Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Hungry Guy and Lady Fuschia
Title: HUNGRY FOR FUSCHIA
Universe: Hungry For
Summary: While on holiday in London, Hungry Guy buys a slave girl at a
slave auction in a warehouse in The Docklands, and brings her back home to
the States with him...
Keywords: M/F Mpov Mdom Fsub cons piv oral anal ws choke strangle reluc
rom caution
Language: english

   HUNGRY FOR FUSCHIA
BY: Hungry Guy and Lady Fuschia



   Guy woke late and stumbled out of bed in his tiny hotel room.  He opened
the curtains and looked down upon the street below.  For a split second, it
was disconcerting to see traffic driving on the "wrong" side of the street.
But after a quick shower and a quick bite to eat in the hotel restaurant,
he headed out onto the Strand with tourist map in hand.

   Glancing at the map, he figured that Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park
were to the west, while the Tower of London and Tower Bridge were to the
east.  Or, perhaps he'd take a walk to see Westminster Abbey and London
Bridge, or go for a ride on the Millennium Wheel.  As he was crossing a
side street, a punk in a Day-Glo orange Mohawk haircut was handing out
flyers, practically shoving one into Guy's hand.  Guy grabbed it and kept
walking.  He noticed that other people, who were also thusly flyered, were
tossing theirs in rubbish bins without even reading them.  Yet, curious as
to what sort of nightclub or local punk band the fellow was plugging, Guy
slowed his walk and read the flyer.  The flyer was produced by some sort of
Dungeon Society and was promoting a permanent TPE "Slave Auction." Holy
cow! That can't possibly be true!  Still, it was certainly something
interesting.  The auction, such as it was, wasn't scheduled until the
evening, so Guy continued on his way.

   His way brought him past Harrods, where he spent some time shopping for
some British fashions to take back to America.  A couple of books and a box
of Earl Gray tea finished his shopping spree.

   Guy found a small pub on the edge of the Thames to have lunch, where he
spent a good hour watching the Millennium Wheel spin round.  He pulled that
flyer out of his pocket while he ate, and noticed that it was coming upon
the time for that "Slave Auction" to begin.  He paid his tab and hailed a
cabby.

   The flyer gave the location at some address on Connaught Road.  He had
no idea where that was, but wasn't too surprised when the cabby brought him
into an industrial Docklands area, within earshot of a regional airport.  A
bouncer looked him over as he entered the warehouse-type building and
relieved him of the flyer that was also his admission ticket before handing
him a wooden paddle with the number "42" painted on it, along with a sheet
of instructions.

   Once inside, he looked a bit out of place.  Almost everyone was wearing
leather garments of some type or another, or at least black clothing.  His
white sneakers, beige cotton slacks, and bright yellow tee shirt stuck out
like a divine spotlight shining down upon the pit of hell.

   Men in leather led collared women about by leashes more often than not,
though a few women in leather led collared men about my leashes.  Not to be
missed, though, was the occasional woman leading another woman, or the
occasional man leading another man.

   The people were all approaching a large central platform, like a theatre
in the round, so Guy squeezed his way up and found a seat a few rows from
the edge of the platform.  It wasn't really very crowded, though.  Not
counting the slaves, who didn't seem to be present in the audience, about
30 or 40 people sat in the audience.

   Guy stretched out and read over the directions.  It basically said how
one raises his paddle to bid, and what to do to enter a slave in the
auction, and what to do after one wins a bid.  He looked over the payment
options.  Cash is preferred, but they also take money orders and traveler's
checks since they're as liquid as cash.  They don't take credit cards or
personal checks for obvious reasons.

   Before the bidding started, the auctioneer stepped out onto the stage
while a handler led a smiling young redheaded girl who couldn't have been
over 17.  "Lyzi here," began the auctioneer, "has offered herself up as a
permanent slave.  She's a self-proclaimed pain-slut and is enthusiastic
about becoming someone's property for life.  She's an orphan whose parents
both died of Ataxia, a rare neurological disorder, and the proceeds will go
to the charity, Ataxia UK."

   The bidding started at 1000 Pounds, a quick translation in his head made
that about US$2000.  "Hmm," Guy mused, "I still have almost four thousand,
'spree money' left.  I can afford her if the bidding doesn't get too
crazy."

   The auctioneer immediately called out, "We have one thousand!  Anyone
for eleven hungered for this fine young specimen of womanhood?"

   Guy raised his paddle signaling his bid of 1100 Pounds.

   "We have 1100!  Anyone up for 1200?"

   Guy looked around as paddles went up all around him while the auctioneer
rattled off higher and higher amounts.  The bidding turned furious as her
going price crept up into the tens of thousands of Pounds.  "Oh well," Guy
sighed when she passed 2000 Pounds.  She finally went for 21,300 Pounds.

   After a slight shuffle on the platform, another exemplary model of
womanhood was presented for sale.  "Kristina here is a permanent slave
being sold by her master who's in the market for a younger girl.  She's
been thoroughly toilet-trained, and is accustomed to being used as nothing
more than a sex toy."

   Again, the bidding started at 1000 Pounds.  Guy bid a couple of times,
but stopped at 2000 as the bidding climbed into the tens of thousands once
again.  She sold for 18,900 Pounds.

   The third slave to be presented was a muscular young man.  "Peter here,"
the auctioneer announced, "sold himself into slavery last week in order to
purchase, and then free, his sister who entered into a Total Power Exchange
relationship and subsequently regretted it after it was too late and she
had become a slave."

   The bidding on Peter started, as usual, at 1000 Pounds, then progressed
more slowly than it had for the women.  The relative lack of women in the
audience brought Peter up to 9100 Pounds for which he was sold to a busty
brunette dressed all in leather and chains.

   The night went on like that.  Guy was amazed at the number of people
who, through various circumstances--usually beginning as a consensual
situation, then evolving into true slavery--wound up as chattel property to
be bought and sold like used automobiles.

   Guy also noticed that, as the night drew on, the crowd gradually
thinned. As the competition for each subsequent slave slowly dwindled, the
winning bids were gradually coming down.

   By the time the approximate 20th slave was brought out, the crowd had
dwindled to a small handful of people.  "This is Lex, who's been a
permanent slave all her life.  Her master passed away and she was left to
the estate.  All perfectly legal." Guy could see that Lex had a few years
on her, though she was, by no means, old.  Rather attractive, actually.

   The bidding opened at 1000 Pounds, as usual.

   "Do we have 1000?" the auctioneer called out.  "Anyone?"

   Guy was on the verge of raising his paddle when someone in front raised
his.

   "We have 1000!  Do we have 1100?"

   Guy wasn't sure--it was getting late, and he was getting tired.  He
wondered how safe the streets of London were this late at night, especially
in the Docklands area.  He started to stand to leave as the auctioneer
called out, "How about 1050 anyone?  Anyone bid 1050?"

   Still nobody bid, and the auctioneer called out, "Going once!  Twice! 
Sold for 1000 Pounds!"

   Guy sat back down and caught the look on the woman's face.  She looked
floored to have sold for such a relative pittance as slaves go.  "Maybe one
more," he thought.

   A dark-haired girl was brought out next.  "Next we have Fuschia.  I'm
told that not only is she randy all the time, but she comes with a
University degree and professional's CV--a rare find in a slave!  If you
need a helping hand in your small business, as well as in your bedroom,
don't let this one get away!  She became a slave as a result of a lost
wager.  The proceeds of her sale will go to her local fire brigade. 
Certainly a good cause!  Do we have an opening bid of 1000 Pounds?"

   "I wonder what a 'CV' is," Guy thought.  "But what the hell.  She's
rather cute." He raised his paddle.

   "We have 1000!  Do we have 1100?  Anyone?"

   At that, one of the remaining women raised her paddle.  Guy chuckled
inward at the astonished look on Fuschia's face to see a woman bid on her.

   "We have 1100!  Do we have 1200?"

   Guy thought quickly.  This might be his last chance to own a slave. 
Imagine!  A woman who can't refuse!  A woman whom one could use whenever
one was in need, and whom one could just treat as a "thing" otherwise.  Guy
raised his paddle.

   "We have 1200.  Do have 1300?" The other woman who bid kept her paddle
down but a man in the rear placed a bid.

   "We have 1300, do we have 1400?"

   Again, Guy bid.

   "We have 1400, do we have 1500?"

   Then that woman raised her paddle, putting the bid at 1600 Pounds.  But
Guy upped the ante to 1700.

   "This fine slave is at 1700!  Can we get 1800 for her?" Neither the man
nor the woman bid her up again.

   "C'mon!" the auctioneer cried out.  "For a good cause!  How about 1750
anyone?"

   At that, the woman bid 1750.

   "1750!  Do we have 1800?" Looking at Guy, he said, "You sir?  How about
it?"

   Guy paused, then raised his paddle.

   "We have 1800, anyone care to take her to 1850?  Anyone?"

   After a wait, the auctioneer called out, "Going once!  Going twice! 
Sold for 1800 Pounds!"

   At a loss for words, Guy gasped, "Holy crap!"

   After catching his breath, he glanced at the paper and checked the
instructions.  He stood and walked to the rear of the platform where a
cashier sat inside a caged booth.

   "How you going to pay for her, mate?" the cashier asked.  Guy reached
into his trousers and removed his travel pouch from the lining and removed
$4000 in travelers' checks.  "American dollars?" the cashier asked.

   "Yeah," Guy said, suddenly worried.  "Is that a problem?"

   "No, sir," he answered.  "But we need to calculate the exchange rate and
charge a conversion fee."

   "No problem," said Guy.

   The cashier gave him change in Pounds for his $4000.  A few moments
later, a handler appeared, leading a fully dressed Fuschia by a leash
attached to a heavy leather collar round her neck.  She was carrying a
small duffel over her shoulder.  The handler handed Guy the end of the
leash along with a yellow envelope, saying, "These are her passport, birth
certificate, driver license, CV, degree, and other legal papers."

   Handing the leash to Guy, the handler added, "You should know you got a
real good deal here!"

   "Really?" asked Guy.

   "Really!" the handler said.  "They'd have got a lot more for this bird
had they sold her at the start of the auction."

   "I see." Guy took the leash from the handler and asked, "What now?"

   "Whatever you want, my good chap.  Take her home.  Fuck her!  Enjoy
yourself!"

   Guy met Fuschia's eyes.  She swallowed hard and looked away.

   Guy let out a sigh, realizing that he hadn't taken a breath for a few
moments, at the gravity of what he had just done.  "I just bought a slave!
I own another human being!  Holy shit!"

   He looked at Fuschia again, who met his gaze with a shy smile, then
looked away once again.

   Guy looked at the handler.  "But how?  How can I lead a collared women
through London?"

   The handler laughed.  "You haven't been in London bloody long, have
you?"

   "Not really."

   "You'll see sights more bizarre than collared slave women, I'm sure."

   Guy shrugged.  He _HAD_ seen his share of Goths and punks, often in
collars and chains.  He tugged on Fuschia's leash and led her out of the
warehouse.

   There were some cabs waiting out on the street, so a cab ride brought
Guy and his new slave back to his hotel on The Strand.  When he got to his
room, he looked at her and said, "Well, now..."

   "Sir?" she asked in a British accent.

   "What shall I do with you?"

   "Whatever you wish, sir," she said meekly.

   "If I take you to bed with me, you will?"

   "I did this to myself, sir, with full awareness.  You own me now." She
swallowed hard and continued, "Use me as you wish.  I shan't refuse you."

   "Well, I've had a busy day, Fuschia.  It's past 1 AM, so I'm going to
take a shower and go to bed."

   "Yes, Sir," she said.

   Guy took a quick shower while his slave waited in the bedroom.  He
emerged wearing a bathrobe, while Fuschia waited on the single bed, fully
dressed.  "Undress, Fuschia.  I want to see you again."

   She hesitated for a split second, slid off her shoes, and removed her
top, then her skirt.  Glancing up at Guy, in her bra and panties, she
smiled and removed her remaining garments.

   "Very nice!" Guy said.  He felt his heart pounding at what he was
contemplating: sex with a woman whom he had only met a few hours ago; a
woman whose body was now his personal property.  He felt himself growing
big at the thought.
He dropped his robe and took her in his arms, feeling his member press
against her crotch.  Though she smiled at him, he felt her trembling as he
pressed his lips to hers.  Her warm kiss tasted sweet, and he stood there a

few moments swapping saliva with his new possession.

   Reaching around her, he pulled the bedding down and gently nudged her
onto the bed.  The narrow single bed was only wide enough for one, so he
climbed in on top of her and rested his weight upon her.

   Guy sensed that she was accepting her station as his slave well enough,
but he doubted that he would find release that night.  For even though she
came to be a slave with "full awareness," could any woman be aroused under
such circumstances, even if willing?

   Still, it was worth a try.  He reached down between their
pressed-together bellies and pressed his finger to her most private flesh.
He gasped.  "Fuschia!"

   "Is something wrong, Sir?" she squeaked.

   "Hardly!  You're soaking wet down there!"

   She looked him in the eyes.  "I surprise myself sometimes, Sir." She
looked down then and added, "Yes, I'm frightened.  I don't know anything
about you, why you bought me, or what you plan to do with me." Then she met
his gaze again.  "But I'm excited too.  Like the auctioneer said, I'm randy
almost always.  And this is such a thrill!  I want to be a good sex toy to
you.  I really do!"

   "Then I hope you like this," he said and thrust his hips down and in,
sliding his erect member into her soaking pussy.

   She gasped when he entered her, then her eyes went wide with terror as
he wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed with all his strength
while he pumped her.  He thrust slowly at first, then gradually sped up,
pumping her fast and hard.  Her mouth quivered while she waved her arms
around frantically, slapping his body and trying to push him off.

   "Stop that!" he scolded her while continuing to pump her.  The sexual
rush was incredible!  He could never imagine doing this to a willing
girlfriend.  The feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her soaking
pussy while she slowly suffocated was more than he could contain.

   His body went into auto-pilot as he exploded inside her in a more
powerful orgasm than he had experienced in a long time.  His hands choked
her in an iron grip that was beyond his conscious control at that point,
while he shot wad after wad of cum deep into her pussy.

   By the time his orgasm started to fade and he regained conscious
control, his slave had turned slightly blue and was waving her arms around
feebly.  He released his grip from her neck and she let out an explosive
gasp.  He lay on her with his flaccid member still gripped by her pussy
lips as she struggled to catch her breath.

   "Master," she finally gasped.  "Do you want _GASP_ to kill _GASP_ me?"

   "Nah!" he said.  "I paid good money for you.  But you are going to
suffer pain and humiliation as my slave.  Better get used to it!"

   She swallowed and said, "Yes, Sir." Some color had returned to her face.
Guy reached up and turned off the light, rested his head on her shoulder,
and drifted off to sleep while lying atop her.

   ###

   Wakefulness enveloped him the next morning as he lay upon Fuschia's
body. He arched his back and stretched as his hips dug into hers under his
weight.  Rolling off her, she began gasping.  "You okay?" he asked.

   "Hard to breathe--" she panted, "with you on me--"

   "Yeah, well," he shrugged.  "Catch your breath, 'cause you're going to
be holding it again in a minute."

   Fuschia gasped a few times while Guy sat up and crawled up over her
head.

   "Master!" she gasped as he sat on her face.  Being a big 200-pound guy,
his weight on her face pressed her head into the bedding.  Pinching her jaw
open, he slid his cock into her mouth and began rocking back and forth,
sliding his cock in and out of her mouth.  Feeling her teeth rub against
his frenulum brought him to climax quickly.  Her bucking and thrashing
body, struggling in futility to breathe, only added visual delight to the
moment.  He shot his load into her mouth with wave after wave of penile
ecstasy.

   At that, he crawled around and sat on her chest, facing her, while she
engaged in a comical coughing fit.

   After a moment, she mouthed in near silence, "Master.  I.  Can't. 
Breathe."

   Guy climbed off her and said, "You'll get used to it." He then rooted
through his suitcase and dressed quickly.  "C'mon, Fuschia," he said.  "Get
dressed."

   Fuschia rose and put her clothes on from the previous day.  "Where are
we going?" she asked.

   "Out," he said as he pulled her British passport from that envelope and
checked it over.

   A half-hour later, they walked away from the travel desk in the lobby
with a plane ticket for Fuschia on the same flight home tomorrow.

   Next, after a light breakfast in the hotel restaurant, they headed out
down the street once again.

   "Where are we going?" Fuschia asked.

   "Follow me," he said.  They headed across the Strand, toward the Thames
and across London Bridge, toward the Millennium Wheel.  The gigantic wheel
rotates so slowly: one revolution every 30 minutes.  It never stops.  The
gondolas swing down alongside a platform much like a train platform, giving
visitors plenty of time to exit and enter.  It was like boarding a very
slow-moving train car.  As the gondola left the "station" and rose above
the city, Guy turned to Fuschia and said, "On your knees, slave".

   "Yes, Sir," she said and dropped to her knees in the gondola car.  He
unzipped his trousers and let them fall.  "Suck me off," he said.

   She leaned forward and sucked the tip of his cock in her mouth.

   While Fuschia performed her assigned duty, Guy pulled out his tourist
map and compared the map to the view and identified Hyde Park and
Piccadilly Circus and the Tower of London and Buckingham Palace.

   By then, he began to feel the consequences of Fuschia's efforts, and
suddenly exploded into her mouth.

   After he went soft, she leaned back.

   "Did I tell you to remove your mouth?"

   "No, Sir," she squeaked.

   "Then keep sucking!  I've heard it said that a slave spends most of her
time with a cock in her mouth.  That shall be very true for you, Fuschia.
Make me come again before the ride is over!"

   As the gondola slowly passed over the pinnacle of the wheel and began
descending around the other side, he spied London Bridge nearly below them,
then Tower Bridge and the Tower of London farther up the Thames.

   It took a bit longer this time, but Fuschia finally coaxed a subsequent
orgasm from Guy's gonads.

   True to his earlier command, she kept a continued lip-lock around Guy's
cock.

   Looking around, Guy said, "Say, there's no toilet in these gondolas. 
What are folks to do for a half-hour if they have to go?"

   Glancing down, he caught the oddest look in Fuschia's eyes.  "Well, I
need to take a whiz, and my cock is connected to a very convenient drain."

   Fuschia shuddered at that revelation.  Guy grabbed the back of her head
and relaxed his bladder.  "Swallow quickly, my slave.  Let's not leave a
nasty spill for the porters when we leave."

   By the end of their wheel ride, she had swallowed two ball-loads of his
cum and finished up with a refreshing drink.  She stood and smoothed down
her blouse and skirt.  She might have a full belly courtesy of his gonads
and bladder, but he was hungry again.

   At the base of the wheel, they entered a touristy restaurant overlooking
the Thames.  Glancing up from his menu, Fuschia looked absolutely green. 
"I feel queasy, Sir."

   "Sure!" he said.  He ordered a burger and fries for himself, and some
seltzer for Fuschia.

   Upon exiting to the street, he turned to her and said, "You're my tour
guide for the rest of the day, Fuschia.  Take me somewhere in London that
an American tourist wouldn't likely find on his own."

   Fuschia stood and thought.  "Yes, Sir.  I can think of a few places."

   Tentatively, she led Guy down a series of narrow side streets, mostly
made up of a series of rundown-looking apartments--as if they were on their
way out of the city entirely.  Guy began to grow slightly impatient,
wondering how these dingy residential streets could possibly be leading
anywhere of interest, when they suddenly broke open into what appeared to
be a large market square.

   The smell hit them straight away: a heady mix of incense, hash smoke and
some tempting food smells from a nearby stall manned by a young Asian girl.
An assortment of hippies and punks seemed to people the place, plus some
far stranger characters who looked like they might be more at home in a
circus.  Guy couldn't help noticing the nearest stand, amongst the bongs
and other narcotic paraphernalia, was a pair of vicious looking steel
handcuffs, and a selection of other restraints that wouldn't have looked
too far out of place in his own collection.

   "Where are we?" asked Guy

   "Part of Camden Town," answered Fuschia.  "I thought you might find it
interesting."

   Guy looked around; he thought he saw the Asian girl give him a
surreptitious wink.

   "Is there anything you want to look at--Master?" said Fuschia, adding
the last word hastily.

   Guy wondered over to the stall he'd been eyeing a moment ago, his slave
following obediently behind.  It was manned, inexplicably, by a
bored-looking man in a suit and tie.

   Guy handled some of the toys on offer, and was amused to hear Fuschia
gulp down a swallow of air beside him as he examined a metallic collar
which seemed to have some kind of cattle-prod type device carefully
attached to it by a long wire.  He put it down, went haphazardly through
some of the other paraphernalia before turning away, confident he could see
nothing to exceed the varied joys of his own selection back in the States.
Those pleasures would be all the sweeter for the wait.

   "I think I'd like another drink, Fuschia." Guy looked at his watch.  "Is
there somewhere we can get a beer?"

   "Certainly, Sir."

   Again, she led him through the market, head still lowered, cautious not
to take too much charge of the situation.  They wormed their way through
the crowds, dodging pamphlet touters and offers from bad caricature artists
until, finally, she led him down another side street, and abruptly down a
flight of stairs.

   At the bottom was a small corridor with a kiosk man in frankly
frightening amounts of make-up.  He greeted Fuschia by name, and she looked
about to reply, but turned back to look at her new master and simply
smiled. Immediately he waved them through.

   Inside, it seemed it was still 1 AM in the morning, as opposed to
mid-afternoon.  Although the bar was sparsely peopled it was dark other
than a flashing strobe, and a mid-volume grinding dance beat emitted from a
speaker on the far side of an almost empty dance floor.  A woman, naked
other than a stripper-style thong, but painted all over with body paint in
the fashion of a tiger, complete with claws, crouched in a large cage in
the corner of the room, eliciting only an occasional glance from the
barmaid, who was dressed as normally as Guy himself, other than a shock of
bright pink hair.

   Guy ordered a beer for himself and water for Fuschia, who protested she
still felt a little queasy, and they went to sit at a corner table.

   As they drank, Guy couldn't help but notice Fuschia's furtive glances
across at the caged woman--half-hopeful, half-frightened, before she
curiously looked back at Guy.

   He caught hold of her hand possessively, guessing at her thoughts. 
"That my slave," he said, "is nothing compared to what I have in store for
you."

   After their drinks, Guy checked his watch and saw that it was getting
late.  "Let's move on, shall we?" he said.

   They made their way to the Chalk Farm tube station and rode back into
central London right in the center of Piccadilly Circus--London's answer to
Times Square.  Or maybe it's the other way around: Times Square is New
York's answer to Piccadilly Circus.

   By then, it was evening, so they boarded a bus that was headed toward
the Strand.

   As the passed Harrods, Guy barked, "Fuschia!  Come!"

   He led her off the bus into the department store.  He headed, first, to
the bookstore, and bought an American-British dictionary.  He also bought
himself a new xBox game while he was in a shopping mood.

   "Carry these," he said, handing the bundles to her.  She hesitated then
took the bags.  He leaned to her and whispered, "Being a slave is more than
just about sex, lovely Fuschia."

   "I know, sir," she said.  "I'm also your servant."

   "Glad you understand," he said, "but you didn't come with very many
clothes."

   "No, sir.  I gave most of my clothing to charity when I lost the bet and
was sold into slavery."

   "I see," he said.  "To be sure, you shan't have much need for clothing
living with me; it'll be much simpler, and more pleasant for me, for you to
be naked.  But you'll need clothing from time to time."

   "Yes, sir."

   They rode up to the clothing department where they looked through the
racks of women's clothing.  She stopped at one rack and held up a skirt. 
"I like this, master!  I love the colour!"

   Guy scowled at it.  "No you don't!"

   "I don't?" she asked.

   "No, you don't!  Don't forget that I own you, Fuschia!  I own your body!
And I own your mind!  From now on, I decide for you what you like and don't
like!  Is that clear?"

   "Yes, master," she said.

   And another thing, he said, "It's 'color,' not 'colour'.  And your
favorite color is now green."

   "Yes, master," she said.  "I don't like this; it's an ugly color," as
she returned the skirt to its place on the rack.

   After some quick shopping, Guy picked out a short black skirt, a black
bra, and a black fishnet top.  A dark green belt with a charcoal buckle
finished off the ensemble.  He giggled when he saw the horrified look on
her face.  "You love this outfit," he told her.

   "Yes sir," she said.  "I love that outfit!  Thank you for getting it for
me!"

   "Good!  It's what you'll be wearing on our flight home tomorrow."

   "Yes, sir."

   He led his bundle-laden slave down to the cafeteria in the basement.  As
he reached for a couple of pizza slices, Fuschia said, "I'm still a little
queasy, master."

   "Still?"

   "I still have the taste of--it--in my mouth," she whispered.

   "You need to eat!" he said and picked out a biscuit and seltzer for her.

   After their meal, she followed him back onto the street, carrying their
bundles, where they boarded a bus back to the hotel.

   When they arrived back at their room overlooking the Strand, he told her
to undress and he entered the bathroom where he started the shower running.
He brushed his teeth while the water got warm, then he called out, "Come
brush and gargle and join me."

   After Fuschia brushed and gargled, they stepped under the warm shower
together, and he pulled Fuschia to him tightly and held her.  "Mmmmm," she
cooed.

   "This feels good, eh?"

   "Oh, yes, master!"

   He pressed his mouth to hers and held a long, lingering kiss.  Before
long, their tongues were wrestling together while their mixed saliva
sloshed freely through their coupled mouths.

   Finally breaking for air, he said, "You wash me, and I'll wash you."

   A little later, they had washed each other and rinsed off.  He then led
her by the hand into bed.

   Once again, he mounted her began fingering her pussy.  "Shit!  You're
wet again!"

   "I found the day, well, stimulating, master!  Being treated like a slave
really is arousing.  Even that dirty thing you used me for this morning;
it, well, made me feel randy.  I wanted you to fuck me so bad right then,
master!  Right there in the wheel!"

   "Ha!" he laughed.  "That would have been rich!"

   "Master?" she asked plaintively.

   "Yes?"

   "If I may ask a favour?"

   "You may."

   "Will you give me an orgasm tonight?  Please, master!"

   Guy thought for a moment before answering.  "No.  You haven't earned an
orgasm yet.  Besides, knowing that your body is my fuck-toy is all the
pleasure you need."

   "Yes, master," she sighed.  "Please do use my body for your pleasure!"

   He slid his rigid member into her soaking pussy and, once again, wrapped
his hands tightly around her neck, and squeezed hard.

   She smiled at him this time, whilst being choked and fucked at once.

   And again, by the time his orgasm faded and he regained conscious
control, she was no longer smiling, and had turned slightly blue.

   She began gasping for breath the moment he released his grip from her
neck and fell upon her.

   Again, he fell to sleep upon her.

   ###

   The next morning came too soon.  Again, she struggled to gasp for breath
when he rolled off her.

   He collected his belongings and closed up his luggage.  "C'mon!  Get
dressed in your new outfit!  We have a plane to catch."

   A few minutes later, Guy had checked out of the hotel and led the way to
a tube station down the street.  Fuschia followed, pulling Guy's heavy
suitcase behind her, with several smaller bags strapped over her shoulders.
After a transfer, they were riding on the Piccadilly line out to Heathrow.

   Guy had removed her collar prior to leaving.  Security would go
ballistic upon being presented with a collared slave woman, and he saw no
reason to distrust her.  If she was of a mind to run away, better to let
her do so on the Underground before facing countless security checkpoints
at the airport or at US Immigrations.

   As it was, she cooperated--an American and Briton couple traveling
across the pond together failed to raise an alarm.  The check-in clerk at
the luggage counter even managed to change their tickets to give them
adjacent seats.

   They passed through countless checkpoints and inspections without
mishap, and finally boarded their flight.  After a slight delay, their
plane sped down the runway and hurled itself into the sky, away from
Heathrow--back home for Guy, and a whole new life as a slave for
Fuschia--for the rest of her life.



   * TO BE CONTINUED *