index


Message-ID: <29474asstr$985270202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "MARK  MERSEREAU" <m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2001 16:35:40 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} { ASSM }   "Counterfeiters"  (bd sm nc oral toys FM+ FF Mdom Fdom voy cheat) (Corrected format)
Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 09:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d



The usual disclaimers: Strictly adult material. All characters
are fictional.  No redistribution without attribution to the
above author.  No commercial use whatsoever of this story.

The Counterfeiters

CHAPTER ONE: Party Crashers

It was a clear, calm night, welcome after the storms we'd had
almost every day over the last week. The season was Spring, and I
was standing on the front porch of a rented old antebellum
Florida mansion and gazing up at the sky.  Sirius was bright as
usual, but nearly setting.  I was searching for the Southern
Cross.

I ought to have Sumner buy a telescope.  Mount it on the lawn.

I finally gave up.  Perhaps it was too far south to see, although
Florida is flat enough to see nearly to the horizon without
natural obstructions.   By twenty-one, oh, oh, it'll probably be
under water.  The last time I saw the Cross was when Sumner and I
were on a cruise ship full of suckers.  Of course we posed as
complete strangers, that  was part of our scam. 

It was still early evening but I was thinking of what to do
later.  I'm plagued by insomnia; unlike Renee, who's a voracious
reader, I seldom touch a book.  A telescope would serve as a
diversion, especially following our previous months of drudgery.


I'm not a person who enjoys work; I prefer play, of any sort.  My
first preference in play is women.  I have the European taste in
that respect, although I found the availability of willing and
attractive girls here quite surprising.  You Americans may be
retarded, but you are learning.  Gambling, as well.  Monte Carlo,
assuming I'm `in the chips'.  

You've noticed my use of slang. I'm a trifle smug about my
knowledge of American idioms; I was excellent at absorbing
languages, even though I never stayed in school long enough for
my teachers to give me more than the basics in my three foreign
tongues: English, German, and Spanish.  That grounding was all I
needed to pick up the rest, usually while immersed in the
country.   I absorbed it like a sponge.  

I'm writing of my youth you understand, my teenage days.  I've
lost most of that ability now.  I can attest to the saying that
one must learn languages when young.  The earlier the better. 
Because of all the travelling I've done and still do out of
necessity, I keep up well enough in those tongues that I know. 

In Spain I spent a year in Torremolinos on the Costa del Sol.  A
sleepy and warm tiny city, pleasant for the vacationing
Europeans, but too quiet for me.  In Germany I spent a few months
in Hamburg-terrible, industrial city; I detested it.  Even the
girls of the Reeperbahn seemed more robotic than female.  In the
States I spent most of my time in Los Angeles.  Not my favorite
city, but an improvement over Hamburg.   In Bangkok most of the
natives spoke my native tongue, although when I was back
recently, some school children spoke to me in English, assuming I
was American.  I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered.
 I love the Thai's; a very easy-going people.  Sex is a daily
necessity there, as much as food.  As for the city, its enormous
sprawl makes the gridlocks of London or New York seem trivial. 
But ideal if one wants to become lost, for any reason.

Motor cycling.   Alpine skiing.  A little hang-gliding. 
Unfortunately, my tastes  amount to ones suited to the heir of a
wealthy business man.  Which I am not.  To  compensate, my life
between pleasures is devoted to making money without the drudgery
of working for it.  The last six months, I regret to say, amount
to a tedious exception.   I probably worked harder then than at
any prior period in my thirty-seven years on this planet.

As I said, I was standing on the veranda, thinking of nothing in
particular but the constellations, when Jose appeared, a bit
breathless.  Jose is a cool young Mexican, nineteen I believe,
with dark eyes, black hair, and a mustache that I wish he would
shave off.  It makes him look a bit like Pancho Villa.  Not that
I dislike his looks for that, but I prefer none of my compatriots
in crime to resemble bandits.  Why look like one's occupation? 
It tends to give one's potential nemeses ideas that I'd prefer
they not acquire gratuitously.

"Three girls, Senor Marc!  The guards caught them in the
basement.  They came in through the hatch.  Someone forgot to
lock it after the last load of materials."

I'd insisted that none of our people mentioned paper, or
duplication, or any of the paraphernalia that might induce
suspicion, so `materials' is a catchall phrase we used.  If more
precise descriptions were necessary, we used simple euphemisms,
like `toilet paper', `black paint', and so on.

"Merde!," I responded.  "Jose, this we simply don't need.  Where
were they in the basement?  Any chance they looked in the
library?,"  `library' being our term for the location of the
copiers.

"I don't know.  Papa caught them in the workshop."

"Quelle dommage!"  The library was adjacent to the workshop.  Far
too  close.  "I'll see them.  Where are they now?"

"Still there.  I didn't want them to see any of the house."

"Good.  Who's guarding them?"

"Sumner and Renee.  Papa returned to the gate after they came
down to take over."

"O.K.  The girls probably have a car parked nearby.  You come
back inside with me and get their keys.  Move it as far away from
here as possible.  Find an area to park it where it won't be
noticed.  I don't mean isolated; I mean crowded with autos."

Sensibly, Sumner and Renee had brought chairs downstairs, and all
five of them were seated when we arrived at the base of the
stairwell.

I grabbed Jose's arm to hold him in the doorway before entering
the shop, which we used chiefly for metalworking.  My compatriot
Sumner constructed an assembly line there which we employed to do
much of the transferring.  Besides the metal, we maintained a
large amount of seasoned lumber.  That we employ for mounting the
metal which supports the line as well as for crude shelving, to
hold both raw materials and the final, metal-boxed product,
stamped DM, FF, or SM.  

I  saw three attractive young women.  One was blonde, with long
straight hair fastened into a pony tail.  Nice figure, large
breasts.  Dee cups, probably..   

A redhead with a bob.  In Paris in the Marais  area I might take
her for a lesbian, but here one never knows.  Slender, but not
excessively so.  She resembled a typical Parisienne soubrette.  I
find them every bit as sexually attractive as Bardot types. 
Small breasts, of uncertain shapes because of her bra.  Bee cups
I guessed. Definitely fuckable.

The third had jet black hair, to her shoulders.  Petite, but a
proportionately curvaceous figure.  Cee cups probably. All three,
desirable. Any one of them would turn a Frenchman's head.  What a
bonanza!

Ah--mon coeur--pas trop vite!

The redhead-Arlene-responded to most of my questions.  Of the
three, she seemed the most articulate.  The other two were too
scared to say much.  I don't recall if Manuel was carrying my
revolver, but if they saw it, I couldn't blame them for being
frightened.

"We didn't mean anything like robbery!," she protested. "It's
just that this place looks so mysterious, with the big fence and
the guard at the gate.  Your lights were all on, and we heard
music.  We decided to crash your party."  

She smiled, perhaps believing that would influence me favorably
toward them.  If she knew me, or if she could read the thought
germinating but still vague in my mind, she would not have
bothered.

"I felt like dancing,"  Renee said; "It was the radio  you heard.
 I had it on loud."

"Dancing with whom?," I asked.  

"Your brother, who else?  Bruce needs a few lessons."

Dancing, merde.  She was  fucking him.   

My brother is sixteen, and is `quite a hunk' as you Americans
say.  No doubt she had the music playing so as to drown out the
sounds of their frolic.  Renee can be rather loud.  Bruce isn't
exactly Tutankhamen, either. I heard him only once in the throes
of sexual enjoyment, but from it I knew the noisy radio could
certainly have been for him as much as for her.

That happened to be a half-year ago, shortly after we arrived in
Fort Lauderdale.  I was napping in the hotel suite I'd taken when
a loud cry from Bruce in the adjoining room awoke me.  Renee
wasn't in our room.  I rose, went to the door that connected our
room with  Bruce's, and quietly opened it.  Renee had her sweater
off.  She seldom wears a brassiere (silly English term!), and she
was bare to the waist, displaying her well-formed breasts for
him.  He was seated on the bed and she was on her knees,
bestowing on him a gamahuche.  She did it with such panache that
I immediately developed an erection myself.  

Being a betting man, I would have wagered a thousand francs that
the blowjob she was giving Bruce was the best he'd ever had.  It
had to be better than any his fifteen year old girl friend in the
gymnasium ever gave him.  Renee on her knees dispenses ecstasy. 
Wishing I had a camera,   I continued to watch.  I was curious to
see if she'd continue, and finish pleasuring him via the Trumpet
of Toulouse, or if she'd climb on top of him.  She adores riding
on young cock, so it was a difficult call.  I estimated the odds
at about fifty-five to forty-five, favoring the bj.

She read my mind, nodding repeatedly at my judgement, with the
consequence that my brother could have awakened anyone napping on
this floor of the hotel.  Even so, between his cries I could hear
her gulps. I softly closed the door.

I never interfere with other people's sex lives.  `It's their
business' is my attitude.  I suspect the reason that Renee stays
with me and Sumner must be partly because I let her fuck whoever
she wants.  As far as STD's go, I don't worry.  She's a lot more
careful about whose bones she jumps than I am.

You see how well I know your slang?!

"I'm not sure whom I should call," I told the girls;  "the cops
or your parents."  I intended neither, of course, but I was
curious to hear their reactions.

"Oh my god!," the blonde (her name was Sheila) exclaimed, "Don't
do that!  You must know we weren't going to take anything.  I
mean, we didn't bring anything to carry loot, not even our
purses."

The others similarly protested.  

The petite girl, Avis, added, "My folks would kill me if they
knew I'd been caught doing something stupid like this.  It's
something our boyfriends might do, but not us.  As Arlene told
you, we were sure you were partying.  We just wanted to get in on
it.  And, maybe get a little free booze.  Or weed."

"Won't your boyfriends be annoyed at your crashing a party
without them?"

"Oh, they're back in Boston," the blonde said.  "We sure aren't
going tell them!"

"How long is your vacation?," I asked. 

Foolishly, they were giving me the information I needed to carry
out the plan whose pieces I  was now fitting together in myhead.

"Two weeks," Arlene said.  "Or rather, it was when we got in at
noon today.  Only thirteen days now.  We have to get some
swimming in.  I heard that this was your first nice day in a
week."

I went upstairs to find Jose and my brother.  And to get my
revolver if Jose's father wasn't carrying it.  It was in the
bedside cabinet drawer.  I checked it to be sure I hadn't left
any bullets in it, especially in the barrel.  I handed the weapon
to Jose.

"Just scare them with this.  No threats, just let them see it." 

"I want them blindfolded, all three, and gagged.  Use packing
rope to tie their hands behind them.  No tape.  It's too hard to
remove.  But do a thorough job;  I don't want any of them to get
loose, or to yell.  And, be careful gagging them.  Don't risk
choking them.  Just be sure they can't work the gags out." 

"Hey boss," Jose protested.  "Why gag them?  Nobody's gonna hear
them.  The grounds are too big.  And the shrubbery must cut off
the sound even more."

"Gag them," I insisted.  "Bring them up here and tie them well
away from each other.  Tie their feet, too."   I felt so
stimulated by my idea that I almost in jest called him `Pancho',
but I'm sure that would have, as you say,  pissed him.  Kids tend
to have thin skins.

"Jesus, Marc!," my brother asked;  "How come you want them tied
up?  What are we going to do with them?"

"They passed our library to get to the shop.  I can't imagine
them being not interested in everything that was in the library
rather than where we found them.  I assume they must have gone
in.  So, we can't let them go.  Not before we pack up and ship
the merchandise.  They're on vacation and won't be missed for two
weeks.  We have that much time."

"We're keeping them  tied up for two weeks?!"

"Oh, Bruce," I laughed.  "Don't be so naive.   What do you think
we're going to do with them?!

"Anyway, they won't be tied up the entire time.  At least not
tied up the way you and Jose are going to tie them up a few
minutes from now.  Even though that's temporary, it doesn't mean
I'll tolerate a sloppy job."

The three of us went downstairs.  While Bruce and Jose were tying
up the girls, who protested with complaints like "Why are you
tying us up?" and similar queries, I took Sumner into the family
room, which was just down the hall, past a bathroom on the other
side of the basement.  Except for the bare beams overhead to
which fluorescent lights were fixed, it was well finished, with
oak panelling, wall to wall carpeting, a sofa, two lamp tables,
and three armchairs.

"I'm going into town to buy some things, Sumner.  While I'm gone,
I want you to fashion some wooden structures for me.  Locate them
in here."

Sumner is a former small time con artist and card shark, but he
has an innate talent for building things. 

In appearance, he looks deceptively innocent,  with an almost
sleepy look on his slightly pudgy face.  A full head of dirty
blonde hair.  He's going on forty, a bit older than me.  He was a
semi-pro soccer player once and, although he's put on weight
since then, he's still strong and agile for his size, which is
about a hundred eighty-five centimetres.  About my size but even
though I was pretty athletic when younger and even had dreams of
pro tennis, he's as active as I even though he outweighs me by
twenty kilos. 

I don't ever gamble with him, as he knows many more ways to cheat
than I.  

He's  constantly got a smile on his face, and it's seldom that
anything fazes him.  A cool customer.  Not that handsome; but
women love him.  For some reason he latched onto me.  He amuses
me, so we've been scamming together for years.

"Sure, Marc.  What kind of structures?"

Sumner handed me his pad and pencil.  I sketched for him what I
wanted and he broke out into that smile full of white teeth that
sort of makes me want to  laugh with him even if nothing amusing
has been uttered.

"Mmm!," he said.  "We should have much fun, mon ami!"

He knitted his brows comically, leafing through the five
sketches.

But, won't the flics search for the girls?"

"I doubt it, Sum.  They are staying in a motel, and they already
paid with a credit card.  If they disappear, the motel management
may not care, supposing they're partying somewhere.  But the
management won't discover even that.  If they have reason to
believe that the girls are sleeping there each night, no one is
going to even guess that they're missing. 

"Right now, Jose is getting everything from their rental car,
including their motel keys.  I'll have Renee go there tonight to
mess up their room. If she's seen, it will be after dark, and I
doubt that anyone will know she isn't one of the room's
occupants.

"Their intrusion compresses our time frame but not seriously; I
allowed slack for an emergency anyway.  Although I certainly
didn't forsee one like this.  

"Anyhow, Sum, having them here should make our next two weeks
much more interesting than the last months have been."

"How long do you think we have before they will be missed?"

I told him.  Then I left.  I headed for the sleaziest barrio in
Little Havana.

It took me most of the evening, but the store I found stayed open
until the bars closed, so I was able to acquire most of  the
items on my mental shopping list.  I'm a devotee of bondage, and
one reason Renee and I stay together is her passion for it.  Her
taste runs to both submission and dominance, which I find a bit
peculiar but, de gustibus non est disputandum.  Not having any
liking for submission myself, I don't mind her enjoying a male
who does.  Still, it isn't that often that she encounters one. 
More frequently, she  brings a female to our apartment, which is
certainly preferable to me.  If the newcomer has the appetite for
a menage a trois,  I participate with the two of them.

Once, I recall, we encountered lesbians enjoying public sex in a
Marche de Puce, the one that is just south of the Faubourg Sainte
Antoine, north of the Gare de Lyon.  They were occupying a little
knoll of grass that abuts a wall.  Both were dressed, more or
less, but the blonde who was receiving her partner's attention
was prone and had her blouse wide open.  She was braless (and
briefless), and the brunette was bent over her, with a hand up
the skirt, her mouth on a teat.

Renee waited until they noticed us.  Both smiled, saucily.  I
thought they each looked of an age to attend the Sorbonne, 
eighteen or so.   Two backpacks beside them practically confirmed
my guess.  Renee approached and made her proposal.  The brunette
was a bit hostile, but the blonde gave Renee her telephone
number.  

Some days later I was in our apartment preparing dinner, when the
two of them appeared.  I set the table for three, including one
each of a Bordeaux red and a white.  That evening our bed became
a rope-embellished playground for the three of us.  The blonde
was, to my good fortune, a `Bi' in your parlance.  When Renee
finds a true lesbian, at least in my experience, the girl may
tolerate sex with me, but without relish.  I suppose her
tolerance stems from a wish to satisfy Renee's taste for
dominance and her own wish to be submissive and obedient to her
Mistress.  It never seems to be due to any attraction she has for
me.

As I left the B&D store,  carrying two full bags, I encountered a
street vendor of flowers.  She was a latina of about sixteen, too
young to be out at this hour.  She was packing up her things for
the night.  I noticed that she still had several unsold bouquets.
 Unlike Paris, most American cities, including Miami, don't have
flower shops on every corner (so to speak).  

I missed not being able to bring flowers for Renee as I was
accustomed to in France, so I bought the girl's entire stock,
including some beautiful blue, pink, and yellow lisianthi.  I
also got some helichrysi, of the strawflower variety, in red,
orange, and white.  They aren't a favorite of Renee's but they do
last.  I  walked to my car, occasionally inhaling their
fragrance.  I carefully laid them in a corner of the trunk, where
they wouldn't unroll from the paper and plastic the girl had
wrapped about their stems.  I packed the B&D bags tightly in
beside them.

It's a dull drive back, north on the Turnpike, but I had a lot to
think about.  Not just the girls, who would be our after-hours
entertainment, but keeping to the new schedule in our production.
 Also, security.  I had to find out how our three intruders had
gotten in.  Our fence had to be made secure.  Another intrusion
would more than likely be impossible to handle.  As one of your
countrymen put it to me, "One can juggle only so many balls
without losing one's own."

Another possible area I had uncertainty about was the
dependability of the graphics engineer whom I'd bribed to aid us
in our setup.  Larry Phelps seemed to have no qualms about
illegalities.  I had paid him well, but one can never be sure of
sealed lips.  I'd observed his sly glances at Renee's bra-less
bosom through her outer  garments.  It occurred to me that I
might further ensure his silence by including him in at least one
evening that my group would spend playing with our new toys. 
Involve him in further illegalities.

When I arrived it was after midnight.   I was a little tired from
the driving, but stimulated by my successful shopping spree and
the anticipation of trying out my purchases on the college girls.
 In any case, even when tired, I don't sleep a lot, so I felt no
desire to retire. Were I a businessman, I suppose I'd be
classified as type AA personality.

They were tied up in the living room. Sheila, the blonde, must
have been exhausted, since she was sound asleep on the floor, in
what had to be an extremely uncomfortable position.  The other
two were also on the carpet, and were similarly bound, all three
being hog-tied with their wrists and ankles together behind their
backs.  They had been forced to lie on their sides to get any
rest but even so, having their wrists bound to their ankles
forced  their shoulders and legs back and held  their torsos and
spines in an unnatural,  backward arc that must  have been
uncomfortable to a degree approaching pain.

I passed them and filled a vase at the kitchen faucet and plunked
the flowers in the vase.  I carried it back into the living room
and set the flowers on the mantel over the fireplace.  These
antebellum homes have fireplaces in every room.  Of course,
fireplaces are generally all that's necessary in Florida.  I'm
not sure that I've ever encountered a centrally heated home
there.

The redhead Arlene and the brunette Avis were awake.  They had
been staring at me since I entered.  They were muted by the cloth
that had probably been torn from an old bedsheet and which was
wrapped multiple  times about  their heads, covering their
mouths.  I couldn't tell then, but later found out that each also
had a cloth stuffed in her mouth behind the wrapping.  I saw no
blindfold and wondered why Jose had disobeyed me about it.  I
mentally shrugged, since that had been to restrict their knowlege
of the house to the basement which they'd already seen, and it
seemed unlikely they could do anything by knowing the arrangement
of the living room.  Only in the event that a girl got loose
could it benefit them.  Possibly tears had something to do with
his blindfold omission. Avis's eyes were red, and her cheeks were
smudged as if she'd been crying.

The redhead began to make  sounds that of course were
unintelligible, but  sounded frantic, and  she began nodding as
if she were looking down at her feet, which naturally she
couldn't, since they were bound behind her hips.  Then the
brunette took up the same perculiar motions, sounds included. 
The noise, although muffled, woke up Sheila, who saw me and
looked over at the others.  She, like Avis, looked as though
she'd been crying.  But I wasn't concerned with that.

Then it hit me.  I quickly knelt beside the redhead.  It took
some work to undo the knot in the cloth, but I finally got it
loose and unwrapped it.  She immediately spit the cloth from her
mouth.

"Jesus!," she exclaimed.  "My bladder is ready to burst.  If you
don't want your rug wet, you'd better let me use a toilet!"

Speaking of pissing, I was annoyed, especially with Renee.  She
should have thought of the plight the three would be in.  Why no
one had stayed at least to guard the girls defied explanation.  I
suppose no one wanted to sleep in a chair.

I worked at the knot Jose or my brother had used on  her, but it
was too tight and too intricate to  get undone quickly,  At a run
I went to the kitchen for a knife, and I cut the cords that held
her ankles.  I helped her up and went with her at her pace, a
trot, to the bathroom off the kitchen.  As soon as we entered, I
switched on the light, flipped the toilet lid up, and knelt
before her.  I suppose she was desperate, as she made no protest
as I undid her jeans and pulled them, along with her panties,
straight down her legs.  A second later she was pissing noisily
and emitting a sigh of relief.

"Sheila and Avis must have to go pretty badly, too," she said, as
the sounds diminished.  Would you wipe me?  Please?"

I was a bit surprised at her aplomb, but it's what a Parisienne
would have asked under the circumstances, and I complied.  She
gave a slight shiver, but said nothing.

"I'll  take care of your dark-haired friend next," I said.

"Avis."

"Oh, yes, Avis, le petit oiseau, the little bird.  It's
suitable."

"Oh, please, never mind impressing me,  please help her."

"You stay right here," I told her.

I  went through a similar procedure with the other two  young
women, although they were considerably more embarrassed than 
Arlene, starting with the moment I exposed their bottoms and
until I'd wiped them dry.

By this time it was close to one o'clock, but I was concerned
that all three of my prisoners could now walk or, for that
matter, run.  I'd have no trouble with just one, but if it came
into their heads to all run in a different direction, I would be
in trouble.  True, their hands were still bound, but one can open
a door with one's hands tied behind one's back quite easily.  As
for my revolver, a sure way of keeping them in line, I presumed
Jose still had it, and he was up in his bedroom.  The old mansion
was thick-walled and high ceilinged, and I had no hope of
wakening him or any of the others by yelling from where I was. 
Even if I stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted, I had my
doubts.

I recalled the two bags of merchandise.  They were stuffed with
BD&SM paraphernalia, including six pairs of handcuffs.

"Stay in here," I ordered, and I closed the bathroom door behind
me.  They  had probably seen my gun in Jose's hand and would be
hesitant to attempt an escape unless they were sure that I, too,
didn't have one.  In any case, I ran, checked to be certain I had
the right bag, and I returned with it to the bathroom.  I gave
some thought to how I should use the handcuffs.

I felt full of energy and I was stimulated by the proximity and
availability of the three attractive girls. I certainly wasn't
ready to retire.  I could handcuff two of the girls together and
enjoy the third.  I could fuck them in rotation that way; at
least until I tired.  Or until dawn came, when my group would
descend and interrupt the festivities.

Looking at them, however, I changed my mind.  All three appeared
exhausted.  I had no desire to fuck a girl who fell asleep
beneath me.  I helped them up the main stairway, the redhead in
the middle, her left ankle handcuffed to the blonde's right ankle
and her right to Avis's left.  It was a slow and awkward climb,
but with me behind to prevent a fall, they got up.  

Renee was nowhere to be seen, and our bed hadn't been slept in. 

No wonder she forgot the girls,  she's getting fucked.  I give
her plenty, but she prefers young cock.

Somewhat exasperated, I was tempted to march down the hall and
barge into each room, but that seemed a little pointless.  I no
longer needed her help with the girls.  My intrusion would
ameliorate my annoyance, but whoever she was with wouldn't
appreciate my entering.  Moreover, I was assuming the room she
was in had an unlocked door.  Not a likely prospect.

I turned my attention to the three girls. I undid each one's
cuffs from her ankles long enough to help her move her bound
hands under her legs and hips until she had them in front of 
her.  When I'd finished with all three, I had them sit together
on my carpet. I linked Arlene's ankle to a leg of my bed. 
Choosing  different legs for Avis and Sheila, I linked their's
similarly.

"Lie down on my carpet," I told them.   I gathered pillows and
light blankets from my cupboard and arranged them so each girl
had a pillow beneath her head and enough of the blanket to stay
warm for sleeping.  Within ten minutes all three of them were off
in slumberland.

Considering their state of fatigue, I didn't think they would
awaken soon, so I took a shower, threw on a bathrobe, and went
downstairs.  My goal was the basement family room.  I was anxious
to see the results, if any, of Sumner's carpentry.

On the way, I encountered Manuel, Jose's `Papa'.  He was my
guard, and it was he who had discovered the girls in the
basement.  An older version of his son, he's slender, with black
hair and moustache and, unlike the old cinematic slothful and
sleepy versions of Mexicans, he's energetic and trustworthy.  An
illegal here, his chief occupation (before this temporary one his
son had persuaded him to take) is housebreaking.  He provided me
contact with the fishing trawler we planned to use to haul our
finished merchandise, concealing it beneath the ice in a catch
bin.

"I saw the devices Senor Sumner made for the girls, Senor Marc,"
he said.  "Most impressive.  I understand well I am just guard
here,  but I thought . . . I did find the girls.  Would, um . . 
.Will I be so fortunate as to share them with you?"

I smiled.  "Of course Manuel.  The girls aren't my property.  I
intend all of us to enjoy them."

"I am most grateful!  I have admit to you something Senor Marc,
that  I have felt over these months.  Your Renee looks muy
sabroso-I forget the English for it-more to me each day we are
here.  I know you say she can do as she wishes, but still . . .
Well, you understand, we Latinos have trouble even in this modern
time with sharing our mujer with another man. You French are much
a mystery to us."

I smiled.  "As you are to me, Manuel.  Considering a woman as
property not to be shared is foreign to us."

I continued down the stairs.   As I was about to pass the
library, I remembered that I  wanted to  borrow a pair of wire
cutters, and I filched a pair that lay on the examination table.
I continued into the family room.					

It hadn't been necessary to describe for Sumner the applications
I had in mind.  He had no difficulty deducing what I wanted them
for.  

There was a simple sawhorse from two by fours; its flat top stood
at a height a little below my hips; I visualized the blonde bent
over with her belly on it and her wrists and ankles bound to its
four legs.  Although I hadn't specified them in my sketches,
Sumner had thought to insert eyebolts in the side of each leg
near the floor to provide anchors for ropes or handcuffs.

The two racks were a bit more complex, but still simple enough so
their assembly couldn't have taken him very long.  The H frame of
each was, like the sawhorse, of wooden two by fours; but the four
upright supports for each were of  five centimeter OD pipe.  The
four supports were held by a flange at each base to a sheet of
four by eight foot (U.S.) half inch plywood.  A bit of `overkill'
I thought..  But, Sumner had avoided the necessity of sawing by
using the sheets as we'd received them.  The H was capable of
flipping forward or back over a horizontal pipe to which the
cross beam of the H was fastened.  He had also attached a
rudimentary brake that allowed the H be be clamped rigid in any
position, from upright to horizontal or even completelyinverted.

Sumner had thoughtfully provided eyebolts near the tops and
bottoms of the H uprights to which we could fasten handcuffs or
ropes.  While roaming the BD&SM store earlier that evening,  I
searched for cuffs or bracelets that would be suitable for
binding wrists and ankles to the wooden devices he  was making. 
For that, I purchased eight leather handcuffs to which snaphooks
were riveted.  Looking at Sumner's handiwork, I was satisfied
that I could attach the handcuffs to the H frames without
difficulty.  

I was pleased with the simplicity and applicability of Sumner's
handiwork.   

I felt the stirrings of excitement, envisioning the redhead
mounted in one frame, Avis in the other, both naked and
spreadeagled.  I stepped onto one of the wooden bases to
determine the height of the crossbar.  It  would be about
waist-high for the two taller girls, Sheila and Arlene.  It
seemed a bit high for the brunette. However, whether her feet
were on the wood or she was suspended in the air by her wrists
and ankles was immaterial to me.  In either case, her cunt would
be readily accessible from where I stood and at a height perfect
for penetration.  

I looked at the rear wall.  There were six widely-spaced eyebolts
mounted in a horizontal row near the ceiling, with matching ones
near the floor.  I noticed, even though I hadn't thought of or
included it in  my sketches, that he had  fastened six
similarly-spaced eyebolts into the overhead beams.  Depend on my
old friend to read my mind.

Three spreader bars lay on a lamp table.  I smiled as I examined
them.  He must have finished the sawhorse and frames earlier than
he'd anticipated,  because the spreader bars looked like he'd
spent more time on them than on the larger structures.  He had
made them of wooden dowelling and had sanded them to eliminate
all sharp edges, after which he had even varnished them.  Close
to each end of each bar were attached D rings to hold manacles. 

I removed from a bag six of the eighteen wrist/ankle cuffs that
I'd bought.  They were made of velvet-lined leather, with a
cliphook riveted to each.  Using the cliphooks, I attached them
to the spreader bars, preparing the latter for service.

I deposited the remaining cuffs as well as several whips and
leather straps on the lamp table.

I started upstairs.  I didn't feel drowsy, but I decided to try
to get some sleep.  The girls needed theirs, and I didn't want to
disturb them until they were rested.  Halfway up the stairs, it
occurred to me to look into the library.  I usually inspected it
as soon as production ended each evening, but tonight I'd
forgotten.

Three half-filled metal cube-shaped cans had been left on top of
the belt, when someone had apparently set them down on the first
convenient level surface the moment the line stopped.  Their lids
were only loosely laid on.  If the girls had entered the library,
at least one of them must have been  curious enough to look
inside the cans. Two were empty, but the third was half full of
Deutchmarks.  That troubled me, and I wondered how I could
determine if the girls had discovered that can's contents.  Even
if we encountered no problems in completing our work here and in
delivering the merchandise, the girls' knowledge-if bruited
publicly-of what we'd produced here would jeopardize our ability
to market it.

I suddenly remembered the motel.  Feeling foolish, I raced up the
two flights of stairs.  I should have found Renee and mentioned
it to her before leaving for Miami.  A man observed entering the
motel at this hour of the night would certainly be remembered. 
With Renee on our team, though, there was no need to send a man.


Now, to find her, I had to look in the other bedrooms.  That
would infuriate Renee; she would be sure I was spying on her.  

Once on the second floor, I checked on the three girls.  To my
surprise there was Renee in our bed, sleeping soundly.  Whatever
her reason, she hadn't wanted me to go looking for her.

Perhaps she has a new lover.  But, it could still be Bruce.  She
never learned about my seeing the two of them together in the
hotel.

I shook her.  "Get up!"

She groaned, and pulled the pillow over her head.  I was forced
to drag her from the bed, between Sheila and the redhead, who
both lay on the carpet on that side.  Neither was awake, although
the redhead rolled over, away from us, toward the handcuff that
connected her ankle to the bed leg.  I supported Renee, until,
yawning, she stood without my help.  She was naked, and I
wondered if she'd undressed in our room.  Perhaps she had come
like this from wherever she'd been. It was something she would
do. Her figure looked as good as ever to me, and I was tempted to
grab a firm cee cup tit in one hand, her tight butt in the other.


I'm really horny tonight from thinking about these girls.

I threw on pants and a shirt and I helped her get dressed.  "You
have to go to their motel," I told her.  "I'll drive.  I'll
explain on the way."

When we reached Royal Palm Road, I told her, "Watch for Clearview
Drive.  Number sixty-three.  The motel faces Royal Palm Road, but
it's set back, with shrubbery hiding it."

It was closer than I expected.  Even though I'd driven on RPR
often enough, I never noticed the motel.  It appeared to be a
small, family owned, one story building.  Only about forty units.
 It was well-illuminated by a light over each door and I
hesitated about getting out myself.  A man going into a girls'
unit at two a.m. would raise eyebrows and questions.  "Take this
bag," I told her; "Stuff as much of each of the girls' clothing
in it as you can get in it.  Don't take underclothes or pants. 
Just skirts and blouses.  Sweaters are too bulky: We'll get them
some other time."

"Oui mon pere."  

As she stepped out, I slapped her butt, which was bare under her
cotton skirt.  She turned, briefly, stuck out her tongue. 
"Queue!," she said, and headed for door number ten.   Just then
another car pulled in beside mine, and I slipped down on the seat
out of sight.  After its doors slammed and the footsteps of two
people receded, I heard a man say, "Awful late for a young lady
to be out, isn't it?"

Merde!   I hoped the other person was a woman.  I didn't savor
the complications of Renee dealing with a couple of men at two in
the morning.

She responded something I couldn't catch.  I suppose she hadn't
immediately been able to open the door and had to pose as number
ten's occupant.

I heard nothing more except a closing door.  It might have been
two doors at once.

I cautiously looked out.  I saw a man walking toward the
still-illuminated office.  I wondered why he was heading there at
this time of night, but there really wasn't much I could do
except wait for Renee.  A minute or two later, he returned,
carrying a container that probably held ice.  A minute after
that, another man exited the office.  He knocked on the unit
Renee had entered.  He waited, then knocked again.  He said
something through the door.  Finally, Renee opened it, took
something, and closed the door.  The man returned to the office,
and I exhaled, wondering what that had been about.

I waited nearly half an hour; then she returned, carrying my
laundry bag.  She hopped into the car beside me.  I glanced
about.  No one.  I pulled onto Clearview, then RPR, and headed
back for the house.

"Did you see the guy come to the door and knock?," she asked.

"Yes.  What did he want?  I nearly left the car to get you out of
there!"

She laughed.  "The girls left a note at the desk about having
towels for only two.  He was bringing them.  I don't know how he
knew I was in there but not asleep."

"A guy that just drove up went to get ice.  He probably mentioned
the sexy girl he met entering Unit Ten."

Renee smiled.  "I  brought three blouses and three skirts.  Also,
some socks and tampons.  It was all I could fit into this bag."

"Did you mess up the room?"  

"Certainement!  I splashed up the sink and left some clothes I
didn't feel like repacking on a chair.  I found a bottle of
sherry and drank some.  There are two double beds.  I bounced on
them both.  Et, j'ai branle!"

"Bullshit!" I said, smiling.  She'd probably already come a
half-dozen times with whomever she'd been in bed with earlier.

I pulled off of Southwest Eighteenth, onto our street.

* * *

The girls woke me up, all of them together.  I must have been
sleeping sounder than usual.  I seemed to recall dreaming, but I
no longer can recall my dreams, so I wouldn't put money on it.

The redhead was the loudest. "Christ!  Will you tell me why
you've tied us up like this?" 

She sat up, leaning back on her hands.  "None of your lackeys
would tell us a thing.  All that kid would tell us is that we had
to wait for you.  You're Mark, right?"

"Yes.  Spelled with a cee."  I didn't like Bruce presenting them
with my name, but the damage was done; there was no point in
dwelling on it.

"I repeat, why are we tied?  And, when are you going to let us
go?  I mean, this sucks!  We were too wanked out last night and
spaced when you got in, but how about clueing us in on thiszoo?"

I was a bit taken aback by her farrago of words, most of which I
previously believed I knew the meaning of but which together
became incomprehensible.  Your language is the worst I've
learned,  with its senseless spelling and plethora of idioms.  
Still, I gathered the sense of what she was asking.

"In about an hour I'll answer most of your questions.  Until
then, you'll have to wait." I included them all in my response.

I undid Arlene's ankle and unbound her wrists.  "Thank god!, she
exclaimed, rubbing them.  "That kid made the ropes way too tight.
 You must be a shitty boss.  He kept telling me he couldn't do
this or that.  He wouldn't tell me anything unless he had your
permission.  You must have really put the screws on him to make
these ropes so tight."

"He's my brother," I said, not caring to respond to her tirade.

"Oh yeah?  Well, anyway, I'm grateful to you for cutting those
ropes to our ankles.  God, I was wondering if I could ever sleep
like that!"

I grasped her arm.  "I want you to take a bath.  Re-dress in
these."  I handed her the blouse and skirt that Renee had ironed,
and the bobby socks, all of which she had left on my dresser
sometime this morning while I slept.

"No clean bra and panties?"

"You won't be wearing any.  Leave the ones you're wearing in my
hamper."

She looked at me.  "Oh fuck.  Now you're scaring me.  For sure. 
But,. . . if you intended to rape us, you would have done it
before now, right?"

"I'll tell you my plans for you later. I'll tell you this
morning.  Now, go in and take a bath.  Be sure to wash your
cunt."

She grimaced, and swallowed.  "Shit.  All we wanted to do was
crash a party."

The bathroom adjoined my bedroom.  I led her to it.  "Leave the
door open," I told her.

When she appeared, it was evident she was braless, since the
blouse-of either nylon or polyester-revealed the knobs of her
nipples, although with a strangely irregular lumpiness.  I hadn't
attempted to see her naked, confident that I had plenty of time
for that, when I would have her body more conveniently positioned
than it would be in a bathtub.

She offered no resistance as I handcuffed her hands behind her
back.  I was a head taller than she and fifty kilos heavier.  It
would have been futile, and no doubt she realized it.  I led her
back to the bed, which I'd made up while she was bathing.  "Would
you prefer the bed or the carpet?," I asked.  

"You mean, as a place to wait?  Or, does `bed' mean more than
that?"

I smiled.  "Just a place to wait,  while Avis and Sheila take
baths.  I won't do anything to you yet."

She chose the bed, and I handcuffed an ankle to one of the metal
verticals at the foot of the bed.  She lay on the coverlet, eyes
open and watching me.

I followed the same procedure with Avis and Sheila.

When all three were dressed and lying side by side on the bed,
their ankles handcuffed to its foot, I went downstairs to check
on production and, after that, to get some breakfast.  

Bruce and Jose were running the copiers.  Sumner was at our
examination desk looking through a microscope.  I checked the
copiers first.  "Any problems?," I asked.

My brother said, "We think the yellows are off on the francs, so
we're sticking with the marks for now."

"Good.  They're worth more anyway." 

I went to Sumner, glancing at the bill under the objective.  The
yellows looked rather orange.

"What's your verdict?," I asked.

Sumner swirled around on the swivel stool and looked up.  "We got
a bad batch of chrome, mon ami. Nothing to do but dump it and
burn the bills.  Fortunately, Jose and Bruce caught the color
problem early."  

"Merde!  That slows us down.  Can't we adjust the pigments in the
ink?"

He shrugged.  "My bet is we'd be at it all day.  Wasting more
time.  You know we can't be sure of color until they're dry.  And
we still might not get it right."

"Are the bills that bad?  Can we segregate them and get rid of
them at a discount?"

"I don't like that idea.  As soon as the baddies get noticed, it
will alert Banque de France.  Then, once on the lookout, they'll
begin to find our good ones."

"O.K., Sum.  You're always right.  Burn them.  Dump the ink and
start cleaning the tanks."

"We could use another hand to keep to our new schedule. No
overtime, Marc. All of us are all looking forward to tonight's
entertainment.  None of us wants to miss that."

I ascended the stairs, intending to prepare breakfast after I
spoke with Manuel.  Renee, however, was awaiting  me in the
kitchen.  "I made you an omelette," she said.

I kissed her, and sat down.  She had toast and coffee all ready,
and I ate a leisurely meal.

"Aren't you planning to feed them?," she asked.  

"When they beg for it."

"You want to make them submissive in less than two weeks?  You're
foolish, Marc.  They'll say the words, but won't mean any of
them."

"Perhaps not, but I'll enjoy hearing them.  And, who knows? 
Accustoming the girls to begging may succeed in turning them into
slaves.  Not perfect ones, but what does it matter?  They'll 
still be relatively novel to us, with the stimulation that that
provides."

"Oh, you men and your theories!  Do you  want me to prepare
breakfast for them?"

"I'll  do it. When they ask properly."

"Sumner says you're planning on an orgy with them."

"Yes.  I'm still working on it, though."

After a leisurely second cup of coffee, I went outside to find
Manuel.  He was not at the front gate and not in sight from the
lawn.  I began to walk along the narrow path between  the outer
fence and the shrubbery, which shielded the house from the view
of anyone in the street.  After a detour around a fallen limb
which had pushed the fence inward, I found him on his knees
digging in the earth with a trowel around a bent metal post.

He saw me and stood up.  "I think, Senor Marc, that I have
discovered where the three girls came in."

"It looks like it, Manuel."  Although not apparent from the
house, the pushed-in fence was plainly visible from the street
and, in fact Jose had found the girls' rented car  between this
opening and the main gate.

"I have to ask you to postpone this work for a while.  Possibly
permanently."

"Of course, Senor.  May I ask why?"

"The painting  that we're doing  in the basement has encountered
difficulties.  A can of paint is off-color.  We have to meet a
tighter schedule because of, um, our three new pieces of
equipment.  I want them moved into the family room tonight for
the use of all of us.  Without your help there, Jose and Bruce
will have to work overtime tonight, interfering with tonight's
festivities.  I'm asking you to help your son and my brother in
the library.  Of course, Sumner will stay and help, all day if
necessary."

"Ah.  I understand.  Yes Senor, I shall go at once."

We returned together to the mansion.  Manuel went downstairs,
while I ascended to my room.

All  three girls began at once: "When are you going to release
us?," from Sheila, looking at me as she sat up on the bed and
straightened her skirt, which had moved up her legs.  "You're
just awful, with what you're doing to us!"

Avis chimed in with, "We're hungry and thirsty.  Aren't you going
to give us anything to eat and drink?" Mimicking Sheila, she sat
up, bracing herself with her hands.

And, from Arlene, "You promised to tell us what your plans are,
Marc. Tell us now!   And Avis is right; we're thirsty, and
hungry!"

They weren't yelling yet, but I suspected that would come soon. 
I retrieved a bag from my dresser and withdrew a set of handcuffs
 and a length of chain. Arlene was the leader of the trio, and I
wanted to incapacitate her first.  It would be easier to handle
Sheila and Avis with her not present to act as their
spokesperson.  I had another reason for the handcuffs and chain
as well.  I wanted to start working on her, to prepare her for
this evening.

I manacled her hands behind her and attached the chain with its
snaphooks to the link between the handcuffs. 

I produced a collar from the bag.  The other two girls looked on
in shocked disbelief then as I drew it about  Arlene's neck, and
tightened and fastened its straps.  I pulled the dangling chain
and Arlene's wrists upward hard, until the chain was taut, her
hands between her shoulder blades.  I fastened its snaphook to a
collar ring.  Uncomfortable for her, but that was intentional.

By then, certain that she was incapable of providing any
resistance with her hands, I undid the handcuff that held her
ankle to the metal foot of the bed.  I helped her climb over Avis
and down  to the carpet, supporting her so she wouldn't fall.   I
walked her to the dresser, found a dog chain, and fixed it to her
collar.

"Christ," she said. "Are you ever a bondage freak! Where are you
taking me?"

I was a bit disappointed and even more baffled that she didn't
seem shocked.  Her two friends certainly seemed to be.

"You'll see," I told her, and I jerked the chain.  She glared at
me for a moment, but then followed me into the hall, and I closed
the door behind us.  I led her downstairs, into the kitchen. 
Renee was nowhere to  be seen, but she had washed the dishes
which were stacked in the rack beside the sink.  I filled a glass
with water and held it to Arlene's lips.  I let her drink her
fill.  

"You don't seem like too bad a guy," she said, as I put the glass
in the sink. 

"I suppose you intend to fuck us.  If I promise to cooperate will
you promise not to do anything really bad?"

What a proposal!  These American women!

I even doubted that many Parisiennes would have made such an
offer.

I didn't reply, which might reassure her, confirming her hope
that she could bargain.  I wanted her and the others to realize
they had no options. They were going to be our toys.

Perhaps, as Renee thought, it would be more difficult than I
hoped to turn these three young women into slaves in the time we
had.

However, Arlene may be exceptional.  The other two girls may be
much easier.  I'll put my efforts into breaking her first. 

The blonde and Avis had thrown far fewer petards than Arlene.  In
my experience, women are far more variable in their attitude
toward sex than men.  They range from the nun-like who freeze up
upon hearing `con' to slutty whores to whom such words mean no
more than `that sucks' does to an American.

"Are you going to do this to my friends too?"

"From now on, you won't speak until I give you permission to!" I
told her.  As I feared, making her submissive was going to
require more time than I liked.

Much of the day might be required, and I thought it best to 
waste as little time as possible.

She quieted.  I  suppose she wondered what I would do if she
ignored my warning.  I led her down the basement stairs and we
entered the family room.

"Oh my god!," she exclaimed, looking at the H frames.

Although I'd warned her not to speak, I let her remark go. I
merely said "I'll remember you spoke without permission."

I might whip her later.  Postponing it would be preferable
without this infraction as an excuse, since I wanted the other
girls to be present to watch.  On the other hand, a whipping now
would make her break tonight more quickly, assuming I worked
thoroughly enough to give her a sore ass.  That might be the
better decision since whipping her again  later would be more
effective.

My intention was to save the H frames for tonight's party.  For
now, I wanted to make her about as uncomfortable as possible yet,
at the same time, horny.

"You promised to tell me what you intend to do with us," she
said, again ignoring my admonition for silence.

"I'll tell you  in a little while.  Meanwhile, that's your second
recusancy."

"My what?!  Jesus, for a foreigner you sure use fifty dollar
words.   You must be French or something."

"Something," I responded.  I was surprised, and definitely
annoyed, that she detected my accent and even guessed I was
French.  Most Americans took me for one of them. I thought I had
eliminated my accent.  Either Arlene was unusually perceptive, or
my diction recently had gotten ragged.

I fastened a chain to one of the ceiling rings Sumner had
mounted.  I used a snap link to connect the chain to the link
holding her handcuffs together, nesting it beside the one already
there that held the chain to her collar.  The chain to the
ceiling kept her relatively in place.  She soon discovered that
much movement in any direction pulled her wrists even higher,
which was too painful, so she stood where she was.

"When are you going to tell me what your plans are for us?," she
asked.  "You've put me off with, `soon' several times.  And, what
about food?  I'm hungry!  So are Sheila and Avis."

"All right," I said.  "I'll tell you, without going into detail.
I can't speak for those who work for me."

I reached for her blouse buttons.  "We are going to fuck you. 
You guessed that."

She began to tremble.  

Finally, she's scared.

She looked down at my hand, difficult because of the width and
tightness of her collar. I undid the  buttons.

"I-I was hoping I was wrong about that.  It doesn't make me feel
better to hear you say it.  You said `we'.  Who do you mean?  You
and who else?"

"Whoever wants to.  All the men in this house.  My  sixteen year
old brother.  Possibly my partner, Renee. She does girls and
women as well as men."

"You prick!  If you think I'm going to cooperate, you're out of
your mind!"

"You'll cooperate," I said, mildly.

I pulled the lapels apart, exposing her breasts.  She began
trembling more obviously.

Nipple rings!  and a belly button ring.

I began laughing.  

"What's the purpose of these?"  I flicked a nipple ring with a
fingernail.

She reddened.  "Fuck you.  My boyfriend wanted them."

"Didn't you?"

She didn't answer.  She made an attempt to turn her head so she
didn't have to look at me, but the collar prevented it.

"Nice tits," I said.  I cupped them in my hands, played with the
rings, twisting and pulling them lightly.  Her nipples hardened.
"Do you have chains to fit these?  You must, so your boyfriend
can pull them, keep you on your knees when you suck his cock."

She flushed.  I had the impression she was about to spit, but
when I stared into her eyes, she must have changed her mind, and
she just swallowed. 

I continued to fondle her breasts.  Bee cup, they fit nicely in
my hands.  Smooth, with raised areolas, little hills on top of
larger ones.  I raised one, took it in my mouth, ring and all,
and flicked the ring with my tongue.  I repeated my action with
the other.

I had a full erection by then, held painfully down by the
tightness of my jeans.

I grasped the fastener tab of her skirt, unzipped it.  I undid
the button above it, and pulled her skirt down.  Although she
could have impeded me by spreading her legs, she didn't attempt
it.  

"Raise your foot."

She hesitated, but then did as I wanted.  She probably realized
it would accomplish nothing by refusing.

I drew it from her leg and repeated the action with the other.  I
tossed the garment onto a chair and stepped back to look at her.

"Nice body," I said.  Her muff was a little darker than the
bobbed hair over her forehead.  She'd trimmed it into a sharp
triangle.  Her figure, although not voluptuous, was seductive,
well-contoured.  Perfect breasts and hips for her slender frame.
Madonna-like.

"Spread your legs."

She ignored my order.  I smiled.

She's given me sufficient excuse, and she knows it.  Now I'll
teach her the consequences of disobedience.

Arlene seemed determined to pay no attention to me.  She didn't
turn around when I went past her to select a whip from several on
the lamp table.

I chose a leather-handled strap.  The lightest of the three. 
Thinking of tonight, I preferred not to have her ass marked. 
Even though the leather wasn't as heavy as it was for the others,
it would certainly sting.

I came up behind her and cupped my hand over an ass cheek; I
lightly stroked it.  She quivered slightly, but still showed no
inclination to look at me, and she stood where she was.

I stepped back, aimed, and brought it hard across both cheeks. 
The impact produced a satisfyingly loud `crack' that made both
buttocks jiggle and drew from her an "Ow!," that was probably
more of surprise than pain.  She hadn't anticipated the blow, so
her buttocks were relaxed and had distributed much of the impact
because of it.  

Following the first however, she expected the strap and tensed
her buttocks, not realizing that the blows would be more painful.
I methodically whipped her buttocks, moving up for six strokes,
and then down.  I was intent on covering every square millimeter
of her ass.  Except for her initial cry, she gritted her teeth
and was silent for the next eighteen strokes.  With the next blow
I brought the strap across an area previously struck twice
already.  Then, and with each subsequent blow, she emitted an
"Unh!" and between the blows, she began to whimper, fearing the
next. 

Finally, she shouted, "O.K, O.K.!  Stop!  I'll do what you
want!".

I continued with several more strokes, intent on reaching thirty.
 Although her rump was pink, it wasn't bruised.  It felt quite
warm under my palm and, from her jerk when I touched it,  it must
have been tender.

When I went in  front of her, she spread her legs.  I knelt then
and, supporting my palms on  her trimmed muff, I thumbed apart
her labia just below it.  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. 
Another ring.  Not in the hood.  Laterally, through her clitoris!


I was impressed.  Her tolerance for pain, or her determination,
was evidently exceptional.  Even if she'd applied a topical
anaesthetic, a needle inserted there must have been agony.  If
she could take that, I couldn't imagine why the strap had made
her succumb.  It made no sense.

I brought a spreader bar, laid it on the carpet between her legs,
and fastened her ankles into its cuffs.

Then I knelt.  I pulled her outer, furry labia apart, gripping
them with the thumbs and forefingers of both my hands.  Suddenly,
my thumbs were slippery.   She was wet, dripping wet.  Her pink,
hairless labia were engorged, and her clit so hard that the ring
projected horizontally from under its hood.

These novelties wouldn't impede my plan; her rings would actually
make it easier to carry out. 

Curious about her arousal, I wondered how much stimulation would
give her an orgasm.  I confess that my motives were not academic.
 I can seldom resist when a pretty woman makes a display of her
aroused clit to me.

I knelt, and I took the ring in my mouth.  I began flicking it
with my tongue.  Arlene emitted a moan and, as I continued,
varying my tongue stimulations with sucks that enclosed clit,
ring and all, she began to thrust her hips against my face.  

After less than a minute, she began to cry, "Oh.  Oh fuck.  Oh
fuck!  Oh Jesus fuck me fuck fuck Aaaah!"

Her clit spasmed against my tongue.  I continued to suck it
gently as it throbbed.  I expected it to soften, as often happens
after I've sucked a girl off.  Hers remained hard. 

When she began to thrust again, I withdrew my mouth, and I stood
up.  

Her closed eyes opened.  Seeing my eyes on her, her face pinked.


"Even if you are a shit, you suck cunt pretty good," she said.

What an incomprehensible  woman.

I retrieved the bags and set them upright in front of her. 
Batteries and vibrators weren't in the same bags, so I dumped
everything on the carpet.  I could see she was curious; she
strained to bend her head forward, but the collar I'd chosen for
her was three inches high, and I doubt that she was able to see
much.

Lubricated as she was, it was easy to insert the first smoothie
in her vagina.  I set it at its lowest power, hoping it wouldn't
induce orgasms, but would keep her wanting one.  There was an
additional benefit using the low power setting, the batteries
should last out the day.  I set the butterly vibe on low; then I
strapped it on her, positioned to press against her clit ring. 
The butterfly's harness served the secondary purpose of holding
in the smoothie.  With her hands bound, it was in to stay  no
matter how she struggled.

I had to use a rope for the smoothie in her ass.  I set its power
higher than the one in her vagina, wanting to be sure she felt
its vibes.  I lubricated it well with Vaseline before spreading
her cheeks and slipping it into her anus.  Tying a length of rope
to the waist strap of the butterfly harness, I pulled it between
her legs and up between her buttocks so it pressed the back of
the smoothie and held it in.  

I spread her cheeks after I thought I was done.  The rope looked
as though it might slip aside, so I looped two more lengths
beside and parallel to the first.  When I'd finished, I was sure
it would  stay in for as long as I wanted.

I gathered up the remaining objects and re-bagged them.  I put 
toys and batteries in one bag, restraints in the other, wanting
them to be more retrievable than the clerk in the store had made
them.  He had simply filled them according to what fit.  Arlene
watched as well as she could and this time, when I took the bag
of toys back to the lamp table, she turned, to follow me with her
eyes.

I returned, picked up the remaining bag, and headed for thedoor.

"Are you leaving me like this!?," she exclaimed, loudly and, I
thought, with a hint of desperation in her voice.

I turned.  "Yes.  Why?"

"I . . . uh. . . uh. . . I'm hungry."

"That isn't how I expect to be addressed by a slave."

"Why,  you . . ."  I assumed she was going to follow with an
obscenity, but she seemed to change her mind.  At least she  was
beginning to act submissive to get what she wanted.

"Would you please bring me something to eat?"

"You can begin calling me Master now.  Otherwise, you cunt, I'll
ignore whatever you say."

Her eyes flashed.  From her countenance I could see she was
struggling with her temper.

Finally, she emitted a, "I-I'm sorry, Master.  Please bring me
something to eat.".

"I'll see that you get something."  I turned toward the stairs.

"Master?"

"Yes?"  I glanced back.

"Uh, these vibrators, they . . . uh, they aren't very powerful .
. ."

"No, they aren't."

I went up the stairs.

END OF CHAPTER ONE

{A note to you who actually bothered to read this far:  If you
consider this tale worth continuing, please inform the author of
typos & in particular of errors in my Latin, German, Spanish, and
French.  (The German [if & when] at a later time.)

{Another note:  Although I don't want to patronize readers with
explanations of foreign words, I've peppered so many f.w.'s in
this, that perhaps for those who give a damn, a small  glossary
might be appreciated:  Costa del Sol,  Sun Coast, the Spanish
Riviera.  Quelle dommage!,  Too bad!  Marais area of Paris, 
Swamp;  Reclaimed and now the eastern, foreign workers' part of
the city.  Mon coeur--pas trop vite!,  Oh my heart--slow down! 
Merde,  Shit.  Trumpet of Toulouse, a BJ.  de gustibus non est
disputandum,  There's no accounting for taste.  Menage a trois. 
A bedroom 3 person  circus, 2M1F or 2F1M.  muy sabroso,  very
tasty, or delicious; (I might have used sabrosisimo). Oui mon
pere,  Yes, Father dear.  Certainement!,  Certainly!  J'ai
branle!,  I jerked off!.  flics, cops. mon ami, my friend. 
Marche de Puce, flea market, very different from American ones;
it would require a page to describe.  An indoor/outdoor affair.
The incident described was actually observed by an American, the
sequel invented to fit this story.  con, cunt.  Queue!, Prick!. 
mujer, woman (mistress, girlfriend, wife)}

Thanks to JW's torrid tales, which inspired me to write this.



----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as a uuencoded attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.


------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+