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Message-ID: <30415asstr$990529803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Ted E. Bear" <tedebear690@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Sex, Slaves and Punishment {Stroker Ace} (MF, semi-cons, bdsm, oral, humil)
Date: Tue, 22 May 2001 07:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "SEXSLAVS.TXT" begin>

Repost Repost Repost Repost Repost Repost Repost Repost Repost
Repost Repost Repost

*****************************************************************
************ WARNING:
This story is fiction, and should be treated as such. The
following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult,
or reading sex stories upset you, DO NOT read any further. If it
is illegal in your location, DO NOT read it.

I am NOT the author, merely a REPOSTER, but this is a copyrighted
work of the author. Reposting or any other use of it is strictly
prohibited without the express, written permission of the
copyright holder, except that it may be posted as part of a 
review or posted to a free-access, noncommercial archive site.

DO NOT EMAIL ME WITH EITHER YOUR PRAISES OR YOUR COMPLAINTS AS I
DID NOT WRITE THIS STORY.  If I have the author's email address,
it is included in the story.  If not, I don't know how to contact
the author either.

DISCLAIMER:
All characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone either
alive or dead is purely coincidental.
*****************************************************************
************ SPECIAL NOTE! I recently reposted 6 stories of the
Bangkok Slaver Series. It was pointed out to me that I left 2
stories out. This notice is modified and corrected to reflect the
updated information. For those of you who are unfamiliar with
this series, it was written by four authors, Parker, Marlissa,
Stroker Ace & Theodore Spoonbender. Parker started it, when he
wrote "Doctor's Orders", which I guess technically, isn't really
in Bangkok, as it takes place in Southern California, and ends up
in Mexico, but many of the characters, from this story, end up in
several or more of the other 7 stories. Marlissa then took it up,
and wrote "The Newlywed" & "The Stewardess & Her Daughter".
Parker wrote the next story, simply called "A Bangkok Slaver
Story". Then Stroker Ace took over and wrote the next three
stories, "Lollipops"; "Beyond Chiang Mai" & "Sex,  Slaves, and
Punishment." Theododer Spoonbender then wrote, what I believe to
be the final story of the series "Fitting up Katie", which I
posted not long before the others.

While I realize that many of you have probably read one or more
of these stories, most of us have not been able to catch all 8,
and the newbies haven't even read one yet. I posted the first 6
already. So if you missed them go to the ASSM archive site,
http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/assm/mindex.html and click on May, 2001.
Using the search feature of your browser, search for which ever
story that you are missing. Or you can search for tedebear690
and, when you get to anything that I've posted, click on "other
posts" and everything that I've ever posted will come up,
including the original 6 stories. I am only reposting right now,
the 2 Bangkok Slaver stories that were left out of my original
reposting of the series. While the original posts, by the
authors,  were by chapter, I am reposting them as the entire
story.

Enjoy!

Ted E. Bear
*****************************************************************
************ WARNING!
Contains sex and violence forced upon a woman by both male and
females. The story is for mature adults who can maintain a
distinction no matter how vague, between reality and fiction. It
is intense. You have been warned.
                 
                        (c) 1997, Stroker Ace
                 
                 
"And then the good witch said, `whatever you wish, whatever you
brew, sooner or later will come back to you.' Now go to sleep
little Joey, for tomorrow will be your first day of
kindergarten."


                        Sex, Slaves and Punishment
                        Chapter 1 -- Coming Down
 
I never did like coming down. Not now, not when I was with the
firm, and definitely not when I was in the East. Damn, those were
some crazy wild ass years. The years all blur together, like
looking at a girl through the bottom of a whisky bottle.
Singapore, Hong Kong when it was wild, Bangkok. Damn Joy Town.
That hell hole really fucked me up. The plane was bumping,
groaning, rain streaked over the tiny porthole. Not even first
class. Worse, can't even get a decent drink. When you are on the
run, you travel economy on unheard of, discount lines. The
stewardess repeated for the umteenth time "fasten your seat
belts," in a dull, plain voice. "We will be landing in twenty
minutes." Tired from overwork, her smile had long since
disappeared, now it was a barely masked snarl. The tie of her
uniform was skewed. It was the same blue but the material
lighter, cheaper and definitely not as elegant as the royal blue
of British Airways. Like her, attractive enough but not as
refined as...  
Best not to think of that now. Better to nap...
    
Refined and elegant, blue jacket and skirt under long sculptured
legs. Navy blue heels dangle from her toe, but she won't let them
fall. They kick out madly, swinging above her waist, slicing the
stale air above her discarded uniform. Her arms are slender, not
made for supporting her weight, but now she hangs from them, a
single rope digs into the milky white of each delicate wrist. Her
pain is else where.

"Take her down! Take her down, you have me!" she cries to the
woman.

The woman has her back to her. Black hair falls long and heavy to
her waist. A tiny waist, narrow hips, a tiny band of black vinyl
for a skirt, tall spike heels. The woman is pulling the plaid
skirt from the shrieking young girl. It comes away with a ripping
sound, leaving fleshy legs, pale and bare dancing in the air.

"Let my daughter go. You don't need her. You have me. Take me!
Sarah. Oh my Sarah." the elegant woman wails. "Sarah!"

The skirt falls away, the woman admires the naked girl's body and
turns around. It is Tam, the Thai whore trainer only her face is
a skull.
 
"Mister! Wake up! Are you all right?"
 
"Where? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. Just another bad dream, that's all."

Relieved that nothing more is expected of her, the stewardess
forces a quick smile and says, "You should see someone about
that. Go to therapy or something. You were screaming, your face
is covered with sweat. Are you sure that you're OK? Now fasten
your seat belt, we will be landing in five minutes."  
I don't know which of us will be happier to end this damnflight.

                                +++++
 
The airport is crowed. A sea of faces. I have taken to scanning
faces with my chin down. I don't need to catch the eye of some
overly ambitious, still wet behind the ears agent. I hurried
through the crowd, and stopped dead cold in my tracks. Passengers
spilled all around me.
 
Poised and relaxed Roxanne Bodwell sat with the other
stewardesses by the gate. Older, but the same woman, I would have
recognize her anywhere.

"Hey, get out of the way, Mister. Some of us want to get off the
plane." one of my fellow passengers shouted.
 
She looked up towards the commotion. There was no avoiding her
now.  
Slowly she stood, her eyes fixed on mine. Their conversation
drifted to a stop, as the girls watched her stand and slowly walk
towards me. I pushed through the crowd to meet her halfway. Her
mouth opened but she was silent. Her face was drawn, older than I
remembered, but the same irrepressible sea green eyes. Still, her
face was harder, more drawn. Tiny lines ran from the corners of
her eyes. Her jaw line was as proud as ever. She was still
beautiful, a mature beauty, like the fine wine that she was. She
always had been a woman of character. Even when she was naked,
whipped and crying, but defiant, trusting herself, always facing
adversity with dignity and character. That character was what
made it so tough for her when I sold her to some shit hole sex
club in Joy Town. Sold her and her daughter into a lifetime of
fulfilling every sexual deviant's craziest fantasies. But I guess
that same character is also what gave her a will to survive.
Survive as a sex slave and now turn up here, a world away, a
different world, a different time.  
"What are you doing here?"
 
"I fly for the airline," Roxanne pointed to the counter.
 
"I mean, here. Last time I saw you was in Joy Town. Big man Vopat
was grinning like a fool. He was all over you. That must have
been seven, eight years ago."  
"Nine. You had just sold Sarah and I, back to that prick. You
bastard, you sold us twice! Bastard! For years I have dreamed
about meeting you, and what I would say, but now."
 
"Roxy, we have to board." A heavy set stewardess was calling.
Another pulled a suitcase through the gate. "Roxy?"
 
"You were with British Airways. A prestigious line. Why did you
hook up with this screwed up shuttle outfit?"
 
"I couldn't go back. Not after all that. Here they let me fly a
few flights a week. Part time, you know. They are not much, the
pay is shit, but it is flying. Maybe one day I will give it
another go." She brushed her wavy blonde hair from her eyes.
"Just a minute!" she called to her companion without turning
away. "There are bad days and not so bad days. I get therapy two
days a week and work out. I keep busy."
 
We were talking, as if two old friends, meeting late in the
evening. She still held the strap, her suitcase tethered behind
like a terrier. I guess we were old friends. The devil knows that
I have known her as well as any man has ever had a woman. I took
her body, her sex and her fears. I used her in every way
possible, and as brutally as I wanted, both mentally and
sexually. Chained in my apartment, she depended upon me for the
time of day, and even permission to speak.
 
"And you? I thought ass holes like you could only existed in Joy
Town." She looked me straight in the face.
 
"I guess, I deserve that. Still, I remember how glad you were
when I took you out of Candy Land."
 
"Roxanne! We must board now!" The lady had her hands on her ample
hips. "Do you hear me?" she yelled.
 
Roxanne turned to face her, "Yes, I hear you. Everyone can hear
you. Now bugger off you dizzy bitch."
 
"Roxanne! What has gotten into you?  You are so fired!" She
stormed off down the boarding ramp, her big ass swaying.
 
Again she faced me, her voice returning to her arousing tone,
"Yes. As bad as you were, there were worse. Like that Thai
bitch.." Those green eyes turned glossy. "She caused me more pain
than any man."
 
A distorted voice slurred something about another flight
boarding. A line began to form.
 
"But you sold us back. Why? We belonged to you. We worked to
please you. You taught us to anticipate your every desire. In
bed, you debased us, humiliated my daughter and I for your
amusement. I thought we were doing well. Did we not please you?
Why did you sell us back to him? A man doesn't know what a woman
goes through to mold herself, her sexual being to his pleasures.
Then to immediately have to reform yourself to learn a new man. A
man can never understand the misery. You disappear. There is
nothing left of Roxanne Bodwell. I would rather be whipped."
 
Her voice trailed off. People were staring, but Roxanne was lost
in her own personal hell. I recognized it. I had the horrid
dreams too. I took her arm. Tight, up high just under her
shoulder, where it was damp, like how I use to lead her to the
bedroom. No explanation, I didn't need any then. She fell in step
beside me. In just the way she was trained.
 
We walked the length of the concourse to the baggage area.
 
"Where are you taking me? This is not Joy Town, you know? I could
scream. I bet you would prefer to avoid the authorities. Men like
you always do." She always was smart.
 
Outside was dark. A pair of overweight cops lounged just inside
the exit. "Stop. Let me go." She said it softly, but it was not a
request. Each cop had a Smith & Wesson, and at least fifty pounds
on me. Better to run to the next door than try to barge through.
 
"Tell me, what are you doing here?" she wanted to know.
 
I turned to watch the cops out of the corner of my eye. "I had to
get out. I was in too deep. When you know too much it becomes
unhealthy. The syndicate realized I was worth more dead than
alive. Without me there were no witnesses to name names, clubs,
girls, the parties. I ran, before they had to carry me out."

I shut up. I had said more than I intended. I was talking to a
woman that had satisfied my every desire. Sex slaves are like
that, you do anything under the sun that you want with them. You
don't have to hide anything, for they are nothing, just a fuck
toy. It becomes easy to open up, to say too much. Too easy.

Her face, a girl's ass bent over it, I can't remember whose. Her
mouth is open, tongue white with cum and sticking out, pressed
close to that delicious ass. Two holes, an ass, a mouth, a slug
of Klosters beer ice cold going down, I wipe my mouth with the
back of my hand, dick hard and plunge in.  
"You get them too?" She is right looking through me. "The
flashbacks, you get them too?" she repeats.

She holds unkempt blond locks to one side, to give me a clear
view of her head working my tool. She has been careful of her
hair since Tam threatened to shave her head. While she sucks, I
admire Tam's handiwork. Whip marks criss-cross her back making a
waffle pattern of red stripes across milky white flesh as her
head bobs, engulfing my cock.

"No. it's nothing. Just another damn headache. Nothing a drink
wouldn't cure."

"We are two peas in a pod, Joe. You and I. You used me. Fucked my
body, fucked my mind and used me up, but it consumed you too."
She waited until it registered in my face, then added, "Now we
can go."


                        Chapter 2 -- Going Down
 

"There is not much out here for an agent on the run. So I have
been laying low trying to stay one step ahead of the firm, the
syndicate and everyone else who wants a piece of me. Trying to
stay clean. I flew out here to meet some one. A special friend."
I answered.

Pointing to a late model car. "There, that one. That is the right
model. Five seconds on the trunk lock. Reach in, as if getting
the spare, a sharp push and the back seat collapses. See, less
obvious than a slim Jim on the door."

Roxanne nods her head in admiration, "Very convenient."
 
"It all feels so comfortable. Not safe, not especially appealing,
but somehow a feeling of knowing what will happen." she says,
talking as if to the windshield.

We are driving, doubling back, not quite lost, talking with an
honesty of old lovers. "Do you feel it too, Joe? I could have
been killed dozens of times over there. If that is what that
bitch or that fat bastard or even if you wanted, it would have
happened already. No one would speak of it, but it was there. An
understanding. A pact, as clear as any written contract. Simple,
but so bloody devastating in it's purity. Surrender everything,
no questions, never resist and that final line is never crossed.
But the price is high, so very high." She was quiet for a moment,
then added, "It's being outside that is scary."

I was left standing outside in the light rain. Rain drops beaded
on the pair of coffins. The honor guard gave me the folded flag.
The last few family members drifted off without saying a word to
me.

"The Director offers his condolences, Joe."

"He couldn't even pay his respects in person. So he sends his
clean-up man. Fuck it Bill. This never should have happened.
Christ, my wife and daughter. How?"

"You did not hear this from me. There was a fuck up in the field
office. They broke your cover and hit your family. The operation
was blown wide open. They are looking for a scape goat, Joe. The
Director is going to pin it on you. That way if you talk, they
can deny everything that the traitor says. Monday they seal your
bank account, even your pension."

"Then tell him to kiss, my ass. If he can find it."

"Joe, if you run, you will be on the outside forever. You can
never come in."  
"JOE! Watch out! That bloke almost hit us. You should get some
sleep, you look tired."
 
Shit. Way too close. "I am going to pull in here." She was right.
I did not survive this long, to buy it in some fucking car crash.
"I will get a room." The vacancy sign flashed, red neon in the
cool night air.

A giant tongue licking in red neon. Lollipops. Lollipops.
Lollipops. But it is only my head playing tricks on me. Again.
*Focus, Joe. Get your shit together.*
 
The motel is a dump. The hot car parked well off the street. The
interstate passes over the dimly lit parking lot. A scroungy
looking German shepherd runs across the lot, his tail between his
legs. Probably scared shitless to be out after dark in this
neighborhood.
 
"Looks like you have a lot of vacancies, Gramps." The owner is an
old man, watching television on an ancient black and white set
with rabbit ear antennas.  
"Yeah, since they completed the freeway, nobody comes here no
more. Not even the pimps. Ain't no business doing down here.
Gonna give it up soon. Soon as we get some money, the old lady
and I are packing up and heading south."  
"Well buddy, it's your lucky day. I want that far room, the one
with a kitchen. For a week. Give us some extra towels, because I
don't want any maid service. No nothing. You understand me,
Gramps? I pay cash, in advance."  
"You got it, mister." He scooped the bills up. The television
ignored. "Do not disturb. Got it."

                                +++++
 
Standing at the foot of the king sized bed, turning around,
absorbing it all, the desk and lamp, comfortable but worn chairs,
the tiny kitchen area, one look and she can find her way in total
darkness. A motel room, like so many others.
 
"I should call in. I owe them. The airline hired me when no one
else would. I was starting to rebuild my life, now I will never
fly again." Her gaze darted from me to the phone, to the bed, to
the door and back to me again. "Flying has always been my life.
My daughter and flying."
 
She watched silently, as I snatched the phone wire from the wall,
and then with a growing understanding as the door lock was
reversed. A dead bolt kept strangers out, the reversed lock
keeping the familiar in. "Once I lock it, that's it." After all
that she had been through, I owed her that much. My fat boss back
in Joy Town would have said that I was going soft. Perhaps, but
for him, none are hard enough. "Last chance." I cautioned.

Her eyes were on mine, clear and green as the China sea. Her
answer was to hold her purse straight out. I took the leather bag
from a steady hand. She reached up, fingers wrapped together
behind her neck, her breast thrust out proudly, as she undid the
few buttons. Her arms crossed and the blouse slipped past her
face. A nice chin, proud yet graceful, cheek bones high, giving
her a timeless beauty. A shake of her head straightened her hair,
a glance in my direction and she wriggled her hips free of the
blue skirt. Her underwear was modest, cut for comfort, for a day
of work. She pulled the strap from her shoulder, slipping an arm
through, freeing her breasts the bra. She slid it to the front
and unhooked it. Raising each foot through, she stepped from her
panties, leaving them on the floor. Head raising, she sought my
approval. "Pardon the heels. I recall that you prefer them
higher."
 
"The necklace too."
 
"Yes. Everything. Now I am completely bare."
 
She remembered. My eyes regained her beauty. A tall slender
frame. Oh how the locals loved her. At first, the big man
reserved her for his best clients. The business men from
Malaysia, Hong Kong. Tokyo. A western beauty, in their eyes, with
her long legs, and a wave, in her natural blonde hair, she could
be a model or a princess. For a few lousy baht, they could see
her orgasm or put fear in her eyes. But the big boss was not
satisfied, he had a sense for money. Like any good business man,
he knew what the traffic would bear. So he put her on the local
market. For the price of a cover charge and two drink minimum,
any street vendor or taxi driver in Joy Town could experience
British royalty. Fat man Vopat, wasn't above embellishing the
truth. Promotion, the big man called it.
 
Others broke. Succumbed. Gave in to Tam's whip. They let
themselves go. Started to mimic Tam's broken English. Spoke in
short simple sentences. Mostly, "You want Fuckee?" It didn't
matter who. They preferred the dogs for they would do their
business and get off. The men would want to play. To string them
up, play with them, see how it felt to swing a whip. Oh, they did
the same with Roxanne too. It was just that she never waved that
white flag.  
I was captivated with her, wanted her for my own pet. So I bought
her and her daughter. Cost me dearly too. Did some research on
her background. Her father, it turned out, was an honest to God,
British war hero. Military Medal and everything. He was in some
jungle conflict, a counter insurgency they called it. The whole
sordid affair hushed up by Whitehall. Parachuted in the jungle,
his squad betrayed by a bar girl. The guerrillas held him.
Tortured and executed his squad, one by one, then turned on him.
But he never talked, he held on until the foreign office arranged
his ransom. He would have been proud of his cute daughter,
Roxanne.
 
"Where is Sarah? She must be, what, 25 now?"
 
"Full grown. A beautiful woman. She errr. She works."
 
I can see in her face, that now was not the time to pursue it.
Anyway, I was ready for something else. Roxanne saw it growing
too.
 
She laid back on the bed. Navy two inch heels drawn up tight to a
curvy rump. Slowly, Roxanne let her knees fall apart revealing
her sex. Fluffy in natural blonde, trimmed and neat. I have not
seen her with pussy hair since the day I took her from the
airport. She wet two fingers on her tongue, and reaching between
her legs, pokes them into her bottom, pauses, then slides them up
over and into her pussy. Then higher still she rubs, giving
herself a little reward.  
Damn. It is her greeting. I trained her to do that and she
remembered.  
It worked. I am all over her, tasting her, struggling from
clothing reacquainting myself with each curve, each nerve of her
lucious body. Her face tastes of makeup, her lips of red desire,
her nipples hard as rocks, sweet and so sensitive, a promise of
what lays below. She responds, her body trained to mine, her mind
racing to catch up, reflexing into an orgasm under my hand. Mine
nearly exploding on her tongue, she pleases me as she was
prepared to do, during weeks of schooling. She quivers around me
as I enter. Fucking her hard and fast, feeling another quake as
she comes. And another as I come deep against her, deep inside.
 
"May I tell you something? Back then, it was cruel to keep that
shock collar on me when you fucked me. I can't be silent during
sex."


                        Chapter 3 -- Going Up
 

I was running late. I left Roxanne locked in the shabby room and
raced across town. The directions led me to modern apartment
building, luxury cars filled the well lighted lot. I dumped the
stolen Ford four blocks away and walked it. The lobby was plush,
the elevator all glass and chrome. She had done all right for
herself. One light tap on the door and she was there. Deep guitar
chords of country music spilled from the room. My Deana was
waiting for me.  
"Joey, I am so glad you came! Woo, woo!" she cried in joy. She
did a little jiggle of her chest, a dance step to the country
music, and then ran into my arms. "When you didn't call, I
thought the worse, that you changed your mind about me."
 
"No way, baby. Never." I murmured in her ear. Embracing her, but
tighter, caressing her, but reaching further. Over her back, her
bottom, then sliding a hand inside of her jeans, and kicking the
door shut. I whipped my belt buckle open to make room for her
hands. "Sorry to be late, honey. Met an old friend at the
airport, had to stop and catch up on old times."  
"Old times? But you never talk of your past. You said that you
worked for the CIA and some other thing, NSA or something, but I
don't care, you are with me now. You can tell me when you want
to. In the mean time, I will tell you everything about me. Since
I met you at that show in Raleigh, I just knew that you were the
man for me, and now you are here in my house. The bedroom is this
way, I can show you the rest latter.
 
The night was a feast of passionate sex. Deana's willing body
pushed hard by her desire to love, pushed me harder to please. We
rested, ate cold sandwiches and were all over each other again,
like horny teenagers. Morning's light found us together,
snuggling like new lovers.
 
"Do you remember the first time we met?" She was sitting at the
table, pink nipples almost in her scrambled eggs, as she reached
across the table.  
"You were standing on the stage, looking bored. I remember being
green with envy. Your hand rubbed the curves of the boat like it
was a penis."  
"Joey!" She threw a small clump of scrambled egg at me as I made
the coffee. "I did no such thing!"
 
"You wore white jeans and a black top, with the companies logo
over your boobs. Damn, that top showed off your tits."
 
"Guys! That is all they ever look at. OK wise guy. What shoes did
I have on?"  
"Black sandals with a heel. Your toes were done in red. Got ya!"
I leaned over and kissed her fully on red luscious lips.
 
"Oh Joey, I will do anything to keep you. Love you more than
anything."  
"I know, honey."
 
"Let me finish. I never thought that I would ever meet a man like
you. Someone that I could trust completely. I am thirty-seven
now. I have not dated for years and years. No children, my
modeling work is everything for me. I put everything I have
earned into this condo. It is my pride and joy. Eleven months a
year, I am on the road doing boat shows, car shows, tractor
pulls, you name it. Anywhere they need a pretty girl. Never quite
made the big time, guess I am not the right type, too down home.
Too much jeans and t-shirts for the New York crowd. One time I
tried to hook up with a country band, sang background stuff, but
they folded. A single woman on the road, I get offers all of the
time. I could have bought this apartment cash, if I wanted to
turn tricks. But that is not me. Oh, I am no virgin, but I save
myself for one man. I guess, that I am just a good ole, country
gal at heart. I worked hard for what little I that I do have."
She picked up the cowboy hat from the back of the chair. "Happy
in boots and a black Stetson."
 
"And nothing else, I see." Nude in the morning light, the aroma
of morning coffee drifting in the air, her blonde hair spilled
from beneath the black hat. Her face beamed in a broad smile.
 
There was only one thing I could say, "I love you, Deana Clark. I
mean that."



                        Chapter 4 -- Down and Out
 
That is how it started. Days walking through the park hand in
hand with Deana. Midnight dinners by candlelight. Nights of sweet
romance. Stolen breaks away to see Roxanne, while Deana worked
the local household suppliers convention.  
Locked in her motel room, I became Roxanne's lifeline. Unlocking
the door, restocking the little refrigerator, providing her only
human contact. She had become a kept woman long ago. Kept for
sex. Fantasy fulfilling sex. Though not necessarily for her.

Strong leather bracelets on her wrists and ankles were tied to
the corners pulled her limbs tight. Her whole body was taunt
tight, trembling like a guitar string. Roxanne gulps for air. Her
naked body is covered in sweat even though the men around her are
comfortably sipping cold beers. I feel myself shrinking from her.
I collapse spent on her nude form, protecting her from the next
man in line for a little while longer.
 
"I knew you would bring that." she said, standing with her hands
crossed across her breasts. My exquisite captive wore a loose
angora sweater that fell to the crack of a freshly shaven pussy.
Her legs were bare, calf muscles shapely in flaming red stiletto
heels. "I feel it better this way. It makes the sex more
immediate. Intense. Am I wicked? Well, this is what you and the
others made of me. And how you enjoyed drilling my lessons into
me."  
My time with Roxanne has become more precious. Each minute more
desperate. We struggle to recapture the passion of Joy Town. For
me it is simple. What does she seek? Is it a murky, so very
muddled desire for simplicity from choices removed or lingering
lessons beat into her from Tam's whip? Nerves just beneath her
skin, pulsing, trained for so much more, seeking a heightened
stimulus while she revolts against the humiliation.
 
The bag is full of rope and broad leather bands for arms and
legs. The sex is fierce. Bound, stretched or suspended. Each time
different. Reaching for only the pure single sided satisfaction.
Mine. For that is how it is. She must be satisfied with whatever
little pleasures her body can grab. My visits get longer.
 
She kneels at the foot of the bed, firmly bound, delicate wrists
securely tied behind her. White goo drips from her chin to bare
breasts. The angora sweater long removed lays beside her. "I
always enjoyed your oral talents. You learned your lessons well
in the clubs."
 
"Must have. Others also liked the way I suck."
 
"I screwed both you and Sarah for a while. Then traded you back
to the big man. I needed the money. You understand.  Last I
heard, he auctioned off both you and your daughter in Cambodia.
What became of you?"
 
"Auctioned me. A meat sale is what it was. Lined us up, whipped
and fucked us until the money was right, then we found ourselves
servicing sex tours from Germany, the States, anywhere losers
with two shillings to rub together wanted to own a woman for a
night. No holds barred. I dared not say no. It wouldn't have
mattered if I did. For they would meet, the customers would, and
share their fantasies. They looked in the hard-core porno
magazines and picked their fancy. Then they picked a woman. I
felt like meat on the hoof. I guess that is what they wanted.
Sarah and I were kept with an American woman. Colleen, a real
beauty with reddish brown hair. With only three girls, we were
kept busy, day and night."
 
"Sarah's figure was filling out. She had always made my owners a
ton of money, but now the demand was too great. They came from
all over, all wanted to do Sarah. My poor Sarah would come back
from one group, filthy, bruised, dead tired and be taken
immediately by another. My daughter was booked solid for sixty
days in advance. A Japanese businessman took a liking to her and
stole her away, to be kept as a reward to his best employees.
That is the last time that I saw her. The owners had Sarah
booked, they had taken the payments in advance and now they
couldn't deliver. So they did the only thing they could. They
dissolved the business overnight. Dragged Colleen and I out into
the street. The drunken slobs from the other sex clubs on the
strip emptied out to laugh, a few to bid for western women. They
thought it all great sport. Half nude, they pushed us onto the
bonnet of a car and under the flashing neon lights put two full
grown women up for sale."
 
"Colleen was dragged, kicking and screaming her head off, into a
black limousine. I never saw her again. I ended up being the
private property of a Thai store owner who could barely support
himself. Any money he made selling vibrators and smuggled
cigarettes, he spent in whore houses. Now I was sleeping on the
floor over his tiny store front. I had to clean his damn store on
my hands and knees, then fuck him and his friends. Then he sat me
in his store window sucking on a plastic cock. Then he started
including me as sort of a bonus, to clinch his sales. `Buy some
batteries and get to hard fuck the tamed English woman.' He was a
savage. Every night, the fucker took my ass. When a salesman from
Hong Kong took an interest in me, I threw myself at him. He must
have felt sorry for me, he rescued me by trading a 21 inch Sony
for me."
 
"For a while I traveled all over Thailand and Cambodia with him.
He bought a passport for me. I carried his sample case through
airports, did his laundry and sat at his feet, looking pretty
while he made his sales. They like that. At night I was his sex
toy. There was no running away. Nights, I was kept chained to the
toilet. It was not too bad, for me. I was like his obedient dog.
His company got wind of a big account in Africa. A mega rich
German noble, was refurbishing an old estate out in the wild. His
company wanted him to sell them a security system. That is how I
came to meet the mistress of the house, the eccentric Madame
Freya. B.F. liked me to kneel quietly beside him, as he made his
sales pitch. Having an obedient woman at your feet was very
prestigious where he came from, but here it was quite disruptive.
Madame, was more interested in me, than his products. She wanted
to know if I minded. He laughed at that, and explained that it
was no matter. To demonstrate, he ordered me to raise Madame's
dress and kiss her crotch. What could I do? You can't take a
beating every time. So I did it. Freya was fascinated. She made
an offer for me but B.F. would have nothing of it. She raised the
price and kept raising it until he give in. B.F. was really sorry
to loose me. He cried as he counted his cash. As he said, the
markup was just too high."



                        Chapter 5 -- Taking it Down
 
Madame Freya kept a scandalous old estate. She never told me
where I was, but the staff spoke German. She had cooks, maids, a
butler, chauffeur, the household manager was the enforcer.
Everyone had a job. Mine was to provide sexual services on the
demand of her staff, as well as her guests. Freya enjoyed hosting
`parlor games' for her guests. And I was to be the entertainment,
the more perverted the better. Every night I was expected in her
private chambers. I put everything I had into pleasing her in
bed. After a year she began to trust me. She left me unchained. I
could go most anywhere in the house but was not let onto the
grounds. I began to plead with her for my freedom. After sex, I
would beg, pausing only to lick her, as she cooled down. I had
learned how to please a woman in Joy Town, and how Madame loved
my attentions! For hours, Freya had me in full maids outfit, fish
net stockings, scooped neckline, tits bursting out, down between
her legs, licking and sucking that old ladies cunt."
 
"After a year, Madame consented to grant her fateful lover and
party whore her freedom. She made a game of my freedom. Old Freya
did enjoy her games. The game was, freedom after and only after,
the poor creature swallowed six liters of cum. Do you realize how
many men that is? Over five gallons!" Roxanne had laid her head
in my satisfied lap, her bare breasts warm on my legs. Her neck
muscles tense under my fingers.
 
"What it is like? Can you even begin imagine?." Roxanne was
speaking softly but swiftly. As if rushing to ease the pain.
 
"Madame calculated everything. Twenty four hundred, that is the
number she arrived at. Two thousand, four hundred ejaculations
for me to swallow. Oh, she ran tests, or more accurately had me
run tests. All done very scientifically, in her precise, so very
methodical way. On my knees, sucking until I was blue, each load
scraped of my face, into the specimen jar. She recorded it all.
Date, time, who, how long I took to satisfy him. Her guests
enjoyed it all. They thought it great fun. Oh to be sure, their
wives and girl friends thought it good sport also, to have me
naked at their feet, asking them if I may stick my head under
their designer gown before sucking off their man. Great fun to
have every drop wiped from my hair and measured, calculated and
averaged. Twenty four hundred hot pricks discharging down my
throat. That was my price for freedom."
 
"Freedom, that I, on my knees, had to buy back. And she insisted
that I not spill a drop. I had to do it. What choice did I, her
sex slave, have? Sarah needs me. I have to find her. Help her. I
went at it as hard as I have perused anything in my life. Harder
actually. I offered myself to every man that visited the estate.
I kept myself up. Did myself up as pretty as I could. Oh, I was
motivated. They got the best blow jobs ever, for I wanted them to
come back. I had to make my numbers. Twenty four hundred. Six
liters. Some were huge. They filled me, gagging me with their
cum. They laughed, as it spurted from the corners of my lips, for
they knew that to Madame Freya, it would not count. Others were
bastards, and laughed as they pulled up their pants, laughed and
didn't tell Madame. Their wives and girl friends laughed at the
British whore, when hot gook shot all over my face."

"They all knew how important it was for me to swallow every bit
of the sticky gunk from their cock, or worse, they would say that
I spit up. That would make me loose my entire days consumption.
Madame assumed that I spit up everything. It had to be recorded
in that oversize leather journal of her's, for it to count. It is
there now, I am sure of it. In her den, amidst the mahogany
paneling, the leather riding crops, on her desk in brown embossed
leather. Her gnarled old hand, noted the date and time of every
man I that I sucked off, every penis draining load I had to take
down my throat."  
To a girl well trained in sexual services, bound arms are a
minor, though she hopes, temporary inconvenience. Roxanne had
been trained by the best. With her arms immobilized, her warm
face nuzzled against my cock, she brushed away her tears, while
giving me a delightful treat. Her knees now rested comfortably on
the discarded sweater, as she lay between my outstretched legs.
Her back is bare, smooth to my touch. I remember how when it was
criss-crossed with welts, you could read their age, like the
rings of a tree. The healing faint pink of last week's stripes,
lashed over with new angry red whip marks. Now composed, she
shakes hair from her misty eyes and continues in her deliberate,
sensuous voice.
 
"Somedays, Madame Freya assigned me demerits for being lax in my
household duties, taking away from my tally. How I cried myself
to sleep. I can't tell you how important every load of semen was
to me. Every bitter salty wad was one swallow closer to freedom.
I could taste it. There were days when their were no male guests.
Then I threw myself at the household staff, even the gardener and
old butler. The gardener considered himself a stud. Oh, he was
big all right, big enough to make me gag, but he took forever to
cum, and then he tasted of garlic. All night I could taste him."
Roxanne was staring across the lobby, lost in her horror. I too
was felling it. Feeling myself growing.  
"They quickly caught on. Soon I had to agree to fuck them first.
First a few times, then a few more, until I had to accept ten.
Ten fucks and then they would consent to so graciously shoot
their seed in my mouth. And I was happy for it too. Let me tell
you, I was ecstatic. Out of them I could get only one or two
mouthfuls to be recorded in Madame Freya, neat handwriting every
two weeks. And then only if I begged them to tell Madame Freya.
Begged them and offered to do their chores. Just keeping track of
how many fucks I owed them was pure hell."
 
My cock is throbbing ready again for her attentions. Roxanne
licks the length of my shaft and with a glance at me, continues.
"The party guests were my ticket. I lived for sucking cocks. I
sucked their girlfriends, to be allowed a taste of their men. I
quickly found that I could only swallow four or at most five
loads at a time before becoming violently sick. Of course if I
spit anything up, the whole days work was disqualified. Madame
Freya, made the rules, I only sucked. It took me six long years
to fuck, suck and swallow for my liberty."
 
 
   
                                Chapter 6 -- Beaten Down
 
I was captivated. The thought stayed with me. The thought of her
forced to swallow, seeking it out and all because of me. I found
myself stealing away from lovely days spent with my dear Deana to
visit Roxanne. During long mornings in bed with Deana, we
satisfied each other, but my head flashed with the strobe images
of a submissive Roxanne. Deana takes all my loving. From me,
Roxanne takes a different kind of love.
 
The little motel room is looking more and more like Vopat's back
room. Hooks have been sunk into the bed the walls, the ceiling,
anywhere that a woman can be tied or hung. Roxanne's back is
again covered with scarlet red strap marks. The woman takes it
all. I try to outdo her. I hang her upside down but she does not
resist. Does not even complain. Just takes the harsh rope to each
ankle, takes her hands being pulled behind. She takes me in her
quivering cunt, in her soft mouth. She takes the vibrator ride to
a body shaking orgasm as I lash at her inverted breasts. Her
pain, humiliation and pleasure are all mixed together. She
services my cock in every way, but I save sweet love for my
lovely country girl, Deana. I have begun to leave the motel door
unlocked. Whether she notices or not, I can't tell, but every
night she waits so patiently for me. She senses it too. Maybe she
smells or tastes another woman. One night she asks. For hours I
talk about my lovely Deana. She wants to met her. There is
nothing to mask from a woman that you beat.
 
In exchange for the few dollars of damage to the room, I offer my
sex slave's considerable range of sexual services to Gramps, the
owner. He doesn't ask any questions, he just enjoys the lavish
services bestowed upon his cock. Never having whipped a woman
before, he is taken by her markings. I give him a choice of a
light crop, or a whip with many strands. He takes the crop to the
back of her upper thighs. She can't help but to scream in agony,
so he gags her and starts again.



                                Chapter 7 -- Getting Off

"Can I? Can I look now?"

"Just a little farther, Deana. Watch your step."
 
"It smells musky in here. Sexy. Smells of a woman."
 
They are both surprised, but Deana is in pure shock to see
Roxanne standing totally nude in the cluttered, messy motelroom.

Roxanne, recovers first. "So this is your daytime woman, that you
talk so much about. Your lover." Her back straight and her arms
folded under her whip marked breasts, like a shark, she circles
the still disbelieving Deana. "Smashing good looks, butshallow."
 
"That is enough Roxanne. Assume your greeting position. You are
going to please your new Mistress."
 
"You are right Joe, enough is enough." Roxanne sits on the bed,
pulling on a pair of jeans.
 
"What are you doing? Assume your greeting position." I demand.  
"No more Joe. I am giving the orders now." She stood to fasten
her waist. "I start with you. Have your little floozy strip."
 
"What? I will teach you! Where are my whips? What have you done
with them? I will..."
 
"Joe. Oh my poor old Joe. You have become such a dinosaur. You
just don't understand, do you? Have another go at it. It's not
about male strength anymore. You and that flabby bastard had
strength over me in Joy Town. Madame Freya had strength over me
at her estate, but now I have the power. Oh you are stronger than
I, but you can't use those male muscles against me. Can you? You
can not hurt me, like I could not walk out that door."
 
"You knew the door was unlocked?"
 
"We are intertwined."
 
"Intertwined?"
 
"Since the time you imprisoned me in your apartment in Joy Town.
You remember that don't you Joe?"

Yes I remember Joy Town and the apartment. She is chained to the
floor. For two weeks she has hunched under the heavy links. For
both work and sleep. A collar around her neck keeps her from
speaking. It leaves little pink shock stings all around her
pretty neck. Kept naked, given mind numbing chores with harsh
punishments, Roxanne is learning a valuable lesson. How to barter
with her body and her looks, for the daily necessities. Food,
water, bathroom privileges. She must do this and keep her
lipstick done right, hair brushed, her legs and most importantly
her pussy shaved, always be perky, a willing and enthusiastic
fuck, so she is attractive for me. I like to take her like that,
on the table.
 
"It is called the Stockholm Syndrome, honey. Psychologists call
it traumatic bonding. I studied it after I was freed from Madame
Freya's. Hostages who are helpless and must depend totally on
their captors for their daily existence, begin to feel an
affection for their captors. It is all rather common.
Surprisingly, it is more pronounced when torture is involved.
There is an emotional transference that makes the captive view
their own well being as depending on the happiness of their
captors. Captors whom she begins to love as well as to fear. When
you brought me to orgasm while punishing me, love and fear got
blended hopelessly into one. They understand the syndrome well
enough in Chile. There it is a common brainwashing and
interrogation technique."
 
"What is not so well known, in academic circles, is when intense
and prolonged sexual abuse occurs, there is, what the shrinks
call, a protective affiliation that works both ways. The more
intense the sexual gratification the stronger the captor's
connection to his victim. There has always been something between
us anyway. It is undeniable. I need you, but your psyche craves
me even more. See my dinosaur, you are chained to me. You can not
see them, but you are feeling them now. They are wide and
stronger than steel. And I can pull your chain whenever I want."
 
Roxanne pulled on a blouse, tucking it neatly into the waistband.
"Those are nice boots." she said to Deana. "I will take those."
 
"You look perplexed, Joe. Not at all like Joy Town, is it? Never
had to think so hard, have you? It can be easy, just behave and I
won't turn you in to the authorities or the syndicate. I will
make it easy for you and let you use those muscles. Start by
telling this ditz, to give me her boots. You love her. I can see
your love for her. Don't deny it. You don't want to loose her, do
you? You don't have to, Joe. You can still have her. It is just
that things are a little different now. Cute perky Deana will be
working the streets for me. Like I had to fuck and suck at your
command, now she will do what I say. Deana will make me a lot of
money."
 
"Tell her, Joe. Tell her now."
 
"Better, take off your clothes, Deana."



-Stroker Ace-
Comments welcome
gentclub@hotmail.com


Notes from the author:

Sorry for the way it had to turn out for our old friend, Joe.

While not described in the story, Joe turns out to be Roxanne's
house boy, torn between his need to obey Roxanne and his
adoration of Deana. Roxanne someday will seek to find and reunite
with her daughter. Poor Joe finds himself ending up like Roxanne
was, being dragged around the globe, sexually servicing on demand
and watching his love being used and humiliated by a woman that
he loves even stronger.

Ahh, well he should have listened to his mother: Whatever goes
around, comes around.


Stroker Ace

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