extremis from my father. He came here after the world war, and helped build this with local labor and much gold. I believe you know most of the details but be aware of the severe punishments for rule infringements, also that we execute persistent offenders. Sometimes the guests themselves get carried away but, be assured, we do charge them extra if they permanently damage the merchandise."
The woman drank in the frightened looks, especially from the young American and the older English woman. She knew from their records that they would be unused to such an existence. Exuding power, she continued.
"Your collars are numbered. Although the wearer cannot see the digits they must be memorized. Failure to respond to that number is punishable. The blonde English policewoman is 1764310. Repeat.
"1764310, Madam," Rosemary replied softly, shamefully, no longer a person.
"The old English sow is 1764311."
So it continued. Laura learnt that she was now 1764312 and Michael 1764313.
"As an example, all new inmates are whipped. So we'll let the formalities commence."
Before they could even think about resisting, not that they could let any such thoughts crystallize into action, Nathan and Naomi had the four marching to the punishment ground.
Rosemary was immovably bent forwards over a trestle. With wrists and ankles securely bound by leather thongs to each leg. Her thighs were widely spread. Every delicate facet of her sex was thereby revealed to the camp's inmates and guards assembled in rows. Her breasts and belly were squashed against the trestle and her bottom tautly stretched over it. She heard Nathan's arm rising behind her and her buttocks clenched in awful dread.
The contractions of her shapely globes did absolutely nothing to alleviate the excruciating agony, which flowed over her tight skin as the leather thongs lashed the top of her buttocks. She lifted her head, eyes tight shut, howling in pain through bared teeth almost like an animal. Still reeling, trying vainly to absorb the pain of that first stroke, the second rapidly cracked across the lower half of her buttock cheeks below the earlier lacerations. It felt that the molecular structure of her flesh had changed; at once both constricted by hot metal bands eating into her core whilst simultaneously expanding into a huge balloon - and doing this several times a second.
Trying to conquer the hurt, fighting it, for she was no stranger to it. Her head sagged. Eyes blinking open. She nevertheless longed to press her hands against her ruptured flesh to seek some release from the unremitting flames of agony. However, she knew that the leather strands at her wrists, ankles, neck, thighs and shoulders prevented the slightest movement. She had naturally tried, though only succeeding in making the cruel thongs bite deeper into her flesh. She also managed to conquer the urge to beg her young Brazilian tormentor as Laura was doing - that would achieve nothing except adding to the pleasure of the onlookers.
To one side, she saw Laura's face contorted as she screamed her heart out under Angelica's lash. Clapping and applause came from the other slaves after each stroke!
"How could they?" Rosemary sobbed bitterly.
Rosemary knew the girl would be quite unused to such treatment - but after seeing the welts and the blood crisscrossing her bottom, back and thighs, she wondered who could become used to it. Her hatred was exorcised by the swish of the whip being raised behind her. Shoulder blades flexing, the leather now cracked against her back, eating into each joint of her spine. Shuddering, she could only concentrate on the molten tide engulfing her.
On her other side, although unable to see him beyond Cathy, Rosemary could hear Michael's raw bellows of pain as Helga went to work. Cathy had lost control of her bladder but Naomi only laughed as she selected a new site for the spiteful thongs of her whip to reap havoc on the older woman's body.
Chapter 8
Although, the next day their bodies were only marred with fading red lines, the soothing balm eased little of the actual pain. That, together, with dread foreboding, ensured Rosemary got little sleep. They were confined with twenty other girls in a one of several long wooden dormitory huts. Another girl had shown the three newcomers how the sheets of their single beds had to be folded back with mathematical precision. They had to be standing naked at attention by them at 5.30 am for bed inspection, by the female hut guard who used her crop on several girls for the tardiness of their beds.
After an hour of sweeping and tidying their quarters came ten minutes squealing under an ice cold shower and then make-up application - girls must always apparently look their best for the guests and videos. Next came a meager, unappetizing breakfast of mush prepared in their hut under the supervision of their hut guard - for whom they must prepare a delicious-smelling cooked breakfast! Then they had to scamper outside to join the girls from the other three huts.
Standing at attention for her first morning inspection. The whispered greeting from alongside her, startled Rosemary. It was Kate, the dark-haired girl with whom she had been trained as a slave in Sheik Macom's harem over a year ago. The girl had then been newly kidnapped from London but was now, like her, no longer a novice. As was the case in the harem Kate was allowed to wear her large bright blue glasses, which stood out in contrast to her nudity.
Before Rosemary could respond, a stony-faced guard strode up. Her spiky blonde hair shook as she shouted, spraying spittle into the close proximity of her flinching victim's face.
"Number?"
"1757767 Miss," Kate whispered.
"You know talking is forbidden, 7767. Glasses off, hold them behind your back in both hands."
When the dark haired girl had obeyed, the guard's hand cracked across her face before slapping the large breasts, which her posture had thrust forward.
"You're on punishment report. That may cure your wayward tongue."
Kate gasped, eyes glistening with tears. Still feeling in her nerve endings the pain of her public flogging from yesterday, Rosemary shuddered at the recollection. She knew she would be an obedient slave girl if it meant avoiding such treatment in future. The lines of delectable female bodies were kept waiting in the sun for an age, before Nathan and Naomi arrived to begin their inspection. Tossing a coin to decide, Nathan went behind the block to inspect the male slaves whilst Naomi headed for the females.
***** ***** *****
Laura knew that Naomi, the girl before whom she stood obediently to attention, was about her own age. However, any comparisons with status or lifestyle ended there. In New York, snobbish girl Laura would have ignored such a person not even noticed her. Most likely she would have been a member of one of the many street gangs. In this cruel world, though, the tables were more than reversed, she belonged to the bitch.
The Brazilian's harsh features reflected a childlike cruelty. Her victims knew the terrible pain she would inflict, for failing to stand sufficiently erect for inspection, for instance - as Laura had yesterday on her arrival. Or maybe for moving or speaking forgetting your number or failing cleanliness inspection. Then, the young girl would spit. That was the victim's signal to tense and await the crop. Laura wished she dared cover her bare bottom or boobs.
"Number?"
"1764312 Miss," the words grated through clenched teeth as her tormentor indolently examined her hands, face and body for any grubbiness. Laura sighed with relief when the girl seemed happy with her appearance - she knew from the rules that slaves always had to be clean and smart for inspection.
"Western slut settling in OK?" Naomi was a cat toying with a mouse.
"Yes Miss," Laura groveled.
"One of the guests we expect shortly requires a bald girl with big tits. I'll recommend you when he arrives, shave off your hair eh?" her brown hands trailed though the silken threads running down the shivering girl's spine, patting her bottom.
Laura's heart sank. Her beautiful long hair was part of her allure. A woman's hair was her femininity and now, she thought bitterly, at a whim, this cow could shave it off There was simply nothing she could do.
Sensing the emotions and turmoil running through her tense victim the Brazilian smiled cruelly, closing her fingers scissors-like.
Methodically, she walked down the lines with a clipboard. When she reached each girl they had to shout out their number to be ticked. Any hesitation or signs of dirt, and the crop lashed out. Reaching a beautiful young girl with long blonde hair cascading to her shoulders, she grabbed a handful of her public bush and marched her back to stand before Laura. "This is 1763345," she prodded the girl's apple round breasts. "Like you, she was in a television soap. Weren't you?"
"Yes Miss," the blonde replied in an Australian accent, her face clouding with memories.
"Like you, she thought she was something. But she knows she's just a lump of shit here, just another tart, right?"
"Yes Miss," the low-voiced response.
Laura sensed the cowering teenager was totally humiliated by the complete submission she exercises before her baiting tormentor. She vaguely remembered the actress, (called Helen maybe?) running across an Australian beach in a tiny bikini, a sexy grin on her face, to be greeted by a bunch of muscular suffers on the opening credits of a soap. Now they were both just numbers. Laura wished that some of the actors in the shows were as tough as their images, and could rescue them. But she knew this was a horrible reality where miracles didn't happen.
***** ***** *****
Following their inspection, the male and female slaves were brought together on the parade ground. Helga strode out like a sergeant major before the ranks of her 'troops'. That she was a prize specimen of Aryan womanhood was even more apparent from the leotard she now' wore. Possibly, she was more muscle bound than Angelica. At 6ft 6" she also stood taller than the Negress - who was currently relaxing in the shade. Two guests accompanied Helga a few respectful paces behind. One, who stood out for his mediocrity, was a seedy-looking bespectacled man in his sixties (looking out of place without a dirty raincoat). Another was a hatchet-faced, skinny woman of similar age.
The nude slaves stood even more rigidly as Helga strutted before them, slapping her cane against her bare thighs. Cathy sucked in her belly and thrust out her breasts in the obligatory fashion, as the ice maiden (as the slaves dubbed her) stopped to regard her with a look of derision.
With the looks and a trim figure any woman of 44 would dream of, there was only an insignificant roundness of belly and minor sagging of Cathy's breasts. Normally only apparent under close private scrutiny in her bedroom or bathroom, here, that scrutiny took place in public. The cold, eyes flicked over her, making her shiver despite the intense heat of the morning sun. The cane lifted her breasts, letting them bounce back.
"Spread your legs, whore," the head mistress cane now sliding along the lips of her victim's sex, "rub against it - like the bitch on heat that you are."
Splayed legged, the crimson woman half-heartedly obeyed, debased like an animal.
"Haaaaghh."
Cathy doubled up in agony, clasping her stomach, gasping for air. Unexpectedly, the butt of Helga's cane had driven into her solar plexus. Then the blonde's fist grabbed the long dark hair, yanking her painfully upright again. The cane jabbed her breasts until, gasping, rigid with apprehension; she stood back in position, vulnerably exposed before her savage tormentor. She longed to cover herself, yet dare not.
'That's what happens to slags that avoid sex - yes?"
"Yes Madam." the low, shamed 44 year old slave reply.
"Feel that flab," lied Helga to her guests. "We'll soon work that off her here."
Cathy cringed, the slimy hands of the 'dirty old man' taking full liberties. They stroked down her spine, curved to attention. Patted her nates and belly, sliding through her curly black bush to stroke her soft pussy lips. Helga ordered her to part her thighs again. Gasping, she raised herself slightly on tiptoes as the man's finger pushed into her very essence whilst the woman toyed and manipulated her breasts.
"Some people like them old, we've got another English cow further down the line.
Reluctantly, the guests followed Helga.
Cathy saw them presently stop by another woman in an adjacent line. She was pretty; a small pair of glasses resting on her cute turned up nose. Similarly in her forties, her dark brown hair was tied up in a ponytail.
"This is the slag, Lynne, I think," announced Helga, her crop prodding the woman's large breasts. "Number, girl," she snapped.
"1698866 Madam," confirmed a soft London accent.
"A bit of a tartar at first, didn't like orders but soon learnt under the whip, eh?" she patted the shapely bottom as one would with a young child - rather than a mature woman.
"Yes Madam."
The two guests took full liberty with shame-faced Lynne, fondling, removing her glasses, peering into her eyes, before moving on.
An hour later, the slaves had all felt the kiss of Helga's cane encouraging their aching bodies to deliver the perfection in PT exercises that she demanded.
Rosemary cringed inwardly, the arch-vixen standing before her. The exhausted blonde thus strove ever harder to make her tired muscles perform for what she gathered were regular morning exercises. For 'lack of effort' she had to continue alone whilst the other slaves were allowed to gather their breath. She tried to ignore the pain jolting through her as her bare breasts danced before her tormentor's amused eyes - and those of the camp. She leapt up and down doing scissors jumps, hair flying. Smiling, Helga stroked the bouncing orbs.
"Shall I hold these for you a moment, 4310?" she purred, "they seem to be in your way. I understand they will be removed if you are not a good girl?"
"Yes Madam," Rosemary reply barely audibly through rasping breath.
The looks Helga and her victim exchanged spoke volumes. One said, "I know you were a policewoman and you would like to try your luck - but don't even think about it, I can do this, and worse, whenever I please.' The doll-like face of her victim subserviently acknowledged this; there was also a grim determination there to survive and conquer them all.
Michael's stomach tightened at Rosemary's torment. He wanted to smash the German cow away, rescue her delicious, frightened victim, enfold her in his arms and comfort her. Yet he knew the folly of such thoughts. These fiends could do to her whatever they chose and he could no nothing but stand helplessly by. To give any indication of caring for a fellow slave was to invite the extra attentions of their captors. He must shut his mind to her plight, and his longing.
***** ***** *****
The evening punishment parade was over. The slaves not being whipped had to applaud each stroke given to the unfortunates, drowning out their howls of torment. Rosemary quaked at the lashes scorching across the battlefield, which once was Kate's back and bottom. Obediently she clapped her hands, shivering at the memory of her own pain from yesterday.
Now, after being locked up in their dormitory she had other things to worry about. She, Cathy, and Laura were being held immobile by half a dozen fellow slave girls in their block whilst a buxom, Arabic woman hissed angrily at them. The red marks on her attackers' bodies proved the worth of Rosemary's combat training. However, sheer weight of numbers, and fear of the consequences of really hurting a fellow slave, got the better of her.
"You three cunts better learn quick that l call the shots in this hut and new girls do not flirt with the guards," she snapped, wrenching the top of Rosemary's tits.
"Flirting!" Rosemary bitterly recalled the young German guard taking liberties with them that morning. Marched behind their hut, she, Cathy and Laura had to remain bent over at the waist, on wide spread legs, with there hands clasp behind there heads, whilst his large hands slid over their shivering bodies. He was young and good looking, but what could mere slaves do to resist anyway? Admittedly, Rosemary had tingled as she bent and stretched her body under his direction.
The dirty boiled sweets he had offered were the first such luxury they had tasted for an age. Maybe the lad had read more than just gratitude in their eyes whilst their lips greedily sucked the treasures from his hands.
Over the next 30 minutes the insatiable German stallion took them all. He had her standing facing him. She recalled the hands of the longhaired blonde giant fiercely gripping her buttocks as he slid into her, making her quiver. Automatically, she had held his tight cheeks, like two hard-boiled eggs, as he effortlessly pumped her up and down like a rag doll, her legs wrapped tightly around his in her orgasm. He had then taken Laura on her back and Cathy kneeling nose to the ground. Raw animal sex without responsibility. Rosemary couldn't deny her shiver of pleasure.
The Arab woman, slapping her face, brought her back to reality. With arms pinioned behind, her breasts were thrust forward for the woman to slap from side to side. Soiled wads of cleaning rags shoved into their mouths, prevented more than muffled cries.
Rosemary wondered where the 'ever vigilant' video surveillance was, or their hut guard? Rightly, she surmised that a blind eye was turned to the slaves' internal power struggles. She knew that the blame lay with the system, rather than her fellow victims, and that after much longer in this hell, she would probably do the same to newcomers.
Chapter 9
"The gentleman prefers blondes," explained Angelica to the three beautiful girls obediently following her. "You know what is expected, and what will happen if you are found wanting," she growled.
Rosemary and two fellow slaves were fully dressed in smart clothes. The hotel setting made it so normal - yet they all knew it was a cruel charade. This was emphasized when they passed other girls who had strained expressions, dressed as chamber maids, scurrying around on high heels. The minuscule black dresses with white frilly aprons revealed their lack of underwear. They passed Cathy, elegantly attired in a long red dress, her lack of any underwear apparent too. Only the older woman's despairing eyes gave the lie to the situation as she held the hand of an arrogant-looking Negress, pressing herself obscenely against her. Apparently a star struck lover? Rosemary, anticipating her own predicament, couldn't spare too many sympathetic thoughts for her departing companion.
After knocking, Angelica beckoned all three women into a large suite. They saw a reclining handsome, dark-jowled man in his thirties, who appeared to be openly admiring the three beauties. Angelica completed the introductions and left.
The policewoman called Rosemary, he thought, was a real elegant beauty. She wore a short black dress barely concealing a trim figure, wide green eyes in a doll-like face, framed by tousled blonde hair. Then there was Elaine, only seventeen, and a college girl with elfin-like good looks. She wore tight, expensive jeans and sweatshirt.
Diane, a Civil Servant in her twenties, had shoulder-length straight hair. Apparently she was one of the 'Chelsea' set. As was his preference, all were beautiful English blondes.
"Elaine will undress Rosemary, then she will do the same for you. Elaine will then undress Diane; " he spoke with an Italian accent. "When you're all in the state nature intended, we'll begin. Make it slow and sensual - unless you want to go on report." Rosemary disliked anyone else removing her clothes, but stood compliant as Elaine's nervous fingers fluttered over her. She shivered as the hands slid over her bra, easing it off and then down into the waistband of her panties, stockings and suspenders. Equally unsettling was having to pull off Elaine's tee-shirt and jeans, trying to keep contact and shame to a minimum whilst trying to make the undressing sexy. It was as bad witnessing Elaine gradually reducing Diane to nudity before the watching man.
He loved their shamed expressions as they so unnaturally undressed each other. Finally three beautiful, trembling bodies were his to view. He took each one in his arms, kissing, exploring them, and choosing.
"Diane and Elaine will use these vibrators on each other until they come," he finally decided, throwing them two long black tubes, "whilst you, Rosemary will join me on the bed."
Her shapely breasts hung over him and he fondled and squeezed their lushness as she undressed him as directed. There was no denying the feelings his firm muscled body had on her and when his fingers left her button-hard nipples, they found the moist welcome of her sex. She shuddered deliciously as he delved, kissing his nipples and stroking him.
Over her shoulder the nude, entwined bodies of Elaine and Diane writhed. Blonde hair cascaded over silken bodies as they kissed, black tubes protruding obscenely from their limbs, soft moan audible over the humming machines.
Roughly the Italian ordered Rosemary onto her back, legs wide to reveal her furry velvet flower. To the accompaniment of slurping sounds from the others, he rammed straight into her with a succulent 'squish', her liquid heat embracing and gripping his throbbing hardness. He pumped into her for several minutes, with Rosemary urgently grasped his humping buttocks, until, with a shudder, he jetted into her, to the serenade of her moaning gasps.
Whilst he was in the bathroom all three were instructed to stand unmoving, noses against the wall. Then, to their horror, the bedroom door burst open.
"Whores, sluts, now I've caught you with my husband!"
A plump Italian woman in her thirties flew at the three nude girls. The man watched in amusement through the keyhole as his wife berated them. They were totally unable to defend themselves, or the circumstances in which they had been found. With crimson, shamed, cheeks they still stood stiffly against the wall as she slapped their faces back and forth, the red marks vivid against their white skin.
Tugging their long hair, she then spanked them each over her lap. The man couldn't prevent himself straying to his erect penis again. He stroked softly, eyeing the tautly curved flesh under his wife's strong hand, long limbs threshing wildly, hearing the staccato slaps and squeals.
He delayed his climax until his wife had thrown the last sobbing girl out of the room, still nude, red marks covering their jiggling bottoms. With a final torrent of abuse she threw their clothes into the corridor.
As he poured two drinks, the man smiled as he noted from his wife's flushed face that, as usual, she too was aroused by their play act. Now they would replay the video he had taken reliving it in bed. Only fleetingly did he ponder the feelings of the girls. Mostly he was deciding that the expense of this place was well worth it and that he would return next month. *****
*****
***** Cathy had been selected by the arrogant thirty-something-lesbian wife of an African politician to be her lover for the evening. Vaguely aware of passing Rosemary, she allowed very little of her natural revulsion to show, as she continually pressed herself against the imperious Negress.
Her bare breasts and buttocks slid sensuously and obviously under her dress whilst later dancing with the woman. The Negress would feign annoyance with Cathy and push her lightly away. However, remembering Madam Helga's explicit instructions, she continually slid back, begging her tormentor's attentions. Much of this was acting but, she guessed, the drink, which she had been given earlier, contained some kind of aphrodisiac. Such was her desire, her craving, for sex that she knew she could want this woman. That, coupled with the alternate promise of pain, made it a necessity.
She recalled dancing with her husband at an elegant function. The thought of him, or her children, seeing her like this momentarily stilled her, but a glance from the black woman spurred her back into action.
Later, whilst elsewhere in the hotel Rosemary and the other weeping girls were gathering their clothes, Cathy was writhing naked and wanton on top of the ebony body of her 'mistress'. She clenched the woman's leg between her thighs, robbing her heat against it. Shivering, she kissed the woman full on the mouth before sucking her fulsome black orbs, needing to satisfy the Negress, and thus Helga, to avoid punishment.
The Negress stroked the white woman's dark hair, seeing, and deliciously feeling, the lips on her nipples. Dim light caught the sheen on the sensual curve of the spine, swelling to the curvaceous bottom contracting and writhing over her leg. White on black. She remembered the older woman's background, the wife of a US judge and wondered what he would make of his wife's actions now. This made her think of previous unpleasant run-ins with the US administration.
Harshly she ordered the panting woman to lie on her back. After strapping on a dildo she leapt onto her, tightly gripping and raising her victim's buttocks before brutally ramming into her.
"I believe you have something to ask me?" she enquired sarcastically.
"I want you to pl-please f-fuck the ass off me, Mistress. Fuck me hard," Cathy repeated the words she had been instructed and had been whispering during the evening. Shame coursed through her at the degradation - however, she realized that she did want someone, anyone.
Pinning down Cathy's out-flung hands under her own, the dusky conqueror rode the writhing body below, ordering her to grip the black mounds of her pumping buttocks - as she would a man. The dildo's protrusion, rubbing against the bud of her clitoris, nearly made the Negress come. She could certainly tell from the mouth kissing hers and the wet heat, that Cathy had climaxed.
Angry that she had taken her pleasures first, the Negress made the white woman kneel between her spread thighs and use her mouth. Her thighs pincered the bowed head as the tongue flicked across her essence. Encouraging her by lashing the upthrust buttocks with a cane, she also decided to put her on report and watch her punishment the next day.
Chapter 10
Laura's four-wheel-drive would have cruised effortlessly up the muddy gradient ahead of her by virtue of her simply exerting slightly more pressure on the throttle. She wouldn't even have noticed it. In her present circumstances however, the terrain ahead of her was of vital importance.
Rather than reclining in air-conditioned luxury, she was harnessed next to the Australian girl, Helen, between the shafts of a chariot containing two figures reclining on leather seats. Leather straps confined the girls' wrists tightly between their shoulder blades, forcing their breasts out proudly like a ship's figurehead. The harness straps crisscrossed their bodies to confine them between the twin pairs of shafts into which they had to lean.
On seeing the incline, the girls exchanged looks of self-pity but remained mute. This wasn't simply because communication was forbidden, or that they were panting after pulling the chariot for the last hour; the demeaning bits in their mouths prevented speech. The chariots were of lightweight but strong fiberglass constriction. Nevertheless, with the two passengers, the gross weight was perhaps 400-500 lbs. Not easy for two young girls, even though they wore spiked running shoes for traction - offsetting their nudity. Miguel and Senita sat in the chariot, the whip never far from Miguel's hands. This was obvious from the many thin red lines scoring the back and buttocks of the 'ponies" shining bodies. However, ease for the slaves was of absolutely no concern to guests, whose philosophy was no pain - no gain.
"Giddyap," snapped Miguel, simultaneously, each girl felt the whip flick across their flexing backs.
Yelping, they leaned into the harness. Straining their tired muscles, red faces contorted with effort and running with sweat, the chariot wheels slowly, reluctantly, eased away from their embrace with the clinging forest floor.
"Arghh!"
The girls screeched, the whip now kissing their bouncing buttocks, adding another mat to the rounded flesh. They were seemingly y not accelerating to Senita's satisfaction and she suggested Miguel should 'make them go faster'
The pain indeed made both girls put even more grunting effort into their task. It made the terrible burning of their leg and shoulder muscles fade slightly, along with the difficulty of sucking enough cool air into their scorching lungs.
Thankfully, after a downhill run, during which brakes were applied to stop the chariot running away, the terrain flattened. It surrounded a small lake and, gruffly, the command came for the girls to circle it. As she ran past the pretty scenery, Laura was aware of sighing and grunting noises from behind her, also that the chariot was bouncing. She realized, bitterly, that the couple were making love whilst she and Helen toiled. They were just beasts of burden who no longer mattered to normal human relations.
Tears of self-pity mingled with sweat as she recalled making love in her car before a similar-looking lake on a moonlit evening. The hardness thrusting and throbbing deliciously within her, a cigarette and a bottle of beer had followed the boy's profession of undying love. Having hooked, she had then scorned him and his performance. When he begged to do it again she maintained a calculated silence until he promised to buy her the expensive dress she wanted, reveling in her power. She would now have given a million dollars for the opportunity of just half a dozen words to him, begging him to arrange her rescue.
It became apparent that the couple had finished and Laura couldn't help but contrast how the relaxing Spanish girl must feel compared to her. Further thoughts were snatched away when they spotted another chariot in the distance. Miguel gave a friendly shout and lashed them towards it. Deliberately, he made them pull up directly before the other two 'ponies.' Thankful to rest her shaking limbs; Laura couldn't help but witness the degradation being enacted before her.
Rosemary and Michael were harnessed to the parked chariot; one passenger of whom they understood was a Columbian drug baron. He was in his twenties, handsome, but his cruelty was also apparent too. Having lowered his shorts and removed Rosemary's bit, he stood on a tree stump, making the blonde suck him. He winked at Miguel.
"This is the life eh, she's a real cocky English woman now?" Naomi, the other passenger, laughed with him.
The witnesses added to Rosemary's awful shame. At first, she was grateful for the respite firm the exhausting degradation of pulling the handsome brute in the cart and from the spiteful whip continually lashing her back, combined with Naomi's bitchy comments.
Now, another form of humiliation had replaced the previous one. His massive cock throbbed and filled her mouth whilst he fondled her hard-tipped breasts. A guilty, animal-like lust tingled within her, but, being bound, she told herself there was, in any case, no way she could prevent him having his way. However, she desperately wished that Michael wasn't a witness -also the young cow, Naomi. Quite likely though, she reasoned, with the Brazilian girl's thighs wrapped around his head, Michael had other things on his mind.
Indeed, Michael's muscles corded within their bonds in helpless frustration as he was forced to witness the all-powerful Columbian playing freely with the girl he loved. He had often arrested scum like him, or killed them; evil brutes whose power and influence made them think they ruled the streets. This one was good looking and knew it. Presumably he had women falling over him. Now he squeezed Rosemary's gorgeous orbs, fingers sliding and curling up between her thighs, making her pant. Michael was ordered by the bastard to just look straight ahead all the while.
Then, however, the Brazilian girl began having her fun too. She removed her bikini briefs and draped them over his head. Rendering him sightless, she played with him, teasing until his manhood stood out. He heard the mocking surprise from the Columbian alongside. Then Naomi abandoned his spear, the center of his desire. Instead, she whisked her pants off his head and leapt with agility onto his shoulders, facing him.
He was enveloped in the moist dusky heat of her crotch, her hair and sex lips pressed against his face. Grabbing his ears, she ordered him to suck, chew and push in his tongue. She rode him like a jockey in a race till her haunches were jerking and thrusting, her thighs nearly cutting off his air supply.
At last she wetly climaxed, climbing off with a cruel flick to his still jutting member. He saw Rosemary's cheeks still bulging around the Brazilian's erection as he slammed into her, his hands tightly gripping her hair.
"No luck this time, fella, wouldn't finish you, eh?" the Columbian winked at Michael's manhood. "This blonde's sure hot for it, though, you can dream about her while you have a whack tonight." Michael lowered his eyes in frustration and anger, looking anywhere but at Rosemary's closed eyes, her fluttering lashes and sucking mouth. He wished he could similarly avert his ears.
Chapter 11
"Madam, your hu-humble slaves beg ... beg to present you with this small token of thanks, Madam, for training us," young Elaine, her lips trembling, had difficulty formulating the words for the supreme being who owned her.
Elaine, Laura, Rosemary, Cathy and Helen curtsied deeply, tensely, as Helga glanced idly at the meticulously placed and painted stones bearing the painted message: 'Happy Birthday to our beloved Mistress, Madam Helga'
"Thanks, girls, very impressive. Have the stones scrubbed clean and replaced now, please, Naomi." Helga wandered off, already dismissing the display. Her mind turned idly to four other naked girls in the camp arranged in a tableau by Senita and Miguel. Birthday candles flickered prettily from every spare orifice whilst they continually sang Happy Birthday. All were yoked. Two-sat upright with legs raised and separated with spacers. The other two were tied leaning over them, wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle -two human spheres. All no doubt awaited anxiously her return and her promise to blow out their candles before their pubes singed too badly.
As the blonde wandered off, only fear tempered Elaine's hatred and frustration for her as Naomi clapped her hands for them to dismantle the stones. The time and sweat spent in assembling them was for nothing! Elaine recalled how, yesterday, Wang decided that as she was an art student, they should create a sculpture out of old stones for Madam Helga's Birthday. The Chinese slob would 'assist' their endeavors.
He reclined in the shade, holding a beer, as she scampered over, hair and boobs bouncing, imploring him to inspect their pile of stones. The intense stress she was under, firm the time limit he had imposed on them, was obvious firm the neat white teeth biting down onto full red lips and her tiny clenched fists. Hideously, he first made her sit on his lap, stroking her small breasts, making her spread her thighs to allow his yellow fingers to delve within her ripe, pouting sex. Finally deeming to accompany her, he held her hand like an obscene grandfather. The four other naked women waiting rigidly to attention, their tired looks a testament to their effort - and fear of the punishment they could expect for failure. Holding Elaine's hand, patting the delicious smoothness of her small tight bottom, he made her bend with him to examine the large pile of bricks. Then kicked it to bits before their despairing eyes!
"Madam Helga expect something better to show for three hours work. I know you do better. All touch toes for spanking, then more sweat. You miss dinner. I then inspect again. If no good, go on report."
They cried bitter tears of pain and rage as his hand cracked ten times each across their taut curves. Then the lumbering figure limped off to resume his drink. They would have loved a cool drink, or food, as they toiled under the merciless sun for him and the bitch Helga.
It was just after dusk before he was finally satisfied, and they were taken back to their quarters, too late for food. And Helga had cared not a jot. It had all been pointless. But, they knew of course that videos of such events, and the punishments, sold well on the black market. Films of souls in never-ending torment.
Chapter 12
Rosemary wore a short tight skin and tee shirt for her introduction to a Mrs. Delgado. She could almost imagine herself walking through any hotel foyer in the world outside. This image was only dispelled by having to walk, hands on head, several respectful paces behind Helga, also the seductive, hip-swinging gait obligatory for female slaves.
At least, she thought, she was currently better off than the numerous naked, or half dressed, slaves scurrying around at the whim of, or being lashed by, guests. Her thoughts also went to Michael who, she guessed had to take another turn on the treadmills - the male slaves were often used to provide power. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Delgado was a Greek in her forties, she had no idea what the woman wanted; she only guessed that it wouldn't be pleasant.
Her stomach tightened as Helga strode up to a short stocky continental looking woman, sipping coffee at a glass-topped table in a corner. The woman's figure and looks, whilst having faded, still bore a reminder of better days. Helga made the necessary introductions and left the two together.
As she made the required bow before the woman, Rosemary felt the curious eyes appraising her "Forget your stupid number. Name?"
"Rosemary, Mistress."
Crack!
"Aahh, I'm s-sorry"
Rosemary absorbed the stinging pain and humiliation from the slap across her face, automatically apologizing for somehow incurring the Greek woman's wrath within the first few seconds.
"Don't ever use the word Mistress, you'll call me Madam."
"Yes Madam, sorry Madam," Rosemary corrected, standing smartly to attention before her shorter tormentor, blinking back tears, restraining the impulse to strike back.
"You are next to service my husband. You look like a whore -you think you can do that?"
"Y-yes Madam if that-that is your wish."
"It is my wish, stupid slut, otherwise you wouldn't be here. Come."
Fearful, Rosemary followed the dumpy figure to a secluded lawn beside a pool, bounded by bushes, a total contrast to the hell of the camp out of sight beyond the trees and fence. A couple was making love in the grove but Mrs. Delgado strode right in. Unable to repress a gasp, the gross sight unfolded before Rosemary's eyes. A man, a slob, a combination of wasted muscle and fat, lay spread-eagled on his back. He was fastened immovably to the ground by cords around the wrists, ankles and neck. A gag prevented speech but his pitiful, agonized eyes spoke volumes. Dark hair covered the rolls of fat on his naked body, visible under the writhing pinkness of Diane laying on him. Her limbs splayed over his, but were dwarfed by them. Oblivious to their arrival, she continued to obscenely pump her taut buttocks up and down on the gross mound of flesh.
"Hurry, Diane, you know what I promised you." snapped Mrs. Delgado.
Desperation vied with loathing in the young Civil Servant's eyes as she undulated with even greater abandon, nates flexing. Her blonde hair brushed the man's heaving chest as she kissed his nipples, urging him on. Then, his body tensed slightly, groaning his hips jerked up into her succulent flesh, which almost sucked him.
"Well done, girl, stand over there till I've instructed the next slut. Clothes off Rosemary, then raise your hands above your head, let's all have a good look at you, don't be shy."
That word was no longer in her vocabulary but she felt uneasy undressing under Mrs. Delgado's harsh eyes.
"Firm tits and ass."
There was bitterness and jealousy in the voice as the woman spitefully mauled the firm flesh she no longer had. Cruelly pinching a nipple, she pulled Rosemary painfully onto tiptoe before releasing the throbbing bud. She remained silent, not knowing what to say as the woman explored her, then pulled their bodies together, fully kissing her lips. The intimacy felt so out of place in the open and before the woman's husband and Diane.
"What did you do before becoming a whore, my little pet?" the woman purred, her hands sliding down Rosemary's spine, making her shiver, then patting her bottom.
"I-I was a fashion model and-and then I worked with the police, Madam."
"A policewoman. You'll like her, Androv - just like all of the others," she spat, releasing Rosemary and kicking the bound man. "You see, sweetheart," she paused to drink from a hip-flask, "I felt I could no longer accept my husband's flings with bimbos -just like you."
Crack!
Rosemary panted, shaking her head, but keeping her arms obediently raised as she nursed another smarting cheek.
"My husband said he'd prefer to have his cock fucked off rather than sleep with me, - so that is exactly what will happen to him.
Naturally, I tried to please him ... but there is something rather exquisite about a girl's body," she absently trailed a finger through Rosemary's pubic down, stroking her velvet lips, gently probing their secrets. "He thought he was holidaying with his latest slut. Instead, I arranged this little surprise - for us both."
The Greek woman held her victim's hand, walking around the spread-eagled man like a courting couple, one dressed, one naked. She patted Rosemary's bottom as if presenting her husband with a gift. Eyes averted, Diane stood to one side, her body a sheen of effort.
"His current whore is currently being entertained by the guards whilst he is also being fucked continuously. The first girls had 30 minutes each with him but as he's slowing down now, I'm generously allowing you an hour. As I explained to Diane, if you fail to make him come - you too end up entertaining the guards. He would then have his worthless little prick cut off if he can last the day I'll forgive him - and hope he's learnt his lesson. Stand astride him, girl, let him anticipate his next pleasure."
The bound man shook his head, groaning, as Rosemary's long limbs parted above him. Normally a man's glimpse of heaven, the mauve, pouting, love lips, with a few blonde strands curling below, simply filled him with dread.
Barely able to look at the obscene, slimy body, she nevertheless felt sorry for him. The glistening stub of his flaccid penis also made her feel sorry for herself could she make him come?
"Pour me another drink, Diane, then sit on my lap before you dress and we'll watch Rosemary. Just lie full length on him for a while girl, stroke him, I don't want him dying of a heart attack -yet."
Apologizing with her eyes, Rosemary lowered herself onto the man-mountain. Her smooth flesh trembled, revolted as it came into contact with his hot, sticky blubber.
She tried to think of other occasions like this. She sometimes lay atop her husband, sunbathing by a secluded pool. Their nude bodies pressed together, initially static, until he unfolded against her sex lips. With tiny feminine, wriggles she would absorb him into her, for the benefit of any prying eyes, her hip movements almost infinitesimal. She would forbid him to move as she slowly slid her body over his, bottom clenching, kissing him tenderly.
The comparisons with her current predicament were too acute. Tears clouding her eyes, she cast aside such thoughts of pleasure.
"Hold me and give me a little kiss, eh?"
From the corner of her eyes Rosemary saw Mrs. Delgado cuddling up on a sun-lounger with Diane.
"So you worked in a law office before coming here, did you?"
"Yes Madam," the soft reply.
Rosemary heard the conversation continue as she pressed herself against the slimy flesh. Then she jumped as a stiletto heel jabbed into the cleft of her bottom.
"Lazy tart. Begin properly now, girl, you only have 45 minutes." came the sarcastic voice above her.
The man sighed, from her undulated cuntal muscles. She feeling his stubby cock rubbing against her thick fury thatch. Parting her thighs, she trapped it against her furry vulva and began kissing the bulky shoulders and neck.
After half an hour Rosemary was desperate, her body hot and sticky after writhing against the giant without success. Grimacing, she slid down to take his limpness in her mouth, and began sucking. There was only a minimal twitch. Worse were the comments from Mrs. Delgado as she strove unsuccessfully to satisfy the brute.
"I hope you are fond of the guards, my dear. When they've finished your feet will be at opposite ends of the camp. I'll fetch your replacement, then your time will be about up. I think."
Galvanized, Rosemary writhed and undulated like a thin pink serpent on a whale. She let him see her fingering herself with abandon till she was wet with pleasure, hair plastered to her face. Her finger thrust deep into tight, rubber sphincter feeling it grip, and him at last stirring a little.
She threw everything into the revolting job. Mentally she envisaged it was Michael, trying to shut out the horrible reality. Panting, she felt hardness now and began lowering her moist haunches. It bent! She heard the laugh of derision from the woman returning with young Laura obediently in tow.
"Five minutes left, my dear," came, the sarcastic voice. "Meanwhile, hussy slip out those clothes," she instructed the young American, "we'll see how good a fuck you are in a moment."
Rosemary saw Laura's look of revulsion as she pulled her tee shirt off.
Frantically, she changed tack. Remembering his earlier reaction, Rosemary climbed off the man and squatted over one of his outstretched hands. Urgently she thrust his finger up into her bottom.
The man winced with pain from his loins but felt an undeniable spark of pleasure at the unexpected action of the gorgeous blonde. He pushed his cramped finger as far as he could up into her tight heat, feeling the rubber grip of her muscles. Managing to get another finger into the velvet intimacy alongside, he felt the fragile lips guarding the hard pearl of her desire. That the woman was aroused, for whatever motive, made his, own lust rise. Now he was treated to the sight of her delightfully curved bottom as she knelt forward. He groaned again as her fingers pushed into his anus, twisting, had somehow rekindling his desire.
Despite the pain of his overworked flesh, he, unbelievably, grew. Seizing the moment, the delicious girl swiveled round and sunk onto his aching, erect, manhood. He felt her internal muscles, gripping, releasing, and squeezing, as her fingers pumped into his rectum. Arching her back she rubbed the hard berries of her nipples against his matted belly and chest, dragging them up and down as she undulated her loins. Incredibly he jerked in orgasm within her pumping, liquid haunches before being swamped by incredible pain from his overworked glands.
Clapping, Mrs. Delgado allowed Rosemary to rise. However, she had to lie, legs raised and spread, for the frumpy woman to verify the tiny white proof on her moist love portals.
"I feel in a generous mood, darling," she addressed her agonized husband. "I'm bored so I'll give you a break for the rest of the day. Sunbathe there whilst I amuse myself with young Laura." She playfully patted the young girl's bottom, obediently continuing the toe-touching exercises her tormentor had earlier demanded. "We'll continue your 'therapy' tomorrow," she announced to a further groan.
Chapter 13
"Straighter!" Demanded the young girl's harsh voice.
The backs of Michael and the other men immediately took on an added rigidity. They had been standing in an unmoving line for an hour since 7.3Oam. Naomi was now inspecting them whilst Nathan went to the women.
"Hands."
All were outstretched palms upwards for Naomi's inspection. Michael had a tiny patch of ingrained dirt he had been unable to clean, but thought he had got away with it. The girl frowned and spat, as she looked him in the eye.
Crack!
His body tensed in pain, eyes misting as the cane caught him twice across the buttocks, then seesawed over his tight scrotum. Still the girl's free hand held his.
"Not even a fleck of dirt tomorrow, white boy. Right?"
"No. Miss," Michael groveled before she released him and moved on, Out of sight around the other side of the compound the women were enduring a similar fate to the men.
'Tn-shun, eyes front! You're not here to fucking sunbathe!" shouted a female guard harshly. Her tiny eyes sweeping over the strained faces of the nude women.
They had been standing to attention silent and still in the sun - just like the men - tiny rivulets of perspiration trickling down their slumping backs. However, they took on an added tenseness when Nathan appeared.
Being amongst the oldest, Cathy stood out from the other slaves. Nevertheless, she knew her body was remarkably fit. And she had benefited further from the trimming effects of the harsh physical regime of the camp. She was a strikingly pretty example of mature womanhood. Indeed, it was difficult to imagine the passive, apprehensive woman standing so stiffly to attention as an elegant socialite wife mixing in high society, someone whom others in the past had so often deferred to.
As the young thug approached, a look of resignation passed over her chiseled face. She shuddered.
Her tormentor was a little more than a third of her age, younger than her own children were. Nevertheless, he had total control, often singling her out. Today was no exception.
He stroked her bottom, delighting in the way the nates contracted and flinched. Indolently, he blew smoke from his cigarette into her face, forcing her to suppress anew her craving for a luxury now denied her.
"Name, number, age?"
"Cathy, 1764311, age 44 sir," she responded softly.
"You're a fat slob, 4311. What are you?" he sneered.
"A f-fat slob, sir," came the whispered reply through clenched teeth.
"There's a good girl, nice and straight. Fingernails clean, no din behind your ears - your husband and children would be proud if they could see you." he smirked, patting her bottom possessively. "A different color eye shadow and perfume tomorrow. Right?" he exercised his total control.
"Yes, Sir."
The youth examined her tense body, humiliatingly jamming his cane between her buttock cheeks as a holder. Lips quivering, she shuddered at the thought of anyone she knew ever seeing her like this. The brown hands weighed her pendulous breasts.
"Get those fat tits and bum moving, running on the spot!" he shouted.
She began the so familiar ritual, pumping her legs up and down, shapely breasts and buttocks jiggling wildly, gasping and panting until he had finally finished his inspection. Then he returned.
"Display position."
The words spoke volumes to a slave and obedience to them had been painfully learned by each woman. Before the assembly, Cathy assumed the most shameful and revealing posture possible for a woman. Lying on her back, she raised and parted her thighs, her long fingernails spreading her sex lips blatantly -, as she must. The boy peered intently at the beautiful mauve and brown-fringed display the older woman was forced to give him. Her face flushed an even deeper hue as some male slaves, on their way to their duties, marched past, their guards whistling obscenely at the sight. At random, he selected Michael and a muscular Negro to stand before the human display.
"I know it's a revolting sight but the woman wants a stiffy. You two will masturbate; the one who holds back the longest can finish off in her. Go!"
Unable to meet Cathy's eyes, Michael and the ebony giant began stroking themselves to stiffness. However, the slaves were spared further attentions by the sound of a plane. That it was in difficulty was apparent by a long black plume of smoke. The guards screamed for the slaves to run into their dormitories and lie face down on the floor. As they huddled there in fear and puzzlement, the doors were being locked behind them. Before the door was shut he had only been able to briefly glimpse the struggling Hercules shedding debris in a line over their camp. They later discovered that although the guards had waited for an hour to 'take care' of any survivors of a crash, the plane had managed to limp out of sight. Michael's fleeting hope of their rescue from this place faded.
Chapter 14
So was this hell? Rosemary was roasting alive in a metal coffin, drowning in her own bodily fluids. If she had sufficient saliva to beg for a drink, or for release, she would have, but no one would listen - or care.
Meanwhile, Michael, trying to ignore the heat shimmering from Rosemary's tiny prison, strained to shift a huge pile of rocks, his belly distended and bladder bursting for a release which was denied him.
It had been a snatched moment of folly. Both Rosemary and Michael had yesterday by coincidence been drawing water from the wells at the same time. Only the wire dividing the male and female compounds separated the twin wellheads. Michael had paused to drink in her loveliness. She always looked beautiful, whether in the thongs and tee-shirts slaves were sometimes allowed to wear for support, or shade from the sun (if perhaps a guest preferred a paler figure), or naked as she was now.
It was the first time they had been together unsupervised. Her shapely breasts jiggled as she pulled on the rope, her exertions making the globes of her bottom move delightfully.
He recalled how the previous day they had to perform bare piggyback races for betting guests and how he had longed for her. He had been paired with Rosemary and could still feel her hard nipples pressed tightly against his back and the heat from her sex, her thighs scissoring his waist. The firm globes of her bottom were smooth under his supporting hands as he ran. As was obligatory, her cool hands held his swinging penis. Whilst he savored The touch, making him grow, he winced with the memory of her squeezing uncontrollably as Naomi urged him to greater speed by lashing Rosemary's buttocks. On the return leg of the race Rosemary had to stagger under his weight whilst he held her breasts, similarly being unable to prevent himself squeezing when the cane scorched him.
His heart went out to her as she struggled at the well. Small, childlike, hands clenched around the heavy rope as she pulled up the heavy bucket.
"Are you all right?" He whispered, covering his neckband microphone with a finger.
Her green eyes grew even bigger with hope and tenderness in her doll-like face as she recognized him. She halted momentarily to get her breath back.
"Y-yes, thanks," she gasped, chest heaving.
Irrationally, modestly, a reflection of normality, her arms shielded her breasts as her hands clasped the rope before her. Her face was flushed not just with exertion but with embarrassment, Michael realized. He too was conscious of his own nudity as her eyes flitted over his powerful body. He longed to take her softness in his strong aims, reassure her, and tell her everything would be all right. Despair and frustration filled him, things wouldn't be all right, and they both knew it. He too was a slave, surrounded by guards. No, one knew where they were, and there was a fence to prevent him even just touching her properly.
However, desperation and desire are strangers to logic. Previous trips to the well had determined for him that this area of the fence fell outside the scanning range of the nearest videos and it was not electrified. A bush also offered shelter.
With no-one looking he had quickly climbed to her side of the fence. The shock in her wide eyes quickly changed to passion as he tenderly took her in his arms, brushing her lips with his before his mouth plunged on hers.
Hungrily, Rosemary responded, snatching a moment of solace with her fellow-sufferer. She now knew she loved him as much as he did her. Knowing that such feelings between slaves were both forbidden, and dangerous, somehow made the illicit encounter that much sweeter.
She pressed her soft breasts eagerly against his hard, hairy chest, arching her loins against his. Wantonly she straddled her thighs to grip his thickening manhood in their apex. Feeling it rub and swell against the moist lips of her sex and the ripening bud within. Laying on their sides, Michael could scarcely contain himself as, momentarily easing his loins back, he edged forward to sink into the liquid nest of her desire. Her sex lips enfolded him in a delicious grip of squeezing, rippling vaginal muscles. He recalled her having once been in the harem of The Sheik, whose racket they had been shutting down and he guessed that, sexually, that time had not been wasted.
Revealing in the sheer joy of being a man for the first time since his capture, he could also prove it to the exquisite blonde quivering and panting in his embrace. He gripped the flexing cheeks of her bottom, thrusting his pulsing rod ever deeper into the honey-coated tube of her womanhood. Simultaneously, as his finger delved between her perfect globes, stroking the tight Throbbing heat of her secret entrance, her felt her own finger push past his own sphincter. He involuntarily gripped it as she seductively twisted and turned the intruding digit whilst her tongue and lips traced electric circles of desire over his nipples. Like the recoil from a cannon, his seed roared into the jerking thighs squeezing his hips as she climaxed against him.
Rosemary's eyes opened even wider, she was looking at something beyond him. As Michael began to turn, he heard a swish and felt a blaze of unbearable pain across his Thigh. Cursing, he dropped the empty bucket to face a huge bearded guard, flicking his whip.
"You know the rules, no talking, especially to female prisoners!"
"Yes Sir," Michael gasped between gritted teeth, knowing he had to grovel and that he was doing so before Rosemary. He was only thankful that, their bout of sexual Olympics over, he had reluctantly climbed back to his side of the fence and was simply saying a choking farewell - fingers brushing through the wire. The guard had obviously become suspicious of the time he had been absent at the well.
Then he saw Naomi, attracted by the commotion, approaching Rosemary. Despite his own pain Michael felt for Rosemary as the young thug brought her whip across the back he had so recently been caressing. Head thrown back, eyes shut, breath hissing through clenched teeth, Rosemary managed to retain her grip on the bucket.
"Talking is forbidden, 4310. Are you too stupid to understand that, CUNT!"
"No Miss, sorry Miss, we just..."
"Shut it, Bitch! There are no excuses!" The cruel teenager interrupted, jabbing the heaving breasts. "You will both be dealt with. Now resume your fucking duties, strumpet." She winked at the male guard and smiled sweetly at the impotent Michael. "Have a nice day," she flounced, slapping Rosemary's bottom as it jiggled past, then made her run with The heavy bucket back across the compound.
***** ***** *****
The following day, after morning parade. Michael and Rosemary were taken to a rock quarry nearby the camp. For half an hour they stood back to back, in agonies of anticipation under the sun's glare, silent and still. Guards sat under an awning. Then the imposing figure of Helga appeared in a cool white cotton dress. Lynne, naked apart from spectacles, holding a parasol over Madam's head accompanied her. The terrible twins, Naomi and Nathan, strolled alongside.
Michael could hear their shoes scrunching in the gravel when they were out of his vision. Then Helga was before him, slapping a hand left, right, across his face, making his cheeks sting. She moved out of sight towards Rosemary and he heard two similar slaps.
"A man's body looks so ridiculous, don't you think, Rosemary?" purred Naomi, standing before Michael, her crop circling and lifting his shrinking manhood and balls. His eyes half closed in dread anticipation.
"Yes, Miss." Came Rosemary's obligatory agreement from behind.
"Yet you always seem to want a cock up you. You're so easy to spread that we'll have to, call you 'Marge' I think. Face each other and embrace tightly, kiss," Naomi ordered.
Her softness was deliciously against him, her sweet trembling mouth open under his. However, he couldn't enjoy the experience, his manhood remained shriveled. The young thugs stood behind them both, crops raised. Then pain consumed them, bit into their buttocks. Rosemary's body jerked against him, as he did against hers, breath exploding in gasps of agony. Fingers tightening painfully on each other's shoulders. He tasted her salty tears; Helga thankfully called a halt after pouring herself a drink. "You both know the rules against unauthorized communication, especially with the opposite sex, and you chose to ignore them. Two conflicting punishments, 1764311 will move the rocks in that pile to form a new one there," she pointed to a huge mound of heavy stones, and then to a spot several meters away. "It will be at least three or four hours' hard work and he will drink three pints of water per hour. You may sweat," she laughed, "but emptying of the bladder is forbidden until the task is complete."
Michael winced, trying to anticipate the ordeal ahead.
"Slave 1764310," continued the icy voice. "Will be confined in the sweat box here without any water, until 4311 's task is complete," she indicated a corrugated iron box bolted to the rocks. "The man will be straining away with a full belly of water slopping inside him whilst conversely, the woman, urging the man to be quick, would give her right arm for a drop. If the task is not completed, or if the man loses control, they will both be punished and the detail repeated tomorrow. Go!"
Rosemary heard Michael groan. She just had time to look fearfully at him, as Nathan gave him a large bottle of water The Brazilian girl grabbed her hand, like a mother with a child, and led her to the box.
It was just like a coffin with a small vent. The grinning youngster opened the lid and Rosemary was hit by a wave of hot air from within.
"In and lay down, don't touch the sides. Just breathe gently, it gets real hot in there." Naomi patted the pink bottom maternally. She stepped gingerly into the box, avoiding the hot metal. Then with her bottom still sore, she awkwardly lay down on the sack-lined floor. Even with the lid open and the sun not fully up she scorched. She tried to imagine what it would be like under the midday sun. Arms by her side, Rosemary saw the cruel coffee-colored face recede as the lid closed.
Whoosh!
She was engulfed in hot air and near darkness. Just a rectangular slot of daylight shone through the grille by her face. Heat enclosed her, inches from her bare flesh. It was too confined to move without risking brushing herself against the sides or top. Perspiration oozed from every pore and pooled in her eye sockets. She blinked the stinging salt away.
Trying to imagine Michael's feelings, her sympathy was tinged with resentment - just as her jailers intended. Why had he approached her at the well? He had caused this. She heard a faint voice from outside.
"Well, move it, boy, or your slut's 'gonna' be toast in there."
Rosemary felt as if she was swimming in sweat, her insides scorched with every breath. She remembered the advice of the girl and took small breaths, a lung-full hurt too much.
Time passed in semi-delirium. How long had she been locked up in this oven? She could hear Michael outside shifting the boulders. How long would it take? Rosemary could hear someone outside, the clink of glasses, the delicious sounds of drinks being poured. What she wouldn't have given for just the moisture from the glass. Then, over the sounds of Michael's grunts and groans, she could just hear the splash of water from the well. She moved her parched lips, imagining being in that cool wet shaft, another world from this scorching oven.
Every step he took, every grunting stoop to pick up another heavy rock sent darts of agony into Michael's belly. He could feel and hear the liquid stretching him as it renewed the tension on his aching bladder while he fought to hold himself in. He was still only half way but whenever he considered giving up he only had to look around. On one side, Nathan and Naomi sat on recliners under a shade. They were reading, occasionally looking up to spitefully point to the next huge pitcher of water he must soon drink. A few meters away, waves of heat rose from the isolated metal coffin, slowly cooking the woman he loved. He could only imagine her suffering. Groaning, he staggered under the weight of another rock.
"Haahhh!"
Rosemary had inadvertently touched the side of the box with her foot and yelped with the pain. She must not move.
Time passed, she heard Michael uselessly asking to go to the toilet. She felt angry now, wishing he'd just get on with it without stopping, hoping he would not wet himself and the punishment be repeated. She felt now that she would never risk this again by talking to him - let alone anything else.
The sauna had malfunctioned. As Rosemary opened her mouth to call the attendant, she drifted reluctantly from her dream. Where was she? She only knew that she was hot. Then, with a groan, it all came back, she was indeed being roasted alive. Time lost all meaning, it was just measured by burning intakes of breath and the sound of rocks being dropped. Her chest ached with scorching air, but she couldn't remember why. Delirious now, there came, a familiar voice and face outside the grille.
"Nice and cozy, Rosie?"
The dream crystallized into Angelica's gloating features. She sipped what looked like a cool lager from a tall glass, ice cubes tinkling in it.
"I'd ask you to join me but I don't want to interfere with legitimate punishments - and, judging by your boyfriend's progress, you'll be there a while. I'll leave you to it while I have a swim." Rosemary groaned as the face swam away. If begging would help, she would have - but she knew it would only titillate her tormentor.
Time passed. She drifted through an eternity of head aching, pounding, agony, dehydrating fast.
Then cooler air? Was it another dream? But this time, Rosemary felt her soaking body being lifted out of its stifling confinement. Strong brown arms held her white shoulders, supporting her.
"I'll take care of you, poppet, make you feel good again."
She heard Angelica's voice as if from a tunnel and snuggled, childlike, into the arms which had saved her, and were pressing damp cloths against her broiled flesh. Like a baby she sucked moisture from the rags, then sipped from a bottle. Vaguely, she saw Michael, the cause of her suffering, hands on head, urinating in an arcing stream, Naomi holding his penis.
Chapter 15
Rosemary sat contemplating the hideous hand fate had dealt her by consigning her to this hellhole. A glamorous fashion model, a police agent, she was a sophisticated woman with aims and ambitions, wants and desires. But now, simply a slave again and currently ridiculously dressed as a 'schoolgirl' for the gratification of others. Her predicament was re-enforced by painful pins and needles darting through the seemingly rock-hard mounds of her buttocks, cramped into a tiny, wooden chair whilst she awaited, with trepidation, her 'teacher.'
She had now been in Extremis for about two weeks she guessed (it was difficult to be sure without watches. papers, television, etc - the things taken for granted in civilization) - and the misery was constant. Three times so far she had been on the hideous evening punishment parade and each time she swore would be her last. Then, the clack of high heels on the corridor outside jolted her from her memories. She, like the other girls, automatically sat straighter in the posture required, throat suddenly dry.
Senita deliberately turned the knob slowly, talking to two companions, before opening the door - letting the tension mount. With Miguel was Mr. Smith, who had accompanied Helga on an inspection. A nervous-looking, balding figure with moustache and pebble glasses, he had the furtive manner of a pervert - but a rich one apparently who could afford trips here.
Senita, having once been a (failed) teacher, enjoyed these sessions, and Helga said they would make good video footage. There had been many sore backsides amongst the pupils from her first lesson a few days ago and now the class had been taught what to expect from her. Having carelessly marked the intricate 'homework' she had set, which they had no time to properly complete, she, and they, knew there would be more to come.
The tension was almost a tangible force as she actually opened the door. In unison, every tiny chair scraped back as the twenty or so slaves stood.
"Good Morning, Miss Senita."
Such delicious power. She surveyed the women wearing their tiny dark blue miniskirts and white blouses through which breasts, clearly unfettered by bras, thrust bouncing. Sophisticated, beautiful women aged between seventeen to forty humiliatingly garbed. Each so respectful, they held back their natural impulse to leap at her. The few male pupils, looking similarly strained, wore white tee shirts and shorts.
"You may know Miguel, and we have Mr. Smith as another observer with us today." She introduced the small man, greedily licking fleshy lips. "Greet them, and we'll just continue as normal whilst they watch."
"Good morning Mr. Miguel, Good Morning Mr. Smith," they chorused like children, trying to repress a shudder as Smith's eyes oozed over them, hands firmly embedded in his pockets.
He was the sort of person most women would, in the world outside, cross the road to avoid. They would probably have slapped him had he so obviously undressed them with his eyes as he did now. However humiliating it was, resistance was a luxury no longer existing for them. As his piggy eyes devoured their lush forms they simply shuddered whilst he and Miguel seated themselves either side of Miss Senita at the front of the class.
"Sally, you and Priscilla are monitors today. Books and pencils please," Senita demanded primly.
Two dark haired girls in their teens immediately scuffled to obey, faces strained. White knickers flashed under tiny skirts, breasts jiggling, as they bent to fetch the implements.
"You others may sit."
Rosemary winced as her bottom squashed back awkwardly into the hard chair.
Barely an hour into the lesson, Rosemary now wore only her white thong panties. Every mistake made was punished by the removal of an article of clothing and Senita's ruler across the hands, bottom or breasts. Her bosoms now tingling from an application of the cane, she sat in the required posture, straight upright, with arms folded under her orbs, legs parted. No modesty was spared, and Miguel or Smith missed no detail.
She recalled her first encounter, as a policewoman, with Senita. It was doubly difficult for her to now humble herself before the Spanish bitch - but she had no choice. It must, she thought, be worse for someone like Cathy, a woman in her forties being taunted by a girl half her age, and being dressed so ridiculously.
The tension in the white knuckles of the woman by her side seemed to confirm this. Cathy reduced earlier to only her blouse, had now just removed her final garment and with two glowing lines across her buttocks, sat naked. History was one of her weak areas - a relatively rich woman of the world, why should she bother with it? It had no relevance to her - until now. Presumably, she thought, the young Spanish bitch had little more knowledge or interest than she did but she had the reference books - and the power.
"Now I want a bit more fucking application, you old cow," she sneered.
Senita's face was inches from Cathy's, drinking in her pain as the ruler lashed four times across her upraised hands and the top of each shivering bosom. Dearly, the older woman would have loved to throttle the girl but she merely absorbed the stinging pain. Through misty eyes she saw her tormentor striding back to her desk and the lecherous Mr. Smith licking his lips. Thankfully, though, Senita was now concentrating on Michael.
"Shorts off, bend over my desk."
Rosemary bit her lips in a mixture of sympathy and pleasure, as the ruler lashed down across Michael's clenching buttocks. With a warm tingle, she saw how hard and tight they were - although now crossed by several red swathes of pain. He didn't actually cry out but his eyes were moist as stood naked, hands on head, before his tormentress. Her ruler toyed with his hard nipples. Lifting the semi-flaccid penis, he visibly trembled as she berated his 'stupidity' as if to a young schoolboy. That too brought an unexpected glow of pleasure to Rosemary's belly.
Then, Michael dismissed back to his seat. Rosemary's heart leapt to her throat when her and Laura's names were called out for a report on their homework. She knew little about physics and economics and, with hardly any spare time to actually do the work, she knew what to expect. Both girls had to stand, shamed in only their tiny thong panties, hands on head at the front of the class whilst a long list of errors were read out. Crimson faced, they were conscious of the gloating eyes of the observers on them as they were verbally chastised for being thick.
"Both remove your knickers and hand them to Mr. Smith. By your stupidity and laziness you lose the privilege of wearing them. Then back here and touch your toes."
Every word was a dagger thrusting into their self esteem, intimate clothing they had previously taken for granted, they were now apparently too stupid to be allowed to wear Knowing it was a deliberate cruelty, which had already been imposed on their companions, made it no easier to bear. They slid the skimpy coverings down their long thighs and, with shaking hands, passed the warm garments to the sweating pervert. His moist palms brushed theirs, his face now matching theirs in color as he sniffed his silky trophies.
It was too much for Laura, her beautiful, oval face crumpled, shoulders shaking with sobs. Her magnificent breasts juddered before Smith's piggy eyes. He stood in mock concern, pressing the crotch of his trousers against her wiry pubis, hands paternally around her shoulders, then brushing her large nipples. Stroking down the silken hair he gave her a salacious pat on the rounded globes of her bottom. Sharply, Senita reminded the girls to bend over before the class.
Unable to prevent herself howling in pain after the forth cut across her bottom from the ruler, a tear dripping onto her foot, Rosemary looked up to see Michael's stony face. Bad enough to be toe touching before the class, enduring the pain, but even worse when witnessed by someone so special to her. Senita alternated between her victims. With Laura's scream rending her ear, she heard Senita move back behind her to deliver the next of the fifteen promised cuts.
"Legs straighter, stick your bottom out more, girl."
Clenching her buttock cheeks in dread, the next layer of pain, and the will power to endure it, temporarily drove further thoughts of Michael from her mind.
The pupils, all of whom were now naked, could 'enjoy' the respite of a break whilst Senita, Miguel and Smith mingled with them. As an added torment, before starting the lesson, they all had to drink a large pitcher of water. Another was handed out now. Many of the girls and men were conscious of their straining bladders but the use of a lavatory was forbidden before the end of the session.
Smith, aware of this, delighted in playing on it. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined such a glorious situation. Girls who would normally have heaped disgust and scorn on him if he had even dared to talk to them now had to reveal their lush curves and hollows and contend with him exploring them at will. He would pretend sympathy at the throbbing lines of torment, tut-tutting as he asked if it still hurt and how it must help their development.
He had heard that the delicious curly haired blonde was a policewoman. That reminded him of one who had nearly arrested him a few months ago from a dubious club. The girl's breasts bounced softly as she obediently stood at his approach. Recalling the club incident, he simultaneously slapped both her belly and pert bottom, trying to make her wet herself. The expression on her, flushed face was a picture as she strove to keep her temper, shame and bladder in check.
"Good, self control is important in your old job, 1 suppose?"
"Y-yes Sir," she gasped.
Casually, he stroked the, so enticing, globes of her backside before delving a finger between the pubic mound - which she automatically had to proffer.
"Juicy eh," he murmured hoarsely. Enjoying the look of hatred from Michael, with whom he understood the blonde, had a loving connection with.
Michael sat hands on head, stealing an occasional glance at Rosemary. Senita sat on his lap, one hand gently stroking his throbbing erection, the other circling his nipples. Miguel had the young monitor, Priscilla, sitting on one knee and the older woman, Cathy, on the other. Each embarrassed woman was at opposite ends of the camps age spectrum. His brown hands played between their parted thighs, making each wriggle and squirm. Smith had also intended groping Cathy but ... another idea came to him. Frustrated at his inability to make Rosemary shame herself further, he moved on. Laura paled, her large breasts bouncing, as she stood at Smith's approach. He motioned to her; the young English blonde, Elaine, the Australian Helen, and dark-haired, bespectacled, Kate.
"Let's see how you youngsters do your PT. Stand out here and do some scissors jumps for me, yes."
"Please..." began Laura until Senita's stern look silenced her. All four girls had to endure his hands brushing and holding their ripe young bodies, encouraging them to form a line and begin jumping. He stroked and tapped the slight roundness of their bellies, almost hearing the liquid within.
Laura, bladder muscles already a solid line of tension, strove to hold herself in. Having to jump, flinging her arms and legs wide, was an agony of burning self-control and wildly dancing breasts. She knew that Smith was content to let them continue until one of them gave way. He gloated at the strained looks on each red face as they jumped at his direction. After the fifth splayed-leg leap, Laura knew it would be her who lost control.
Smith winked mischievously at Senita as the young American girl collapsed sobbing and crouching on the floor, her face screened by long hair A steaming puddle formed by her splayed feet as the others looked away. Then Senita stormed towards her in mock anger.
"Filthy slut! I'll warm your ass up for you now, young lady, and then reflection on the line of contrition tomorrow - for you other three as well. You were not told to stop exercising."
Smith enjoyed the resultant punishment of his victim. He bent forward slightly, allowing Laura to lean over him, her large breasts pressing against his back. Tightly gripping her arms, he felt her jerk wildly with every stroke of the cane across her backside. Tears dropping to his shoulders, her pitiful cries music in his ears.
***** ***** *****
That evening, for the twice weekly dance in the hotel ballroom, it was difficult for Smith to realize that some of the sophisticated girls and women dancing by themselves, with guests or guards, were the same who had previously disported themselves in the classroom. They were even more delicious. Some in tight slinky dresses, others white, flowing and see-through - but all obviously without underwear. He drooled anew as their bodies flowed with the music.
The exception was a couple in there twenties, who had been led into the room with Helga between them holding their hands. The man was as tall and muscular, as was the girl petite and beautiful. Both were stark naked apart from a ball gag stretching their mouths!
Smith recalled Helga explaining to him how they had been a rich and powerful millionaire honeymoon couple from America, captured when their plane had crash-landed nearby about a month ago. The man had shot two guards sent to capture them, keeping the others at bay for two days whilst cursing the attackers. They refused to be separated from one another or cowed after capture. An Extremis video showed them proudly marching into the camp, arms around each other, hands in the back pockets of each other's jeans -carefree lovers. They had been sentenced to execution at an unspecified time within the next few weeks and, until then, mostly kept separate. Allowed to meet only at these twice-weekly dances, they were not permitted to speak. They had to dance continuously and in a particular manner. If they grew too tired they were again isolated - never knowing if they would meet again. He remembered, from the video, the punishments both had to endure until all resistance was finally knocked out of them.
Helga tapped their bottoms and Smith saw them immediately begin dancing, pressing themselves together. He smiled as they both tightly clasped each other's buttocks, delving a finger deeply into the clefts, as instructed - a reminder of their preference for hands in pockets, rather than on heads, when captured. At a little over five feet tall, the girl's pony-tailed head, was pressed against the muscular chest of the large man, their faces a picture of abject misery, eyes wet above their gags.
Smith chuckled at their plight but had little sympathy for such good looking; powerful and outgoing people, so different from him - the sort who would grind his face in the gutter. Feeling aroused, he knew he needed a woman.
With his age and doubtful stamina he concentrated his alienation mainly on the older ones, especially Cathy and Lynne. They, in common with all the women, had to constantly ask any unattached guests to dance. Smith's style left much to be desired. His hands tightly gripped their flexing buttocks, pulling their warm thighs against the moist blob on his trousers. His amused eyes saw Michael's suppressed rage as the Columbian drug baron danced with Rosemary. She moved sensuously against him, as she must, whilst his hands ran over the curves which she pressed against him.
Monopolized by Smith, Cathy and Lynne outwardly treated him as if he were the man of their dreams. Pushing their soft breasts against him, they constantly nibbled and kissed him. His fingers crept under their dresses, sliding between the cool clenching cheeks, shamefully seeking out their hot tight entrances as they danced.
Somehow, they restrained a woman's natural reactions to slap the horrid creep. Instead, they endured fingers stretching them awkwardly as they undulated against him. The small helpings of drinks, which had been plied on their empty stomachs, helped. However, their giggles and sighs were mainly the result of training, and fear of the consequences of not doing so.
That evening there were few occupied rooms in the hotel not ringing to the sounds of lust.
Cathy and Lynne, now quite naked and carrying the stinging red lines of a strap which Smith had decided to apply to their bottoms, cavorted astride his stringy body. His fingers were embedded in the orifices of one, twisting, filling. The eyes of the other, kneeling by his feet, were wide and desperate above her bulging mouth as her lips tried to suck his flaccid manhood to achievement. They both knew the penalty for failure, or if reported for lack of effort.
Kate, wearing only her glasses, a gag and a blindfold, was bound tightly headfirst, legs akimbo over an armchair whilst a huge shining Negro cruelly gripped her bosoms, pumping his lust into her pouting sex lips.
The old brittle woman in her sixties, who accompanied Smith on Helga's inspection, held Laura's naked body tightly against-her. The young American had never envisaged having to satisfy such a putrid pile of flesh, let alone of her own sex. When the bony hands had, disgustingly, explored her inside and out, she had to crawl between the hag's spread thighs and use her tongue in the cloying heat.
Wang had taken to spending time with Diane. Now he lay back on the bed as she squatted over him, raising and lowering her haunches, impaling his stiff erection within her furry moistness. He made her wear his necktie around her temples as a headband. Cruelly, he had wetted, and tied it tightly, making her look like a blonde Oriental. As it dried it pulled agonizingly tighter against her skull like a metal band. Additionally, it was difficult keeping her balance with wrists bound behind her. However, his tight grip on her breasts encouraged her thrusts and, painfully, prevented her toppling.
Belching on his beer, Nathan stroked his excitement as Elaine and Helen writhed on the bed. Their entwined, straining limbs were a silken sheen but also visible in the room's dim light were red swathes across their clenching nates. Naomi had made each nude girl touch her toes to be caned by the other until their faces were wet with tears. Now Nathan and his bisexual sister tossed a coin to determine who would have which of the panting girls about to reach a joint shuddering orgasm.
Rosemary's buttocks were tightly gripped in the cruel hands of the Columbian drug baron. Supporting her weight, he slowly impaled her wriggling hips with a liquid slither. Although preferring not to have been bound by the wrist to an overhead beam, she could not deny her body's pleasure. Her handsome ravager was experienced, in addition too cruel, and she could abandon her inhibitions and conscience, to her pleasure. The lines of torment across her smarting bottom, which he had earlier applied with a wet towel when she dried him too roughly from his bath, throbbed painfully under his large hands. However, his large throbbing organ, pulsing and bulging within her, compensated. Tendons in her throat stood out in relief as she threw her head back, gasping in pleasure.
Not for the first time, Rosemary pondered her sexuality. She enjoyed sex without inhibition but this was now tinged with some guilt at her thoughts of Michael. Secretly enjoying his punishment in the classroom, she had also deliberately treated him coldly since they were caught by the wells. This was partly a natural reaction - but mainly because it was what these bastards expected and wanted. But she would bide her time.
Michael was only able to surmise what might be happening to Rosemary. Although he was anguishing at her lofty attitude to him since their punishment, he currently had to concentrate on pleasing Senita. It could have been worse! A large, gay, Negro had nearly chosen him for the evening but, fortunately, had picked another white man. Nevertheless, Michael was under no illusions about Senita's demands.
Standing naked before her and being caned whenever his penis reacted during her slow sensual strip tease had been painful. As equally humiliating was the dildo she had then strapped on and teased him with as he knelt on all fours. At least now, after darting his tongue between her sticky thighs, at her direction, he finished the evening in a more conventional fashion. Albeit he had to lie flat on his back without moving, the feel of her gripping liquid sheath as she knelt astride him, made him pump his lust deep into her eager depths.
The dance evening ended the normal way for the honeymoon couple. She lay on her back, ankles and wrists strapped to each corner of a bed, blatantly displaying her naked body. A notice she had to write herself was propped up beside her. It read: 'Fuck me hard. Report me if not satisfied'
The girl couldn't see this because she was blindfolded and gagged. However, it was perfectly visible to her husband, also nude and bound and gagged with a grandstand view in a nearby chair. Occasionally a guest also used him as a fuck toy but his wife was in greater demand. Now, the husband's eyes bulged over the gag as Miguel's buttocks humped over the mauve slash between his wife's splayed thighs.
***** ***** *****
"Hah, pretty maids all in a row," smiled Wang and Smith strolling over to the area sign posted: 'Line of Contrition.'
Several short thick wires were stretched tautly horizontal about half a meter above the ground. Connected to the front of each was a large black phallus.
"So this is where naughty girls, including those who wet themselves, get to contemplate." Smith smiled sickly.
Laura was not the only girl being punished. In addition there were Rosemary, Kate, Elaine and Helen, also the honeymoon wife from the dance. They were yoked with heavy weights hanging from outstretched wrists. Each knelt upright astride their own taut wire, which ate cruelly up between the petals of there, parted sex. Ankle bolts kept their thighs widely astride the wire whilst thongs, tied to their hair and ankles, pulled their heads back facing the sun, and thus their bodies in a cruel arc.
Each girl, seemingly enthusiastically, sucked avidly on the large black penis stretching her mouth. Helga had explained that the wire would become electrically heated unless a constant suction was maintained.
A cruelty on a cruelty, both men had to admire German ingenuity as they sat, sipping a beer, with Miguel watching the kneeling line of anguish. The effort each naked, straining girl had to make was considerable. If their bodies slumped under the weight, the line cut deeper into them. If they failed to suck, it also burnt. Whatever, they couldn't avoid the stones pressing painfully against their knees or the sun beating down on their faces and bodies. This wasn't helped by Miguel throwing stones, making them, wince and sometimes stop sucking.
"Anything to say?" Miguel enquired, first looking at Rosemary.
"I give thanks for my punishment which helps to make me...AGHH... a ... a b-better person, Master"
Gasping with pain she hastily gave the ritual reply required on the line of contrition then urgently resumed her sucking of the phallus to reduce the temperature of the wire. Tears and sweat trickled down her curves as the wire was seemingly cut her in two. Miguel cruelly made each girl stop to make the obligatory response.
With two hours of punishment to go before the end of the session, it was too hot for the two older men to sit out in the sun. They strolled off for dinner, leaving Miguel to toy with the girls. Enjoying the rear view, they almost winced at the wires curving up cruelly between each magnificent pair of buttocks.
Chapter 16
Laura felt both frightened and ridiculous dressed as a cowgirl from the 'Wild West,' gripping the paint-pellet six-shooter in a tense hand. She knew though that she, Cathy, Rosemary, Kate and Diane, similarly adorned alongside her, had to play the game to the full or face the painful consequences. In the forest, their tiny leather dresses, with tasseled frills, caught on brambles and twigs. They scurried wildly through the undergrowth pursued by Wang and a pack of other guests dressed as Red Indians. Unfortunately, the 'Indians' had real loaded guns, and bows and arrows.
It was simply a matter of time because, even outside the camp, there was no escape from the plateau. Also, the neckbands, although partially deactivated to allow their distance from the control room, would always disclose their position. The five terrified girls knew also that, occasionally, overzealous guests on these hunts killed slaves.
Cornered, they gamely shot at their pursuers, as arrows whizzed past with the crack of bullets. Laura quaked in terror, nearly messing herself. Rosemary, using her training, managed to hit two in the arm. However, the tiny red paint spots didn't prevent the two 'wounded' men from joining the others. All five 'cowgirls' had to throw down their guns and stand with hands raised. One at a time they were ordered out from their cover to be rudely frisked and then tied up by the whooping savages.
"This familiar, eh, girl?" Wang jested to Rosemary.
She and Kate were bound by the wrist and ankles to hang below two convenient poles; they were also blindfolded before being carried back to camp by the laughing, drunken 'war party'. Laura, Cathy and Diane had their wrists bound securely behind them and were pulled along with lassoes around their necks. Filthy rags stuffed into the bulging mouths of all five women prevented any protest against the furious pace set by their captors. However, the 'Indians' were quite unconcerned whether the three running captives remained on foot or were dragged, choking, on their leashes.
A terrifying experience for them all, it was even worse for Laura, Diane and Cathy, who were relative newcomers to such abuse. Eyes bulging, they tried to stay on their feet, assisted by hands or sticks painfully prodding their unprotected bodies. Swinging helplessly beneath the poles. Rosemary and Kate quaked blindly at the blood-curdling screeches. Hands from the darkness grabbed their breasts or bottoms, making them squeal mutely.
Soon, all had their wrists tightly bound behind them around the wide girth of five totem poles. The gags and blindfolds were removed so that the cries of the captives could be heard faintly back at the camp as hands ripped at their clothes and sticks whipped across their tender flesh.
The stripping, lashing, and initial groping over, Rosemary slumped in her bonds trying to absorb the pain from many slinging cuts. Then her sharp eyes spotted several stealthy figures in the undergrowth. She figured, with a leaping heart, that if they were hiding from her tormentors, they had to be possible friends; but what could she do? Their captors, eating and drinking before they ravished them, had guns loosely trained on them. Wang looked sufficiently drunk to be of use for the plan she had quickly formulated.
Trapping his gaze with her big green eyes, he sidled over, idly stroking her hair and shoulders. Having been cut down from the totem pole, she was now, like the others, bound by the wrists and ankles kneeling backwards over a log. Curved like a bowstring, her breasts thrust forward but she proffered them still further towards the fat Chinaman.
"I-I wouldn't normally tell anyone, please keep it a secret, but...but, being chased and tied up and taken here, by real men like yourself, really turns me on. Could we, could we, go somewhere quiet? I wouldn't mind doing things just with you."
Wang's drink-sodden brain tried vainly to think of any catch, unable to believe his luck! He concluded it to be safe. She was unarmed and couldn't escape the control of her collar.
Keeping her wrists bound behind her, he led her out of sight. For a few minutes she writhed convincingly against him as he mauled her.
"There's things I could do with you. Untie me, just one hand if you like, and I'll show you," she whispered softly.
Figuring how little she could do, Wang clumsily untied all of her bonds. Whilst one of her hands rubbed and squeezed his warm bulge, the other had crept to his holster Before he realized his error, his own gun pointed at his belly below a pair of cool green eyes.
"Freeze! One move and you're fucking history! Does that sound familiar, you fat bastard?" she hissed venomously, covering the microphone on her collar. "Have you ever seen anyone die of a belly wound?"
It must have sounded convincing to his fuddled mind but to reinforce her control she slammed the gun bun brutally into his balls. The few minutes she wasted whilst he writhed, purple-faced, in the dirt was, she considered, well worth it.
Ostensibly, Wang was leading Rosemary back to be confined but, pushing him to one side, she crouched before those remaining awake, pointing her newly acquired gun at them. As their weapons swung towards her, she dived for cover whilst a flurry of activity from the bushes heralded the arrival of the cavalry.
Within two minutes the five girls were again screaming and pleading for mercy from their 'captors'. However, when they considered that the microphones had picked up enough, the real talk went ahead in whispers. **** ***** ***** The camp gates were opened the next day to allow the 'war party and captives in torn clothing to trudge back for morning inspection. A start to another uneventful day until, seemingly taking leave of her senses, Rosemary ran to the center ground between the male and female compounds, screaming like a madwoman. Pathetic-looking in the tatters of her leather dress, she swatted at invisible flies and berated an invisible tormentor. The amused attention of the whole camp was hers - until their world exploded. Armed figures in black poured from every perimeter bush behind the crackle of guns and crump of stun grenades. The control center for the collars was taken out with the first explosion.
Rosemary ducked and weaved until she reached Michael and threw him one of the two guns hidden under her dress.
"We must get to the helicopter," they spoke simultaneously.
The confused expressions on the faces of Angelica, Helga, Senita and Miguel went through the gamut from disbelief; terror and then rage as they wrenched open the craft's doors to find themselves staring into the barrels of Rosemary and Michael's guns. Angelica, fearsome but fearless, launched herself at her former slaves but the bullets from both guns tore the enraged expression from her face. The others fell to their knees, begging.
"Unknown to either of you, a homing bug was implanted in your womb during your training." With a start, Rosemary recalled the brief exploratory operation after being kicked in the stomach.
"We couldn't tell you about it because we guessed that you'd probably be questioned maybe with lie detectors and what you don't know about cannot be told," the SAS major continued whilst they awaited helicopters to the outside world. In the background, Rosemary saw the American honeymooners, seemingly a changed couple, talking to each other for the first time in weeks. It made her feel warm inside.
"Our guess," the major continued, "was that if you didn't catch Angelica, she would catch you and take you on the white slave trail we heard rumors she was operating. This turned out quite convenient for us in a way, I suppose. We had heard vaguely of Extremis, but not exactly where it was, just that it was a front for international blackmail. Pillow talk secrets passed, pressure brought to bear - no one wants it known that they visited this place. So, we simply kept tabs on you. We staged a plane in distress, which dropped sensors and then organized a rescue - to catch all the birds in one nest. To raid the place would have got too many inmates killed so, when we spotted you outside the camp playing cowboys and Indians ... That was an inspired move, Mrs. Pierce, I felt at first jealous of and then sorry for the Chinese guy you suckered," the SAS man laughed.
Rosemary's relief at being rescued was tempered with anger. She had been used yet again - this time by the authorities. However, the look in Michael's eyes, and the feel of his body crushing her in a tight embrace, seeking her lips with his, drove other feelings from her mind. Hopefully now, she could resume her life. Being called Mrs. Pierce made her remember her commitments, but Michael, feeling so right, against her, made her realize there were other things to consider!
