index


Message-ID: <32108asstr$998295002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "MARK  MERSEREAU" <m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 19 Aug 2001 16:27:21 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Abducted and Enslaved (Pts.1-3)
Date: Mon, 20 Aug 2001 04:10:02 -0400
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

Dear Editor:

   I've converted this story to MS-DOS text format; I hope that will
eliminate your problems in handling MSWord format stories from me.  Several
days ago I sent Parts Two and Three to you; they were in Word format.  You
can dispose of those parts and use just the attachment if that's easier for
you.

   I've put all three parts of this together to make it easier for Readers,
giving them just one file to download.

   Mark

   A&E.Doc All Chapters of "Abducted and Enslaved" (Ch.1-15) (As of August,
2001)



   { ASSM } {Mersereau} New Story "Abducted & Enslaved" ( MF Mf FF FM Ff Fm
Mdom Fdom nc voy sm bd oral toys ) (1-3/?)

   The usual disclaimers: This is strictly adult material; all characters
are fictional.  No redistribution without attribution to the above-named
author.  No commercial use whatsoever of this story.

   From: Mark Mersereau (m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net)

   Subject: { ASSM } Abducted & Enslaved [Mersereau] MF Mf FF FM Fm Mdom
Fdom nc oral sm bd toys

   CHAPTER ONE: From College to the Big Apple

   Eli embarrassed her by calling her a 'wet dream come true' with his
friends, but it secretly pleased her, just the way her sorority sisters did
when they told her their boyfriends referred to her as 'the blonde knockout
with the dee cup tits.'

   Sheila was fortunate during the last semester to have a rep from a new
East Coast publisher interview the journalism students.  He was visiting
his alma mater for a class reunion, but he made it a hybrid
business-pleasure trip by interviewing kids from her class.  So, luckily
for Sheila, hers was the only college he visited during that trip to the
midwest.

   The offer from New York thrilled her--it seemed that her hope was going
to be fulfilled.  A hick girl from the insignificant little town of
Rantoul, Illinois was going to the Big Apple to take a dreamy job!

   Perhaps the reason for the offer from his publisher were her grades. 
But (she later learned) the rep had a reputation for being partial to
attractive girls, so she wasn't sure.  Since she was prettier and was
endowed with a much better figure than any of the other female journalism
majors, those qualties could just as likely have been his motive.

   The publishers were launching a new magazine, a tabloid version of `60
Minutes'.  It featured in each issue at least one prime muckraking article.
The rep probably was exaggerating when he told her that she would 'in time,
get to be an investigative reporter'.  He probably caught her vibes about
that job; to Sheila it was the plum of the journalism profession.

   Eli was crushed when she told him she'd be leaving the midwest.  He had
accepted a job in Chicago; so it didn't look like they'd see each other
much after they graduated.

   If ever.  Poor Eli.  Well, he's a hunk; he'll get over me.

   She felt more regretful for him than for herself.  He was a turn-on for
any girl, with his taut muscular body (the runner-up guard on the
basketball team, and he worked out hard every day).  But he wasn't the
dreamboat that she would go to the ends of the earth for.

   Eli was really down that last day; so much so that Sheila tried to
contain her excitement for fear he'd feel even worse.  That night, with her
roommate Sally gone, she arranged a love-fest in her room.  Later, after
they'd dozed for a couple of hours, she had to go pee.  When she got back
in bed, she topped their last night with a blow job.  She prolonged it, and
kept him on the edge as long as her jaws would take it.  At the end, she
jerked him off with her fist the way he liked, with her mouth wide open and
the head on her stuck-out tongue so he could watch it shoot in.  Eli told
her it was the best he'd ever had.

   So, they headed in different directions, Eli in his car to the Windy
City, and she (he was going to drop her off at the Peoria airport before
heading north) in a commuter two jetter to O'Hare followed by a 747 to JFK.


   As it turned out, her position when she began was something of a gopher,
but that didn't bother her.  Being fresh out of school, she expected to
start at the bottom.

   She was thrilled with her job, with her co-workers, who were all helpful
(and awfully smart!).  Her grades in college didn't mean beans among the
people she was working with.  Even though they knew so much more than she,
no one talked down to her.

   She liked the city.  The crime she'd read about wasn't as bad as she'd
feared.  She took sensible precautions: She put a "No Radio" sign on her
old car's dashboard, was careful to double-bolt the door to the apartment
she shared with Wendy (who'd advertised for "somebody to share the
expenses"); and was careful about where she went after dark.

   The big problem in the beginning was finances.  New York was so
expensive!  Max arranged for her to get an advance, which she really
needed. She slapped down a huge chunk to hold the apartment.  She had to
buy clothes: The women on the staff came dressed to kill.  Most of them. 
It seemed like a competition.

   Sheila's hours were crazy--but so were everyone's.  Typically, unless
she had a special assignment, she worked until all the proofreading--which
boring though it was, she always left for last--was done.  Then she went
home, took a hot bath, napped, and went out with a friend to dinner.

   As for finding those friends, pas de probl,me!  Just the first week she
had guys--as well as a few of the older women--asking her out.  And, not
just from the publishing house.  Most of the staff usually ate lunch in a
nearby deli with tables.  She met one guy there.  After a month she began
going to a workout gym with two other girls on the Zine.  She met guys
there, too.  That's where she first saw Edgar.  A real hunk, but kind of
old for her; she guessed he was at least thirty.

   Dates were a case of, "who do I turn down?  And, "when do I sleep?"

   She'd been working for a little over a year when the big break came.

   Max, the Editor-in-Chief, called her into his office one morning, along
with that guy she saw in the workout gym, Edgar--with an Irish surname that
she could never remember.  About all she knew about him was that he had one
of the plum jobs she was hoping for, that of roving reporter.  He always
wore a suit or sport jacket, which was a bit weird at the Zine.  Despite
the snazzy women's couture, all of the men, except for him, dressed
casually.  What made him seem even more out of place was his build, which
seemed suited to a roustabout, a construction worker, or some other manual
laborer.

   He was stocky and, as she'd seen him on the Nautilus machines, muscular,
with black hair.  His features, on the other hand, were fine.  Old Irish,
they told her.  He had one of those Bostonian accents that sounded put-on.
But, she should talk, guys in the press room bugged her by imitating her
midwestern twang.

   Max handed her a manila envelope, with a "Look these over, Sheila."

   The contents were a bunch of photos, each one of a girl or young woman,
six in all.

   "What do you make of them?"

   She wondered what he intended that she should come up with after his
Holmesian query.  But, this was something big, so she did her best.

   "Well," she said; "They're all of women--young ones.  Two of them I
would term 'girls', uh, these two.  They look sixteen or so.  And . . ."
She shuffled through them, "every one is very attractive.  Are they
models?"

   "For high couture?"

   "Oh, no!  Their figures are too good.  I mean, models for something like
Playboy, or the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition."

   He smiled.  He leaned back and unrolled a cigar, but didn't light it.

   "Not bad.  Not a bad guess.

   "The brunette in the . . .  uh, photo number two, has modeled for men's
magazines.  She's the oldest of the six--twenty right now.  The year she
was missing she was seventeen.  The others . . .the blonde . . .  " he
glanced at the folder, "in photo four, is seventeen.  She went missing at
fifteen.  Gone for two whole years.  She, and other four--who disappeared
just over a year ago--turned up a month ago.

   "None of them will say much about their experiences.  We were still able
to obtain some information about their disappearances.  Enough to make it a
big story.  Very big."

   "What do the police say?  They must have interviewed the girls.  It
could be some cult that they got into and then couldn't get out of."

   "Yes, our city's finest talked to them, but only with the girls' lawyers
present.  The girls didn't reveal anything.  They didn't have to.  The
police think, but can't prove, that a crime was committed.  Unless one of
them reveals that they were kidnapped forcibly or that some other felony
was committed, the police can't do a thing.  And won't.  About all the
police can do is be pissed off at all the work they did searching for the
girls when they went missing."

   "You think they were kidnapped?" she asked, putting the photos back on
Max's desk..

   "We think so.  But as of now each one is just a missing persons case.  A
closed one.  There were no ransom notes.  We have a few other sources,
including high school and youngish college kids who freelance articles for
us when we need a story on youth.  Through them, we got a little more
information about the girls.  The older girl, the model, came back
pregnant. She wouldn't say anything, but two of the younger ones told our
contacts that they were taken to some island, a tropical one, where they
were used in a sex racket.  White slavery of some modern sort."

   "So the girls were sexually abused."

   "Yes, but we couldn't get details.  All of them were compelled to do
things that they wouldn't describe.  Moreover, they're all concerned that
if they say very much, what they did will become known.

   "During their time on the island, they were videotaped.  The girls were
told before they were freed that any publicity about the island would mean
tapes would be sent to their employers, friends, family, and so on."

   "Blackmail, of course," Edgar said.

   "In a manner of speaking.  They aren't compelled to provide money, or
anything that's usually involved in blackmail.  If they keep silent, the
tapes won't be used.  What makes it particularly difficult for the police
is that no one seems to have an idea where the island is.  It's probably
privately owned.  Lots of islands are owned by the wealthy.  Brando owns
one in the South Pacific.  That slave island can't be far off, but it's
unlikely to be in an American area of the world.  If it isn't our police
have no jurisdiction."

   "I still don't see why at least one of the girls didn't agree to
testify," Sheila said.  "I mean, with all the x-rated videos shown today,
couldn't you find one of those girls who would be willing to risk having
herself shown on one?  Maybe not an underage girl, but an older one?"

   Max leaned back and lit his cigar.  I detest cigar smoke.  I hope he
opens the window.

   "What the girls had to do was a good deal more than you'll see in most
porn films.  Have you seen any Japanese Hentai videos?"

   "I've never even heard of them."

   The only porn films I've seen are those that Sally and I went to on
Fridays at Eli's fraternity.

   "I suggest that, before you take on this assignment--if you decide
to--that you see one or two Hentai's.  You take it from here, Ed."

   "Since Max assigned this to me three weeks ago," Ed began; "I've found a
few common threads.  The parents of the two younger ones--one is seventeen
now, the other, believe it or not, isn't even that old, having been
abducted at fifteen--were willing to talk with me.  Not their daughters. 
All their daughters have admitted to their parents is that, essentially,
they were raped."

   "Essentially?" Sheila said.  "Either they were or they weren't."

   "Well, they clammed up when their parents probed for details.  The two
of them probably agreed in advance to tell their parents that they were 'no
longer virgins', and limit it to that."

   "What else did you find out?"

   "Well, before I get to that, I should mention that I did get cooperation
from those parents.  They want the perpetrators found and exposed.  I
didn't mention the blackmail angle to them.  I don't think they're aware of
the videos."

   He reached in his jacket and handed a clipping to her.  It was a short
classified ad.  "From last Sunday's Daily News."

   "It's a notice for an 'Open House' sponsored by SMF, 'Swimsuit Models of
the Future'," Sheila read; "to take place next month at an address on
Central Park West.

   "It says that girls and women, ages thirteen to nineteen, interested in
a career or part time employment in swimsuit and lingerie modelling are
invited.  Current and future positions are available.  Free refreshments.
All interviews confidential.  Highest salaries and fees in the advertising
industry utilizing swimsuit and lingerie models.  Current high school girls
and college women welcome.'

   "They go on to say that they provide flexibility for weekends and after
school modelling.  They give a couple of numbers to call for more
information."

   She returned the clipping to Edgar.  "So, what's the connection between
this notice and the kidnapped girls?"

   "The parents of both of the two girls gave me this address as the site
of a party their daughters attended about a week before they disappeared. I
think it's too much of a coincidence that both girls, who never met before
that party, attended it.  I went to the address and found a notice in the
window stating essentially what's in this clipping.  The place was closed,
but there was an SMF stenciled on the door."

   Max said, "We checked the owner of the building and the resident of the
SMF part of the building.  They're the same guy.  He's a temporary
resident, a Colombian citizen.  He travels in and out of the country
frequently."

   "So, perhaps he's connected to the kidnappings."

   "That's our assumption.  Our intention is to go to that open house."

   "I see.  I suppose that's where I come in.  You want me to act like a
candidate for a modelling job."

   He nodded.  "Ed mentioned that you're about the only female here that
could pass for a model.  I agree.  This is a big thing, and it could be
dangerous, so I don't want to coerce you into this.  The choice is yours.

   "If you do go along, Ed will go with you.  You'll pass as husband and
wife.  I don't think there will be any funny stuff, but it'll be safer if
he's with you.  Now, if this turns out to be a hot lead, you'll have to get
more involved, and that has risks.  So, I'm asking you if you're
interested. If not, we'll find another girl.  Ed knows some actresses,
especially those who work Off-Broadway.  There are always a few looking for
work."

   "Yes, I'm interested," she said.

   And scared.

   This was a big opportunity, but a frightening one.  She thought of a
million things at once.  How far should she go with the SMF people if she
got an offer?

   They probably won't allow Ed to go with me to a photo session.  What if
they kidnap me then?  At least those six girls are back home.  Only one
pregnancy.  I'm on the pill, but I'd better get a patch.  I wish he'd open
that window.

   What should I wear to the open house?  What does a girl looking for a
job modelling for sexy lingerie, or in the nude for a men's magazine, wear
for an interview?

   "If we crack this sex slave racket--which is what I'm assuming it is,"
Max continued; "it should be good for a big series, maybe a half dozen
issues.  I'd put my last buck on it boosting our sales to at least double
our current circulation.  Sex sells, and this looks like sex in neon!"

   "Uh, Max," Sheila interjected (it still bothered her to call him by his
first name, but everyone called him 'Max', so it would have been childish
for her to be the only one calling him 'Mister Stedman'), "I'll have to
dress up for the open house.  I'll have to buy something appropriate.  May
I have an advance on my salary . . .  ?"

   "Shit, Sheila, you must think we're cheapies.  We'll pay the whole bill.
Don't skimp!  Not on dress, shoes, lingerie, whatever.  But get receipts so
Accounting doesn't bust our balls about it Except for jewelry, make that
costume stuff.  I don't want it to run into real money."

   Sheila told Wendy about the opportunity to get some `free
model-interview clothes,' hoping Wendy could help her choose.  She wasn't
at all confident in her own ability to select an outfit that New York girls
would think suitable.

   "Jesus, Sheila!" Wendy laughed; "I'll be glad to go along, but I don't
see why you think I should know.  You're the one with the sexy bod.  I'm
too skinny to buy anything of that sort.  Have you seen the padding in my
bras?"

   "You have nice boobs," Sheila responded.  "They're really cute.  They
just aren't big."

   "Big is a hell of a lot better.  At least as far as men are concerned."

   "I'll bet Al never says they're too small."

   "He's polite.  He'd much rather I had ones like yours.  You should see
how he looks at yours when you aren't looking!"

   They bussed to Fifth Avenue.  Neither of them saw any point in going to
a bargain basement with Max picking up the tab.  It turned out that they
didn't have to search far.  Between Sax's and Bloomies, they found
everything Sheila needed.

   In discussing her underwear, they decided on black.  Of a kind she could
readily get out of.  The open house might turn into a lingerie or swimsuit
tryout with photos, necessitating changes.

   She found a really pretty spandex seamless plunge 36D with satiny cups
and stretch lace that she adored on sight.

   "Wow!  What cleavage!," Wendy exclaimed.  "That should get everyone to
look at you!"

   "Is it too much?"

   "Naah!  I just wish it was me in that outfit.  Get it."

   She purchased three pairs of high-cut hipster briefs that she could wear
under most garments, despite how revealing they were, ones which had lace
that went well with the bra.

   Still thinking of having to change, she didn't want the bother of
pantyhose or garters, so she settled on six pairs of black support high
thigh hose.

   She found a sheath that, wonder of wonders, actually fit well.  She
thought it displayed her figure at its best.

   She rejected red.  It didn't suit her.  She considered the dark blue, a
color that contrasted nicely with her hair, but she settled on the black as
more dressy.  Wendy told her it looked cool with the black stockings.  It
had enough decolletage to give prominant display to her cleavage.

   I can wear the accompanying jacket if air conditioning makes me too
cold.

   She bought a cloth clutch purse in gold, and black pumps with contoured
three inch heels.

   When she had them all on and was turning before the mirrors, Wendy said,
"God!  you're a knockout, Sheila.  Don't wear that to an office party--for
certain you'll get your bones jumped!"

   "Well," she smiled, thinking of a certain hunk.  "I might not mind
that."

   She finished with the purchase of: a weighty but simple gold-plated
choke necklace with matching bracelet.









   CHAPTER TWO: Six Months Previously

   Crane looked over the latest catch.  They'd all been processed, and the
men had been taken downstairs for storage.  Their auction would follow the
one for the women.

   The six women were naked except for their blindfolds and, with one, a
pair of glasses that hung from a cord about her neck.  Each was fastened to
the wall by cuffs about her wrists and ankles that kept her arms and legs
well apart.  This haul ranged in age from the fifteen year old . . .  He
glanced at his clipboard.  Her name was Crystal Glass, the dark-haired,
brown-eyed beauty on the left--a high school freshman and cheerleader.  She
was only about five-one or five-two tall.  Her long hair had been undone
and it dangled nearly to her hips. . . .  to the twenty-three year old
blonde professional model, on the right.

   He looked again at the blonde.  Her breasts were probably dee size.  As
soon as he'd had her conditioned, he'd use them.  All he cared for in big
breasts was their suitability for a tit fuck.  She would be good for that.

   He'd developed the program nearly into a science.  It now it took less
than three days to condition even the most reluctant female.  Some, of
course, were more pliable: those, Crane theorized, had an innate wish to be
dominated and disciplined.  It was easy to bring the tendencies in those
girls into full bloom.  In less than a day he transformed them into slaves.
They were easily sold.

   After that blonde was conditioned, he'd have her delivered to his bed,
naked.  By then there would be no need for handcuffs.  She'd be prepared to
do anything.  He'd have her press those full breasts about his thrusting
cock, and she would obediently await his nod, upon which she would raise
her head from the pillow and part her lips.  Probably, like most before
her, she would also close her eyes.

   He looked at the girl whose glasses hung from a cord about her neck. 
Her name . . .  he glanced again at his clipboard . . .  Sarah Thompson. 
Tall.  More statuesque than the other five.  Each girl had been picked for
her face and figure.  His clients, with their wealth, could easily obtain
normally attractive females.  What they desired, and what they got, were
girls whose attributes were exceptional.  Crane required that their faces
be at the very least pretty (in fact they were often beautiful); he
insisted that their figures, which he considered of critical importance, be
voluptuous.

   By the time Crane delivered a slave to a client, she had been
`conditioned', prepared to do whatever the buyer desired.  Of course that
was true only of girls who the client wanted to be a `slave'.  An
occasional client preferred, and therefore was sold, an untrained `raw'
captive.  Crane had mixed feelings about such deliveries.  They saved him
time and staff personnel which otherwise had to be used for training.  On
the other hand, her delivery to the client so soon after the auction meant
that neither he nor any of his staff would have the opportunity to amuse
themselves with her beforehand.

   Crane couldn't deny that the opportunity for enjoyment with a fresh,
untrained and unwilling captive lended a certain spice that was impossible
with a slave.

   The motivation of a conditioned trainee was to please.  It didn't matter
very much what the client desired.  Some had unusual tastes, that was true
even of female clients.  In fact now that he considered it, the women
clients seemed more imaginative than the men in how they utilized a slave.

   Regardless of what the slave had to do, in anticipation of performing
it, she was taught to utter, "Oh, thank you, Master.  I so want to do
that!"

   Or, some variation thereof.

   Slaves who fulfilled the buyer's sexual fantasies, that was what Crane
provided.  It was for a price.  Never less than ten thousand U.S.  dollars,
the initial acceptable bid.  With this new batch, small as it was but of
superior quality, he doubted that any would go for less than double that
bottom bid.

   He looked again at Sarah.  He thought of her long lashes, hidden by the
blindfold.  He liked her hazel eyes.  Her trim and shapely figure was
particularly attractive.  She had pert, moderate-sized teats that projected
firmly from raised aroelas, little hills atop the larger creamy ones.  Most
of his clients were addicted to big-titted girls, but his own preference,
unless he had the specific urge for a tit-fuck, was for slender girls with
average-sized breasts.  Hers--Sarah's--were probably bee size, ample enough
for her girlish figure.

   His new method of selecting candidates had succeeded better than he'd
hoped, at least with this batch.  Perhaps, of the six manacled to the wall,
only Sarah would not have made a girlie magazine centerfold.  Personally
though, he considered her the most appetizing.  of all.  Her figure, less
voluptuous than the others, appealed to him because her curves, while
well-proportioned and distributed, were subtle.

   I'll buy her myself!

   In theory he could abuse his manager's role and simply take her, but
that meant doctoring the books.  Also, swearing unethical men to secrecy.
His backers would find out--sooner or later--that he'd pocketed an
inventory item worth, at the minimum, ten big ones, US.

   He enjoyed trying out stock when they arrived, but it would be nice to
have an item for a longer period.  One he could mold to his own
specifications.  Sarah's mouth looked particularly sensuous, and he
imagined her on her knees with her full warm lips--that she'd tinted with a
maroon shade he found very sexy--encircling his cock, her head moving up
and down on it, with those long fingers and nails stroking his balls.

   Yes.

   Crane could afford it.  After three years he'd accumulated a sizeable
hoard of cash, in U.S.  dollars.  Still a long way from the amount that was
his goal, but he saw no reason to believe that he wouldn't keep the
operation running for two or three more years, when he would attain it. 
Then he would get out.  His backers had the foolish notion that they would
enjoy their profits from this island indefinitely.  He knew better.  Some
day the entire edifice would come crashing down.  Well, he would be wealthy
before then, and be gone.

   He looked at Sarah again.

   I'll enjoy training her myself.  I hope she's not too experienced.

   At present, the girls were subdued.  The girl beside the blonde
sometimes emitted a sob, but disruptions in the form of yelling or
screaming had ceased.  A few light whippings, applied to sensitive parts of
their anatomy, had ended those.  No application of a cattle prod had been
necessary.  Things had gone well.

   Still, I'm a bit disappointed that not even one resisted more.

   The girls were ready for their first indoctrination.  None had as yet
been given a thorough whipping.  Of course that had been because he hadn't
yet ordered any of the six to do much that was either embarrassing or
disgusting.  Three had objected to undressing while he and the guards
watched.  Upon his orders the guards had stripped them naked and whipped
them.  Not hard, but strategically.

   It hadn't hurt them much, but that was unimportant.  Chiefly, the women
had been shocked by where the guards applied the whips.  After that they
became quite submissive.

   He hoped none had been sexually abused prior to arriving this morning.
Some of the thugs that he found it necessary to use for the kidnappings had
even fewer compunctions than he.  He knew very well one or more of these
six could have been raped, although none had yet raised any such charge. 
He didn't care much if a rape had occurred if it had been been oral or
anal. Either would serve as part of her indoctrination, an early example of
what she was to be used for.

   A pregnant slave would be a real nuisance.  Besides the manpower
adjustments it would cause, it would cut into profits.  He hoped that this
six would bring in a sum exceeding six figures.  These were really that
good-looking.  If any had a fault, being pregnant was the only probable
one. That would be a mini-disaster and would mean a refund of about sixteen
per cent of his gross.

   Well, tomorrow evening, when he'd allow each of them a little food,
they'd be getting Doc's prescribed contraceptive, which would obviate the
likelihood of pregnacies during their upcoming use here.

   A girl in blue entered the room.  The collar about her neck was
gold-colored, actually made of solid brass; riveted to its circumference
dangled a series of rings.  She carried two bags.

   "I have the indoctrination stuff, Master Crane."

   "So I see.  Well, the women are ready.  Cleaned, inside and out.  Get
started on them, Nina, and give me a call as soon as you determine which
one is the most responsive.  I'll want her in my room tonight.  Incidently,
the brunette with glasses appeals to me.  Keep a record of what turns her
on.  I'll probably want her as well."

   "Two untrained slaves?  That's foolish!"

   Crane stopped.  He stared at her, frowning.  Back-talk from blue girls
was becoming much too frequent.  After a moment, he meticulously withdrew
his prod from his belt.

   "You aren't immune from being punished yourself, Nina.  It's time to
make an example of you.  Unfortunately, you aren't the only blue girl who
has the idea that she's no longer a slave.  You know very well that I can
do with you as I please.  I can whip you anytime.  For no reason if I want
to.  By now you've given me more than I want.  Don't think that your cute
ass will be the only target of this cat . . ."

   He touched the stranded whip that hung from his belt with the tip of his
prod.

   "On second thought," he said, pointing the prod at her; "I believe it's
time for this again.  But not on your tit.  You'll appreciate it more in
your cunt."

   Nina gasped.  Frightened, the terrible memory of the last jolt of
electricity returned.  It had felt like a baseball bat against her breast.
She began to tremble.

   She went to her knees before him.

   "Forgive me, Master!  I wasn't thinking!  I feared that two untrained
girls could injure you.  I beg you, please, please don't punish me!"

   "It's necessary, Nina.  Stand up, pull up your dress, and spread your
legs."

   "Please, Master!  I know I deserve punishment.  Here . .  !"

   Still kneeling, she grabbed the top of her dress.  Using both hands, she
jerked it open, popping the top button and undoing several lower ones.  She
opened the garment wide, displaying her body beneath it, devoid of any
underclothing.  She thrust out her bare breasts.

   "Please, Master--whip my tits.  I"ll--I'll hold them for you!" and she
cupped her hands beneath them, holding up the pert and creamy cee cup hills
for him.

   "I should use this, you deserve it." He slapped the prod in the palm of
his hand.

   She felt some hope; at least he hadn't yet acted, either by using the
prod or by drawing his cat from his belt.

   She looked up contritely.

   She wheedled, "May I please you, Master?

   She abruptly leaned toward him, holding out her breasts, her head thrust
forward.

   "Let me suck you!  I can please you, I know I can.  I'll suck you for as
long as you want.  I'll do it all morning!  Please, Master--come in my
mouth.  Let me drink from your prick!"

   Looking up at him, she drew her tongue slowly along the circle she had
formed with her lips.

   Crane was obliged to smile.

   "Christ, Nina--What a turn on you are!"

   He shrugged.  "Ah, well.  I'll forget this little infraction.  For now.
But, any more backtalk . . .  " He waved the prod; "and you'll feel this in
your cunt."

   He slipped it back in his belt.

   "No more shit, Nina.  Get to work.  Juice up this group and report back
to me."

   He walked out.

   Nina rose, breathing a sigh of relief.  She buttoned herself up.  The
six prisoners had become remarkably quiet.  Not even a sniffle from them.

   That little to-do I had with Crane scared them.  Good.  Makes my job
easier.  Not that it really matters if they're scared dumb or scream their
heads off.  Every one, quiet or loud, will soon be a sex toy.

   She brought the shopping bags to the table before the row of girls and
dumped the contents on it.  She took six plastic phallus-shaped vibrators
and inserted them in the dildo openings in six harnesses.

   She carried one of the combinations to the girl on the extreme left and
positioned the vibrator vertically between the girl's spread legs.  She
probed the conveniently exposed vaginal vestibule with the plastic tip to
assure herself that the orifice was well lubricated and then, ignoring the
girl's high-pitched "What are you doing?!  Don't!  Please!" shoved it up,
burying it in the girl's vagina.

   She fastened the harness about the girl, the waist strap around the
girl's hips.  A strong cord with strategically positioned knots replaced
the central crotch strap.  Nina looped this snugly between the girl's inner
labia, assuring herself that the two large adjacent knots straddled the
girl's clit, indenting the flesh just before and after it.  She jerked the
cord up between the girl's buttocks and hooked it tightly to the waist
strap.

   Taking the butt plugs, Nina pulled the girl's hips away from the wall
far enough to get behind her.  She knelt, a plug between her teeth, pointed
end out.  She firmly grasped and spread the girl's buttocks, pulling aside
the cord with a finger enough to expose the girl's puckered anal orifice.
Wiggling her head from side to side, Nina worked the plug in.

   "Oh god!" the girl exclaimed; "Stop!  Please!"

   Nina ignored her cries.  And the subsequent ones.

   When the last plug was firmly in the last girl's--the blonde's--ass,
Nina emitted a sigh of relief Whoever the blue girl had been that had
prepared these, all six of the girls' rears had been well-filled with
petroleum jelly.  The difficult part was over.  Protests from the
attractive prisoners had been minimal.  She supposed they realized by now
that however they objected, preparing them for training--or, 'abuse' as
they probably perceived it--would continue.

   She returned to retrieve the butterfly vibrators and oval cups. 
Modified by male slaves in the machine shop, cords like those of the
harnesses but without knots replaced the vibrators' cunt straps.

   The front and rear of each oval cup held an elastic cord that terminated
in a blunt hook for attachment to the harness belt.

   Nina knelt in turn before each girl's spread thighs.  She fastened a
butterfly vibrator over a girl's clit.  "What are you doing!" came from the
girl, Sarah.  Nina looked up at the brunette's blindfolded countenance and
said, "You'll soon find out, and you'll like it.  Now shut up!  And, that
goes for the rest of you, too."

   She repeated the performance for the shop-modified cups, fastening each
so it enclosed the girl's furry labia as well as the butterfly vibe.  She
then pull-tested the cords to be sure the cups were snug, its edges digging
into the girl's soft flesh in an oval about her pudenda.  Then she pulled
and hooked each cord onto the waist strap.

   During storage the chains to keep the nipple vibes connected had
somehown become tangled into an irregular metal ball, and she had to waste
time undoing them.  When each chain and pair of clamps had been separated
and laid out, she clamped a nipple vibe onto each breast, carefully
tightening the screw until the girl's nipple was squashed to half its
normal thickness and the metal serrated fingers of each device gripped the
delicate flesh tightly.  This induced some "Ow!"s and "Please!  Oh please
don't!" and "Oh please, it hurts!" It amused her.

   She had heard it all before.  The clamps were bearable, having endured
them herself.  She continued until, from each pair of attractive breasts
projected a pair of nipple clip vibrators connected by a fine mesh chain.
In the case of the blonde with the dee size tits and the buxom black-haired
oriental-looking beauty next to Sarah, with ones nearly as large, the
chains were too short.  Their tautness causing the victims' full breasts to
squash together.

   Standing back, she smiled.  The effect on the girls' ample breasts was
to produce deep cleavages between them.  No doubt, with those two girls,
the trainers would attach their dog leashes to the chains instead of to the
usual collars, well aware that pulled nipples are very persuasive.

   She withdrew her stopwatch from a pocket and set it face up on the
table. Moving quickly from one girl to the next, she started the vibrators,
ignoring the `Oh!'s and `Jesus Christ!'s and other protests from the bound
prisoners, until the devices were all buzzing away.  Except for the
butterflies, that were set on low, all were on their highest power.

   Nina clicked the watch.  She set her pad and pen on the table beside it,
drew a short leather whip from a bag and walked around the table to sit and
watch.  She decided to check after five minutes, just in case one was an
easy turn-on.  Crane would be pissed if she allowed even one to have an
orgasm.

   Jesus!  This slim girl that Crane is interested in is getting turned on
fast!

   Nina put a hand on the velvety muff, felt under the cup with her
forefinger.

   Wow!  what a hard clit!

   To be safe, she swung the cat, twice, whacking Sarah hard on the inside
of each spread thigh, as far up as she was able while keeping below the
cup. From experience she was enhanced its sting by applying a last moment
up-down flick of her hand just as the knotted ends of the whip met the
smooth white skin.

   Sarah emitted a loud, "Ow!  That hurt!

   "What did I do?!" the girl blurted, bursting into tears.  She twisted in
the restraints as though to get her thighs away from the blows.  It was
futile, since Nina had already turned, to check the next girl.

   "You were about to come!" Nina replied.

   She looked from one to the other.  "None of you is going to have an
orgasm.  If I catch any of you having one, you'll regret it.  The whipping
I gave Sarah is nothing compared to what you'll get!"

   The buxom raven-haired girl who she was now standing before asked,
"B-But, this--these things you put on me. . . .  I don't know if I can take
this.  for long . . .  without . . .  without coming.  Why are you doing
this?!"

   "I'm not supposed to tell you."

   She hesitated.  "Well, I don't think it's a big deal to tell you, even
if I shouldn't.  But, don't tell anyone I told you.  You'll catch hell from
me if I find out you told.  The reason for these vibrators . . .  "

   "Oh my God!" big-tits on the right exclaimed.  "I'm afraid I'm . . . 
I'm . ..  !"

   "Christ!" Nina exclaimed.  "Two hot bitches!"

   She ran to the right and, just as the blonde opened her mouth to emit an
"Aah . . .", she flicked the cat upward, striking the blonde's thighs,
repeatedly, first on one side of the cup, then the other.  "Ow!  Please! 
please stop!" the girl cried.  She began sobbing.

   Nina ignored her.  She was unable to swing her arm far enought to
provide a really satisfying whipping.  Not if she wanted to strike her
target, the sensitive part of the blonde's thighs close to her cunt.

   She swung the cat, continuing until she reached a dozen blows.  Pulling
down on the cup, she worked her hand under the girl's muff.  With her
forefinger she found that the girl's swollen clit had shrunk back under its
hood.

   "Good!" she exclaimed, relieved.

   She proceeded to the next girl.

   I'd better play it safe.

   She pulled down the cup and reached with her forefinger under the
butterfly.  The girl's clit was swollen, but not too hard.  She gave it a
wiggle which, to her satisfaction, induced an involuntary jerk of the hips
and an "Ooh!" from the girl.

   Feeling devilish and smiling, she went on to the next..

   * * *

   CHAPTER THREE: Pickup and Delivery



   The open house was a busy affair, and Sheila was surprised by the
profusion of attractive girls and women about them.  There were also
several men who were accompanying women, so Ed's presence wasn't unusual;
besides them, there were a few parents who chaperoned younger girls.  A
long table held a buffet of snacks and beverages, including wine for those
who passed carding.

   Two women and a man, the latter apparently the manager of the branch of
SMF in New York City, were seated at tables, interviewing the potential
models.  Sheila, followed by her friends, went to a table across from one
of the women.

   "Hello, I'm Hazel," the woman said, smiling at each of them as Sheila
sat down.  "You of course are the candidate.  Well, first of all, let's get
some information about you."

   Sheila gave Hazel her name and the details she wanted.  She introduced
Ed as her husband and Wendy as her friend.  Hazel questioned her about any
modelling experience she'd had, why she was interested in it, and did she
hope for it as a career.  All her questions seemed pertinent to a candidate
for a career in modelling.

   Sheila began to have doubts about SMF being the criminal front that Max
was sure it was.  Hazel was knowledgeable about modelling and even raised
negative points about it as a career--mentioning the extensive travelling
and long hours.

   When Hazel had most of the information she wanted, the manager, a Se or
Hernandez, came over and said, "Hazel, our photographer is available now if
you want to use him."

   He handed the woman a note, which she glanced at and then crumpled and
dropped in a waste basket.  She looked up at Edward and Wendy.  "Well, we
would like to avail ourselves of a series of promotional shots of Sheila
since we have our photographer here.  All right?"

   She stood up.  Sheila acquiesced in following her through a rear door,
leaving Ed and Wendy alone with Hernandez, with whom they engaged in small
talk about modelling.  Wendy later told her that he, too, seemed quite
informed about modelling as a career.

   Sheila found herself in a well-lit room provided with two large mirrors
on adjacent walls.  The photographer was a man in his mid-thirties in shirt
sleeves, with thick glasses.  Lights and a large tripod-mounted camera
stood along the door wall.  In a corner was a screen.

   "This is Charlie, Sheila," Hazel told her.

   "Hi, Sheila!" he smiled at her, adjusting his tripod.

   "We'll take a few shots of you dressed, a half dozen or so in your
underwear and a few nude.  You can take your clothes off behind the screen.
There are hangers against the wall."

   Although Sheila felt a little miffed that he hadn't asked her if it "was
O.K." to take photographs of her nude, it didn't seem worth making a fuss
about, especially if she was going to pose for lingerie and swimsuiits,
which often hid very little anyway.

   He did as he'd promised, and it actually wasn't embarrassing.  Hazel
left, and Charlie seemed only intent on posing her to her best advantage.
He did remark, "Oh, nice taste in undies!" when she appeared in her bra,
panties, stockings, and shoes, but that was all.  Actually, seeing herself
naked in the two mirrors was more disconcerting than when he was
photographing her.

   After she had dressed and met Hernandez in the reception room, he told
her that she'd hear from him or one of the women within the week.  "You
understand, we have to go over all the candidates' qualifications,
availability, and their photo proofs before we make any decisions.  If we
make you an offer, you'll have to come in and we'll take more shots, but at
that time we'll provide lingerie and swimsuits."

   Three days later, there was a message on her machine: "Sheila, this is
Raoul Hernandez.  Congratulations!  You are one of our candidates.  We
would like you to come in on Friday at five o'clock for more photographs.
Wear anything comfortable and easily changed.  If you can visit a
hairdresser's prior to then, it would be advantageous but not actually
necessary.  Our limo will pick you up then (at five sharp--please don't
keep the driver waiting)."

   Sheila's anxiety about the Friday appointment was greatly relieved when
Ed told her he'd accompany her.  Wendy offered to go as well.  Sheila felt
that there had to be safety in numbers.  Max made a few preparations
involving her purse and shoes, "Just in case," as he put it.

   She decided to go along with Hernandez's suggestions, and she had her
hair done the day before the limo came.  As for her dress, she wore a skirt
and pullover sweater, with socks rather than stockings.  She carried her
necklace and bracelet in her purse.

   The limo driver, alone in the vehicle, was surprised when three of them
climbed in the back seat as he held the door open.

   "I thought only Sheila was to come," he said, but he didn't object
strenuously.  He said nothing more, but used his cell phone as they rode
into the city.  The glass partition between the front and rear seats
prevented them from hearing any of what he said to whomever he'd called.

   The driver took them north, nearly to the end of central park, where it
turned right into a garage that occupied the basement of a large apartment
building.  The driver parked close to an interior doorway.  As he did, two
men wielding pistols emerged and opened the doors on each side of the three
passengers.

   "Not a peep out of any of you!" one told them.  He handed their
chauffeur a shopping bag, from which the driver extracted hoods and lengths
of rope.  While the two weaponed men stood guard, he tied Ed's, Sheila's,
and Wendy's hands behind their backs and slipped the hoods over their
heads, knotting draw strings about their throats.

   They were led into the building, up an elevator, and down what seemed
like a hall.  They were stopped briefly, during which they heard the sound
of a door being unlocked.  They entered a room and were ordered to sit on
the floor, against a wall.  They sat on the thick carpet, waiting for some
hours.  Although they were forbidden to speak, Ed eventually said, "I need
to use a toilet."

   Atter he returned from the bathroom, the rest of them pleaded similar
needs.  When it was Sheila's turn, a man gripped her arm and led her into
the bathroom.  He unceremoniously ran his hands up under her skirt and
pulled down her thong briefs.  He backed her onto the toilet.  "Do your
business Blondie," he told her and, suppressing her embarrassment, she
complied.

   CHAPTER FOUR: Shipping to the Port, and Inspection

   It was dark by the time they were led back down to the garage.  The
three prisoners were unceremoniously shoved into the rear of a truck and
made to lie down on its cold metal floor.  Something that felt like canvas
was thrown over them.

   After twenty minutes or so, another group of prisoners, including at
least two new girls-- Sheila could hear their sobs--were shoved onto the
truck.  Their guard, who lay down with them but closer to the hatch,
ordered them to remain quiet.  Shortly afterwards the vehicle started up
and left the garage.  Their ride was bumpy and bruising, as well as
long--lasting more than two hours.  They could have been driven almost
anywhere but, judging from the sounds of waves and odor of the sea, they
knew they were near a large body of water.

   "Probably the Atlantic," Ed whispered as they were led in the dark from
where they had parked to a building that sounded closer to the water.

   They entered the ground floor where their hoods were removed.  Five
armed men were in the room.  Besides their captors, Ed and the two girls
found themselves in the company of six other occupants, captives like
themselves.  Two couples were of college age.  Seated in chairs against a
wall were a young married couple.  They had been abducted the previous
night and had been held in the building all day.

   They waited for about an hour, when two more girls were brought in. 
These were followed by three more girls.  Finally, after about two hours in
all, two teenage couples, who had been at a dance and had accepted an older
couple's offer of a ride home, were herded in.  Edgar counted eighteen
captives, including twelve young women and girls, and six males, two being
teenaged boys.

   At that point, one of the guards, a blonde man who sounded, Sheila
thought, more educated than the others, told them, "Each of you will
proceed, one at a time, into the next room.  My friends in there will tell
you what to do.  Don't ask any questions, either of me or of them." He
turned to Sheila and told her, "You seem to be the oldest female.  I want
you to go first."

   A guard grasped her arm, opened the door, and pushed her unceremoniously
into the next room, closing the door behind her.

   The room in which she found herself was essentially bare, except for a
long wooden bench against the far wall.  Another door, on the right and
ajar, opened into a bathroom, while there was a closed door on the left. 
Suitcases were stacked against a side wall.  Over the bench she saw a
rectangle of heavy plywood covering a window.

   A tanned man of about forty, with slightly graying black hair and a neat
mustache, seemed in charge and was accompanied by two much younger men.. 
He handed her a marking pen.

   "Bring one of those suitcases here and print your name legibly on its
outside.  Then, open it and undress.  Put your clothes in it."

   Sheila's mouth felt dry.  "How much of my clothes?"

   The younger of the other two men, a well-built man wearing jeans, a tee
shirt, and sporting a crew-cut grinned at her.  "We want you bare-ass
naked."

   She blushed.  Not looking at Crew-Cut, she asked the older man if she
could undress in the bathroom.  He shook his head.  "Undress in front of
them.  I realize it's embarrassing for you, but you'll soon get accustomed
to being naked in front of men."

   Sheila nervously undid her buttons.  Besides her personal concerns, she
was afraid they would examine her purse and her shoes, the heels of which
contained the two parts of a homing radio transmitter.  Her purse, its
fastener containing a tiny camera, was no longer in her possession, having
been taken from her the moment they'd exited the limo in the underground
garage.

   However, it was soon evident that at least the younger men were
interested only in watching her undress.  They ignored her shoes as she
removed her sweater and skirt, her shoes and socks.

   She removed her underwire bra and dropped it on the pile of other
clothing.

   Crew Cut exclaimed, "Nice tits!" He wet his lips, staring.  Avoiding his
eyes, she couldn't help noticing the bulge in his jeans.

   She rolled down her thongs but, as she tried to retrieve them from one
foot, Crew Cut suddenly reached out and grasped her breasts.  His fingers
found her nipples and began kneading them in his fingers.  Sheila gasped
but was afraid to say anything.

   Unable to reach the thong, which lay in a ring about an ankle, she
kicked it off.

   "Jesus!  what a body!" he exclaimed.  "How about it Al?"

   The third man, thirtyish, with a slight paunch and thinnish blond hair
smiled.  "Yeah.  Shit!  She must be a model or something.  Her bod's giving
me a hard-on.

   "You're just gettin one?!" Crew Cut laughed.  "Look!"

   Releasing her breasts, he unzipped his pants.  His cock thrust out and
bobbed in the air.

   "See this?" he grinned, holding it, pointed at her..

   "I've seen them before," she replied, hoping he didn't detect the quaver
in her voice.

   "Hey Ken!" the older man said.  "No fucking around.  We'll catch hell if
the boss finds us screwing any of the catch."

   Crew Cut--or Ken, now that she knew his name--ignored the warning.  He
reached up with both hands.  He again gripped her nipples, this time so
hard that it hurt.  She cried, "Oh!" She hoped the older man would stop
Ken. But he said nothing, just watched.

   "Hold her Al," Ken said.

   Hands gripped her hips.  Al pulled down, hard.  Sheila cried out again.
Perforce, she crouched, her torso bent forward.

   "On your knees, Baby!" he ordered.

   He pulled downward until the girl, to avoid falling as well as from the
pain, complied, hurting her knees when they struck the wooden floor. 
Unable to keep her balance, she nearly fell, but the hands behind her moved
up to her waist, and supported her.  When she was on her knees, Ken grasped
a clump of her hair like a rope, holding it so close to her scalp that she
was unable to move her head.

   Gripping his cock in his other hand, he pressed it to her face, then
slid it down to force it against her lips, pressing them until they hurt.
The pain induced her to part them, but she kept her teeth closed.

   "Open your teeth Baby," he told her.  "I'm gonna give you a snack."

   She was frightened, her heart beating fiercely.  What would he do if she
didn't obey?

   He released his hand from his shaft, only to put it about her throat. 
His thumb pressed against it and she couldn't breathe.

   "Open up!" he repeated.

   She parted her teeth, and he thrust his organ into her mouth, sliding it
over the length of her tongue and down.  She gagged, and her eyes filled
with tears.

   She hardly noticed when his hand released her hair, and slipped behind
her head,

   I can't believe this is happening.  It can't be.

   The older man, approached.  Sheila couldn't see his face, but heard his
loud whisper, "Ken--you fucking idiot!  Mike is gonna wonder why it's
taking us so long!  That's enough--cut it out!"

   "Wait a minute.  This won't take . . ."

   "I said, `That's enough!'" Hands pulled Ken away from her.

   "Fuck 'em!" Ken replied, his hand holding his cock.  This job gets me
horny.  So what if I give her a little juice?  Nobody's gonna believe
anything this cunt says."

   Sheila was sobbing, tears running down her cheeks.

   "Come on, you two--get with it," the older man said.  "Start searching
her.  If that gets you horny, jerk off."

   He took two tubes from a bag; handed one to each of them.  He grasped
Sheila's arm and helped her up.

   Ken held up the tube, showing it to her.  "K-Y jelly," he said with a
smirk.

   The man behind her grasped her buttocks, spreading them.  She felt
fingers enter her anus--one, then two, and finally a third.

   Ken, in front of her, laughed.  "My turn now.  Spread your legs Baby!"

   Trembling, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she complied. 
She tried not to cringe, tried to ignore the fingers in her rectum.

   Ken reached between her thighs, grasped her labia, and roughly pulled
them apart.  He began probing her vagina.  Sheila's heart pounded, as the
men moved their fingers around in both orifices.

   Ken flicked her nipples with his free hand.  After a while he moved the
hand to his cock and began pumping it; at the same time he changed his
probing and instead began shoving his fingers in and out of her vagina.

   Max was right.  Those poor teenage girls; what will this be like for
them?

   "Haven't you done enough?," she finally exclaimed.  "You know I don't
have anything hidden!"

   The two men laughed.

   "She's right, you two," the older man agreed.  "Al, take her into the
dressing room.  Don't fuck her.  That's an order!"

   Al grasped her arm and led her to the door into the next room.

   As they entered, she heard the older man behind her.  "I'm staying here
with you, Ken.  You're fucking lucky that Mike didn't barge in and catch
you."

   Al closed the door behind them.

   The next room was nearly as bare as the one they had just left.  Instead
of a bench, the far wall held about a dozen wooden chairs.  In the center
of the bare floor were two tables, both loaded with garments.

   "These are the women's," Al informed her, indicating the closer table.
"Find ones that fit and put `em on."

   He took a magazine that lay on a chair, seated himself, and began
flipping the pages.  He occasionally glanced at Sheila.

   "Don't bother looking through them like that.  Except for size, they're
all the same."

   The women's garments were halters or something like halters, skirts, and
soft pumps or slippers, all of them black.  Except for the slippers, which
she thought were velvet, all the garments were sheer, either of silk or
nylon.  She took three of the skirts, and found one that was a decent fit.
It was very short, and when on and fastened, its hem reached barely low
enough to conceal her buttocks and pudenda.

   It seemed appropriate for a Victoria's Secret nighty--or a stripteaser's
garment.  Had the color been white or pink it would have hid nothing. 
Although it was black, the light from the single bare light bulb in the
ceiling was still sufficient to reveal that she was naked beneath it.

   Outdoors the slightest breeze is going to raise this.

   When she bent over; the skirt crept so high that she was sure anyone
behind her would have a full view of her labia.

   The blouse was a loose halter.  Of the same material as the skirt, it
was open below, draping over the breasts without providing any support. 
Despite its tendency to cling, any steps or other motions that caused her
breasts to bob made it creep up.  If she wasn't constantly alert to pull
the garment down, it rose and revealed her nipples.

   It seemed a long wait before the next prisoner, one of the youngest
girls, a brunette with ebon-black hair and a beautiful figure, entered the
room.  As naked as Sheila had been, she was shaking and sobbing, her face
in her hands.

   Sheila rose and comforted her.  She put her arms about the girl and held
her.  "There, there . . ." she said.  "What's your name, dear?  Here, I'll
help you get some clothes."

   "R-Robyn," the girl said, wiping her eyes.  I-I'm so scared!  Y-You
can't imagine w-what a man in there d-did to me."

   "I know, dear.  Well, now you're with friends.  We'll help you.  Let's
find you some clothes."

   Al, watched but said nothing.

   The next girl, the blonde of seventeen or so entered, also in tears.

   Wendy turned out to be the last of the twelve females.  She looked at
the seated girls.  "I see we aren't gonna be overdressed," she cracked. 
She pointed at the tables.  "Is that where you got those so-called
clothes?"

   Sheila was relieved that her friend appeared more self-possessed than
the previous girls.

   Thank god Wendy is so cool.  I need some support myself.

   It was a long wait before the first man appeared.  By then Sheila was
exhausted.  She was dozing in her chair when Edgar entered.  .  The men's
clothing consisted of slippers like the women's, leather loincloths
attached in front by nylon cords about the waist.  Nothing covered the
rear. When Edgar was dressed, it concealed very little, hiding his penis
only if he stood motionless or happened to be seated.  From the rear,
nothing was hidden.

   Jerry and his wife Anne had been abducted much as Sheila and her friends
had been.  Anne worked as a model but, out of curiosity about SMF, had gone
to one of their parties, thinking that, as a new agency, it might want
experienced models and pay them at a higher scale than her own agency.

   Jerry's cock was the largest Sheila had ever seen.  Despite their
frightening situation, Sheila found herself unconsciously glancing at the
men as they entered, in the way she'd done with her grade school friends
as, slyly and giggling, they'd sneaked looks at the classical Greek and
Roman statues during class visits to museums.

   Edgar's was substantial, although nothing like that of Anne's husband
Jerry.  She wasn't sure if any of her boyfriends' had equalled it in size,
but she was certain none could have compared with Jerry's.  She wondered
about its size when erect.  What made it more tantalizing, she would
probably never find out.

   Now that I think about it, though, all my boyfriends got hard-ons real
easy.  With twelve beautiful and practically naked girls here, maybe I'll
find out.



   CHAPTER FIVE: The Captives are Taken Onto the Ship

   Despite the prisoners' fatigue, their captors allowed them no rest.  The
boss, who had greeted them originally, split them into two groups.  He
pointed out nine of them, seemingly at random except that he divided them
evenly according to sex, with three males and six females in each group. 
Sheila, in the first group, found herself separated from both Ed and Wendy.
Ken and Al led them into the room they had originally entered.

   They were again bound, hands behind them, and hooded.  Instead of draw
strings about the hoods, leather collars provided with riveted-on rings
were fastened about their throats.  A cord was drawn through a ring in each
collar so all nine prisoners were linked loosely together.  They were led
from the building and walked to the pier.  The air from the sea soon had
them all shivering in their scant attire.  They heard the sound of an
engine, purring softly close by.

   A man grasped Sheila's arm.  "Careful," he told her.  "It's a step down.
He aided her into the vessel and walked her, followed by the other
prisoners, to the front.

   "Sit here."

   A moment later she felt a cold, wet bench against her bare buttocks and
labia, a slightly concave surface against her right hip.

   Another body squashed in beside her.

   "Keep tight together," the man ordered; "there's hardly room in here for
the nine of you." Someone withdrew the cord from their collar rings.  The
body beside her pushed harder against her own, but Sheila was grateful for
its warmth.  "I'm Sheila," she whispered, shivering.

   "I-I'm Jane," her companion replied.  "I can't believe this is
happening. All this is so awful.  What's going to happen to us?  One of
those men was really disgusting; I'm still cringing from it!  This seems
like a nightmare.  I can't believe that just a few hours ago I said `Bye'
to Mom and Dad, excited about my date with Bill.  Now, I'm kidnapped.  God,
maybe they're taking us somewhere where we'll never be found!"

   I'd like to assure her, but I don't know myself what's going to happen.
To any of us.

   The boat began to move.  From the motions of the waves, it seemed they
were heading out to sea.

   About half an hour elapsed, after which the boat slowed, then bumped
against what proved to be a larger, ocean-going, ship.  A man helped them
into a boatswain's chair which lifted them, one at a time, onto the larger
vessel.

   As soon as Sheila felt her feet strike the deck, she felt hands grip her
under the arms and lift her from the chair.  A hand grasped her arm, and
she was led quickly, so she had difficulty not stumbling, against another
body and a railing.  She felt a rope put through her collar.

   Then, a hand went under her halter.  "How d'ya like these tits!" a man
said.  His hand began squeezing and kneading her breast.  She cried,
"Please!  you're hurting me!"

   There was no response from the man.  Instead, she heard another man's
voice: "Yeah, wouldn't you like to fuck her?!" A hand, perhaps his, pulled
her skirt up.  "Hey!  she's blonde--look at her snatch!," he added.

   A hand went between her legs, and a finger worked between her labia,
roughly probing.  It felt uncomfortable, almost hurt.  She exclaimed,
"Stop! Please!" and she tried to pull away, but they had her jammed between
themselves and the railing.

   "Hey Roy!  You two there!" she heard a man, farther off, yell.  "Get the
next one!"

   The men released her.  "C'mon Roy.  What d'ya think?  Chance we can fuck
any of `em-- before we dock at the island?"

   She heard them trot away.

   The person next to her, in a girl's voice, spoke.  "Jesus!  did they
hurt you?  There wasn't a thing I could do.  My hands are tied."

   "No," Sheila said.  "I'm all right." But she was shivering, not just
from the cold.

   They stood waiting, for another ten or fifteen minutes.  Then a man, in
a loud voice, told them, "We're taking you inside now.  Walk slowly, follow
the person in front of you.  We'll enter a door and there are steps down,
so be careful!"

   Sheila followed the girl who'd spoken to her, and after stepping over
some barrier a few inches high, she took three steps.  The girl in front of
her said, "Watch it--here are the steps!"

   They went down three flights.  As they went, it grew warmer, and Sheila
was grateful for it.  She stopped shivering.  At the bottom, they were led
a short distance down a corridor.  She heard a door open and a moment later
she followed the girl, over a similar barrier, into a room.  The person
behind her, a man, stumbled against her, evidently tripping, and exclaimed,
"Oh!  sorry!" and righted himself.  "Watch the feet!" he said.

   Sheila heard the door close, and a bolt lock it.  For a few moments she
and the others stood about, not moving, but finally the man behind her
said, "I think we're alone."

   She heard another male voice say, "I think so too.  Let's see if we can
untie ourselves."

   They aided each other in unbinding each other's hands, then their
collars and hoods.  They found themselves in a relatively small cabin. 
Their cabin contained four bunks, one above and one below against each of
the longer walls.  The floor was carpeted.  They found a small bathroom
containing a shower, sink, and toilet.  A single recessed fluorescent light
illuminated the main room, a bulb over a cabinet lit the bathroom.  There
were no portholes.  One of the men said, "I think we're below the water
line.  That's probably why."

   There were nine of them, six of them girls and women, and three men. 
Everyone was exhausted.  The female prisoners took the four bunks, each
lower being shared by two girls.  The men found areas of the carpet to rest
on.  After about two hours, there was increased activity on the ship, and
it began to move.  All of them were so tired that, in spite of the noise on
the vessel and its motion, most of them slept.

   After some hours, from time to time, some of them awoke.  They were
hungry, but no one appeared to provide food, or even water.  They resorted
to drinking with cupped hands at the bathroom sink and hoped the water was
safe.

   Few of them knew each other; so a blonde young man of about eighteen or
nineteen, took the initiative.  He had the physique of a wrestler or
football lineman and was sitting on the carpet against the outer bulkhead.

   "My name is Bill.  Jane and I were on a double date last night . . . 
or," he stammered slightly, "rather, we thought we were.  The driver of the
limo that picked us up said he'd pick up the other couple after us.  That
was bullshit.  Instead, we were met by a couple of men with guns.  They got
in and we were driven to the dock.  That's about all we know.  Can you
think of anything else, Jane?"

   The girl had begun crying when the young man began talking.  When he
addressed her, she suppressed her sobs and wiped her cheeks.

   "N-No," Jane responded.  "E-Except, the couple were foreigners.  They
had accents."

   She was blonde and shapely.  To Sheila, she looked a year or two younger
than Bill, perhaps seventeen.

   "Where did you meet them?," Sheila asked.

   Bill replied, "At a party that a modelling agency put on," Bill replied.


   "SMF?  `Swimsuit Models of the Future?'" Sheila asked.

   "Yes!  How did you know that?  Do you know them?"

   "No, but we attended a reception that was given by SMF.  Lots of lovely
girls and women were there.  What made you go to this party?"

   Bill said, "We saw a `models wanted' ad by SMF in a magazine.  It said
that the promoters would pay girls to have tryout photos taken of them at
the party.  Everything was free there, even the drinks.  Jane isn't old
enough to take the wine or beer but we pigged out on the food."

   "The couple s-seemed real sophisticated," Jane stammered.  "They asked
us to double date with them.  They were sure I was going to be hired.  I-I
was so excited, thinking that I was going to have a career in modelling."

   "They claimed they had four tickets to the premier of a new film, and
that the stars were going to attend," Bill said.  "But, we never saw them
after the party.  All we saw was the inside of that limosine!"

   "That's similar to how I and my husband were taken," Sheila said.  She
described what had happened to herself and her two friends.

   A petite girl with long black hair who sat sharing a lower bunk with an
auburn-haired girl said, "That's similar to what happened to Mia and me."

   She indicated the girl beside her.  "We're roommates at SUNY.  A boy in
one of our classes showed me an ad in the News for that SMF company, and he
and some of the other kids thought Mia and I ought to go to the open house.
We thought we might want summer modelling jobs if we could get them, and
both of us could use the money.  College is pretty expensive for my
parents."

   The girl next to her said, "Robyn's exaggerating.  I didn't think I'd
get a job.  She's the one with the model's figure, anyone can see that.  I
just went along with her for company."'

   Sheila thought they both were model material, although Robyn, the
brunette was certainly more striking.  She was petite, but with oversized
breasts for her frame, and gorgeous black tresses that she kept in a
ponytail.

   "Does anyone have an idea why we've been kidnapped like this?" Robyn
asked.

   Sheila said nothing.  She saw no point in frightening everyone, but
Jerry, he of the large organ, with short brown hair, about thirty, said, "I
hate to say it but it looks like slavery to me.  Maybe kidnapping for
ransom.  I don't see what else it can be."

   "Slavery?" Robyn said.  "How can there be slavery today?  That was ended
a long time ago."

   The third male in the room spoke up then.  A boy of about sixteen, with
brown hair in need of a haircut, he and his girl friend were seated beside
each other next to the bunk opposite that on which Robyn and Mia sat.  He
said, "That sounds crazy.  Why would anyone want slaves today?  Maybe they
took us for ransom, like you said.  Still, I can't believe even that.  I
never heard of such a thing."

   "Oh, there's slavery going on, all right," Jerry said.  "If you read the
papers and watched `Sixty Minutes' you'd know that.  I never heard of it
happening in the USA, but it's going on in Europe.  Mostly, or rather all
girls, from Eastern Europe.  They get kidnapped and sold in various
countries, like Turkey, or even Italy, for big bucks.  Five thousand or
more if the girl is pretty."

   At that there was silence.

   "B-But, they took you, too," the blonde Jane said.  "They didn't just
take girls."

   "I know," Jerry responded, shrugging.  "I don't know why.  Maybe, like I
said a minute ago, it's for ransom.  That's going on in some countries,
too."

   There was a knock on the cabin door.  A male voice yelled through it,
"Everyone stand back, away from the door!"

   A moment later the door was unlocked, and a man entered.  Behind him
stood another man wielding a pistol.  They were apparently ship's officers
since they wore uniforms and officers' caps.

   "Is either of you blondes named Sheila?," the front man asked, looking
from Jane to Sheila.

   "I-I am," Sheila responded, apprehensive.  Why were they asking for her
by name?

   Oh god; I hope they didn't find the camera in my purse clasp.

   The man withdrew a black cloth and a roll of tape from a pocket.  He
tossed them to Jerry.  "Blindfold her with this," he said.  "Just cover her
eyes.  Then wrap the tape around the cloth so it's tight.  I don't want it
to slip off."

   When Jerry was done, the man took Sheila's hand.  He led her from the
room.



   CHAPTER SIX: Ken, Al, Pierre, and Roy Abuse Sheila in their Cabin

   Yvonne's steward, Pierre, glanced quickly up and down the corridor.  He
saw no one, and he softly unlocked the door to the Captain's suite.

   Yvonne is on the bridge.  She shouldn't be back down for another forty
minutes.

   He listened, heard nothing, and let himself in.  Quickly, he went to the
table and collected the used utensils and the empty wine bottle.  He set
them beside the tray and large cloth.  This was one of his rest periods,
but he would use the cleanup as an excuse should she return and catch him.

   Pierre found the album in the right bottom drawer of her desk.  He
examined its position so he could return it without it appearing to have
been disturbed.  He glanced at the wall chronometer.  He had no more than
thirty minutes before she'd be off the bridge and return.  He would have to
hurry.

   He removed the album and slipped it under the tray.  He draped the cloth
over the tray.  He set the dirty plates and cup on the cloth and tray, and
lifted them, placing the entire shaky edifice on the flat of his right
hand. After tentatively testing its balance, he carefully went to the
stateroom door.  He glanced down both sides of the corridor.  It was empty,
and he closed the door quickly behind him.

   He left the B deck and went down past C where the cheaper cabins were,
and one more flight, to D, where the kitchen and crew's quarters were
located.  He glanced down the hall, was satisfied it was empty, then
quickly passed the kitchen and the communal bath.  He reached the cabin
that he shared with the other three men.

   Ken, Al, and his fellow steward, Roy, were all there, Ken and Al were
sitting on Al's lower bunk, while Roy was sitting opposite them, on
Pierre's bunk.  The moment Pierre entered, Roy stood up.  He helped removed
the items from the tray, the cloth, and finally, the tray.

   "Whew!" Pierre exclaimed.  "The album is as heavy as the average dinner
the Captain orders.  It's fortunate that I had only two decks to come
down."

   "Let's see the cunts," Ken said.  He jumped up and reached for the
album.

   Pierre pulled it away.  "Be careful!  I'm not supposed to take this out
except to show the clients.  Don't get your greasy hands on it!"

   "My hands ain't greasy.  Anyway, open it up on the bunk here, so we can
all see it."

   Pierre laid it on the coverlet and opened it.  "I only have about twenty
minutes," he said.  I'll have to get it back before she leaves the bridge."
He flipped past a number of colored tabs and lay it open at the section
with the tab labeled, `Shipment 19'.  He let the other three men eagerly
thumb through it.

   "Jesus!" Roy said.  "I never saw so many gorgeous broads in my life! 
Stark fucking naked!"

   "I told you they were," Ken bragged.  "They're right out of Penthouse!"

   Al turned to the steward.  "You actually brought one of these broads up
deck for the rich pricks to fuck?"

   Pierre nodded.  "On the last trip.  The Captain is gonna pull the same
scam on this trip; I heard her talking about it with two clients.  Of
course the clients have to pay.  That's why she's pulling the scam.  I got
big money for that girl on the last trip; you'll never guess how much!"

   Roy laughed scornfully.  "You did?  You mean the Captain did.  Did you
cream any of it off, or did she get it all?"

   "She gave me a cut.  Not as big as she should have.  I'm pissed about
that."

   "Well, we sure the fuck won't pay."

   "Hurry it up.  I have to get this back.  Pick a girl out."

   "Suppose she makes a fuss?" Al asked.  "What if she squeals to the
Captain?"

   "She won't.  Roy and I will both wear officer's hats.  Girls are dumb
about ships.  She won't know these are stewards uniforms.  She'll think
we're officers.  Besides, when the Captain takes a girl up for those two
clients, she'll think it's what goes on here."

   "I know the one I want," Ken said.  "The one you hassled me about back
in the storage building."

   "Yeah," Al replied.  I got a hardon for her too.  She's got great tits.
See if her picture is in here."

   * * *



   They took Sheila down one flight of stairs and into a hall that she
supposed was similar to the one her cabin door exited into.  After a few
step, she heard a door opened.  "Step up," one of the men told her, and she
stepped over some barrier into the next room.

   They took off her blindfold and she saw she was in a cabin very much
like the one she'd left, with bunks above and below against the two longer
walls.  The two men who had brought her wore wore white uniforms, with dark
blue officers caps..

   I guess they're ship's officers.

   But she was horrified to see the two men who's abused her in the
building where she'd undressed.  Ken and Al, who were looking at her,
grinning.

   "I guess you're not too happy to see us, huh?" Ken said.  "Well, we're
gonna finish what we started last night.  We ain't gonna be interrupted,
this time."

   "Who fucks her first?" Al asked.

   "Well, shit," Ken said; "I'm first.  After the way you pulled me off
her, you sure as hell ain't gonna be."

   He stood up.  "Let's get those rags she's wearing off."

   Pierre said, "Be careful.  Don't tear any of it.  Sheila, you take it
off, all right?'

   Sheila felt herself trembling.

   I have no choice.  Well, it's what I expected when I accepted this
assignment from Max.

   She undid the halter string and removed the garment.

   "Oh man!" Ken exclaimed; "Look at those tits!'

   Before Sheila could touch the skirt, Ken had grabbed her waist and
thrust his face onto her left breast, taking the nipple in his mouth.

   Sheila felt strange.  Her feeling was detached, as though she were
watching a play and that none of this was real.  Ken's sucking mouth, and
his hands didn't seem real.  Nor did the hands from one of the men behind
her, pulling down her skirt and lifting her feet in turn by her ankles, to
remove it.  The entire cabin seemed unreal.  Its single fluorescent light
above her and the bunks, the lower right one she now noticed had several
color photographs of nude women torn crudely from some magazine taped to
its wall.

   Someone's hands were between her legs, feeling her genitals, probing
roughly for her vagina, finding it.

   "Please!" she protested.  "You're hurting me!"

   "OK, I'll make it easier," she heard one of them say.  She thought it
was Pierre, his voice was rougher than the others.  Two men pushed her back
onto the right hand bunk, and she fell awkwardly onto the counterpane,
lying with her upper body and hips on it, her legs over the edge.  Her bare
feet--her slippers had come off with her skirt--were flat on the cabin
carpet.

   Hands grasped her ankles and pulled her legs apart; then she felt bare
skin between her thighs, someone had removed his clothing already.  She
stared at the base of the upper bunk above her and noticed a broken metal
spring.  The mattress above it had torn and some of its contents, like
dirty cotton, protruded.

   She notice the pictures again; there were eight.  Three above, five
below, but she couldn't see much of them, the angle was too acute.

   Ken was mouthing each of her nipples in turn, sucking.  They had both
become erect, although she felt no sense of arousal, just hard nipples. 
Now, the one between her legs had his hand on her labia--no, his mouth;
that surprised her.  She felt a tongue separating her lips, spreading them
as it explored.

   What a weird experience.  As a reporter, I suppose I should try to
remember this.

   She was less frightened now than she had been the night before, when Ken
and Al had probed her with their hands and fingers.  In fact, she felt
hardly any fear, simply this feeling of detachment.

   "Hey Pierre!" she heard a man, Al(?), laugh.  "How come you're eating
her out?  You like the taste of cunt?"

   The mouth withdrew, just long enough for Pierre to reply, "I like them
juicy."

   Al laughed again.  "Jesus, the French!"

   "He's Canadian," Roy said.

   Rather than arousing her, the tongue tickled.  He seemed to be licking
every millimeter of her vulva.  He sucked her labia and began pulling on
them.  She wanted to pull away, but that was impossible.  Several times his
tongue probed the vestibule of her vagina.  Her clit wasn't the least hard,
but periodically he pulled on its hood.

   The whole scene seemed weird.

   Her nipples were becoming sore.  It was a relief when Ken finally took
his mouth off them.

   "Now we're gonna finish what we started last night," he said, smiling
down at her.  "One of you hold her hands."

   Sheila thought it was Al, who was kneeling on the bed behind her.  His
knees were digging into her upper arms on each side of her.  He reached
around her, his arms pressing down against her breasts as he grasped her
wrists.  He pulled her arms back and held them in a position that, if she
had been standing they would have been above her head.

   Ken stood up.  She saw him undo his belt, unzip his pants, and pull
them, along with his undershorts, down his legs.  He kicked them off,
leaving them on the carpet.  His penis was erect.

   Naked from his shirttail to his socks, Ken knelt on the bed, straddling
Sheila's waist.  He gripped his organ, pointing it at her face.  He moved
closer, until his knees were pressed into her armpits, and his penis was
directly before her, inches from her eyes.  She felt his muscular thighs
pressing her chest, squashing her breasts.

   "Do you open your mouth?" he asked, "or do I choke you?"

   "I-I'll do it."

   She opened her mouth, but he took his time.  He looked about, apparently
to see if the others were watching.  Then, holding the shaft with two
fingers, with the head he followed the contour of her parted lips, brushing
over their entire surface.  Finally, he inserted it between her teeth.  He
moved it forward and it pressed down on her tongue.  It slid to the back of
her mouth.  He gave a short, hard thrust with his hips.

   Sheila gagged.  Her eyes watered.  For a moment she couldn't see.

   Hands gripped her head, and the shaft began to move back and forth over
her tongue.  All Sheila was able to see was his naked belly thrusting
toward and away from her face.  The shaft between her teeth seemed
enormous, and each time he thrust it forward she felt a surge of panic that
it would plug her throat.

   She was vaguely conscious of the other men.  The man holding her wrists
behind her must have opened his pants.  His hands brought hers together. 
Her palms encountered warm flesh, his penis, which was erect and she
realized he wanted her to grip it.  She closed her fingers about it.

   Ken clutched her head, and he began thrusting faster.  Sheila had
difficulty holding her mouth open enough.  It worried her; once, during a
long blowjob she'd given Eli, he'd complained about her scratching him with
her teeth.  She was afraid of what Ken might do if she angered him by doing
the same to him.

   The mouth and tongue that had been licking and sucking her genitals
abruptly withdrew.

   Hands grasped her ankles.  The hands pushed her legs upward, and apart.
Her knees were to each side of Ken in his position straddling her chest. 
He continued to grip her head while he thrust his shaft forward and back in
her mouth.

   Fingers spread her buttocks.  Sheila felt something cold and hard press
against her anus; then it entered.  Something cold entered her.

   KY Jelly?  Oh god, are they going to fuck me in the ass?!

   She felt the penis force against her anus.  It pressed and pressed. 
Then, suddenly, the head slipped in..  It felt like an enormous pole
entering her.  It made her think of the big cucumber she had once
masturbated with.  She had been sure it would be too large for her vagina.
This felt that large.  But in her anus it hurt.

   It was so painful that she almost forgot her apprehension about the
shaft in her mouth going into her throat.

   She felt helpless.  She was virtually immobilized.  Ken held her head.
Someone gripped her wrists behind her, while another held her ankles.  And
her legs were kept apart by Ken's hips.  The thrusts in her anus made her
fear that something in her would tear if it went in farther.  When a thrust
did drive it in farther, that didn't happen.  Nevertheless, her fear
remained.

   Amidst a forward thrust, Ken stopped.  Only the head was between her
teeth, pressed on her tongue.  She felt it swell.

   She used to be thrilled when Eli came in her mouth, but the thought of
Ken doing it made her nauseous.

   He exclaimed, "Aaaaaah!  Drink it you bitch!"

   It squirted , again and again.  Her mouth filled, and the powerful
flavor caused her salivary glands to generate more fluid, filling her mouth
even more.  She yearned to spit.

   Sheila prayed that Ken would pull out his organ.  But he stayed as he
was, until his orgasm was over, until his penis was soft.

   "Jesus Al!" he said, releasing his hands from Sheila's head; "Didn't you
come yet?!"

   To her relief, Al pulled the huge presence from her rectum.  He
complained.  "The bunk's too narrow.  There's no head-room.  Let's take her
on the carpet."

   They made her kneel and she was compelled to take each of the other
three as she had taken Ken, swallowing at the end.  Her jaws aching, Sheila
hoped they'd release her then, but her ordeal wasn't even half over.

   She had to kneel on a bunk, with her naked buttocks projecting from its
edge.  Each man of them took her between them, driving in and out of her
abused orifice until he was satisfied.

   Even then her ordeal wasn't over, either for her sore anus and rectum or
her aching jaws.

   They made her stand with her legs apart and straight, bent over at the
hips in front of one man, while another, behind her, gripped her by the
hips and screwed her in the ass.  She masturbated the man in front of her
until he told her to hold the head in her mouth.  She continued to pump
while it squirted and she swallowed.

   Sheila became groggy.  She lost track of time.  Her jaws ached terribly.
When she tried, she was unable to open her mouth, and semen shot in her
face.  Her anus and rectum were sore.  She felt her legs were going to
collapse under her.  She was no longer able to keep her balance despite the
man gripping her hips.

   She lost count of how many times she'd been taken in the ass, and how
many times she'd had an organ squirt in her mouth or on her face.

   At some time she must have collapsed.  Perhaps she fell asleep while
standing.  She couldn't remember.  She vaguely recalled a man wiping her
face with a damp cloth.  A man had held her up while another drew her
halter about her breasts.  He raised her feet one at a time to slip her
legs into her skirt, and her feet into her slippers.

   She was led, stumbling, up a flight of stairs and was walked to her
cabin.  The men turned her over to two women; they lay her on a bunk where
she fell asleep.



   CHAPTER SEVEN: Leon & the Director in Paris

   Marie looked up at the newcomer.

   Bon dieu--what a man.  He's like a movie star!

   His smile sent shivers through her.

   He resembled in no way those nondescript men who had preceded him over
the two years that she had worked for the director.

   His blue eyes took her in casually.  To Marie they were soft hands
following each contour of her body.  With her soft auburn hair, her
curvaceous figure and substantial bosom, with her innocent wide eyes and
long lashes, Marie knew she was attractive to men.  But, suddenly she felt
awkward, flawed.  Was she attractive to him?  She patted her hair and
prayed that her bra strap wasn't showing again.

   Leon made no attempt to converse with her.  Marie was disappointed: he
merely said "Monsieur Castel, Mademoiselle, to see Le Directeur."

   He took a seat, looking at her with a faint smile.  Blushing, Marie
looked down.

   * * *

   Le Directeur continued through the dossier.  This Castel wasn't at all
like the other seven or eight field agents that he briefed in a year.  This
man seemed virtually fearless.  For dangerous assignments that was
appropriate enough.  Although, from what the Americans knew, it seemed this
one might not be dangerous.  On the other hand, the director knew better
than to trust early indications in any investigation.

   When an opponent sensed danger, he often took severe and effective
measures, particularly where large amounts of money were concerned. 
Certainly danger was present for any agent sent from France and other
western countries into the bribe-rife Eastern Europe's white female slave
trade.  Murder and torture were common.  It was probably wise to send in an
agent who could handle himself.

   Fearless or not, Castel has his faults.

   Le Directeur examined the photograph.

   It's nearly two years old.  Still, at thirty-nine the man should not
have changed much.  Devilishly good looking; reminds me of the protagonist
in that novel translated from the English, `Le Peinture de Dorian Gray'. 
Castel has many of his characteristics.  With women, especially. 
Apparently has no regard for them, considers them in toto as the pool of
vehicles to choose from when motivated by his sexual appetite.

   The incident as a fifteen year old schoolboy with his two friends
created such a scandal that, since then, he's assumed a mantle of respect
for girls and women.  According to the other two boys involved in the
affair, he was the instigator.  Seems likely they were truthful; it fits in
both with Castel's character as a controller, and his subsequent
numerous--always brief--affairs.

   Considering how young the boys were, each fifteen at the time of the
`incident', they did quite a lot to the girl.

   Out of curiosity rather than in the expectation of discovering anything
necessary for his meeting with the agent, the Director read the transcripts
of the interviews.

   The girl was the daughter of a small perfumer.  Leon met her when he
went with his mother to the boutique run by the girl's family.  Initially,
the girl waited on Leon's mother but the girl's mother who was also in the
shop, evidently recognizing wealth when she saw it, intervened and she took
over.  Subsequently, Leon and the girl conversed while the two mothers
discussed perfume.

   The director picked up the transcript of Leon's interview and leaned
back in his chair.

   According to Leon's testimony, the girl invited Leon to picnic with her.
He considered her invitation to be suggestive.  Her parent's estate was
devoted to flower cultivation-- much of the province of Grasse even today
is still used for that purpose.  Theirs contained a copse; the young couple
went to a clearing in it with a basket of food and wine and a blanket, all
provided by the girl.  Leon claimed they had `some sex' as well as food and
wine.  The interviewer didn't dig further.

   A pity.  I would have.

   He glanced at the girl's transcript.

   She claimed the picnic was entirely Leon's idea.  Some kissing but she
denied any `sex'.  Interviewer dug no further (again!  These stupid
provincials!.  Had all this occurred in Paris, we'd have discovered the
truth).

   They had another picnic three days later.  Leon brought along two
friends from school.  Disagreement--naturally--about how it began.  Leon
and two other boys claimed they `fooled around' on the blanket with the
girl, all four including her, laughing.  Then . . .

   He glanced at each manuscript.

   All four agreed that Leon started it.  He `played' with the girl, while
the other two held her.

   At Leon's instigation, they tied her to the trunk of a tree.  She
protested at first but Leon persuaded the other two that `she didn't mean
it', that her protest was a formality, that she was ashamed to admit her
arousal.  She didn't scream or even cry.  Then, all three of the boys put
hands under her clothing and explored her body.

   The director glanced again at the girl's affidavit.

   She claimed only that they touched her `everywhere'.

   Leon `finger-fucked' her.  He claimed that the girl was sexually aroused
and liked it.  The other boys--stupid or ignorant?--didn't know whether she
was or not.  The girl testified that she was not, and that she continued to
protest.  They all four agreed that she kept saying "Non!  non!" Leon was
the only one who claimed it was pro forma.

   Then, they all agreed, Leon removed his trousers, and he had intercourse
with her standing up.  The girl protested initially but stopped after some
minutes.

   Leon said, "Your turn," and the other two also had intercourse with her.
The girl began to cry.

   They undid her hands but kept her waist bound to the tree trunk; Leon
coerced her, by pinching her nipples and `other parts of her body', into
performing what the investigators term `an unnatural act' with a wine
bottle.

   The director looked at the doctor's statement.  "The victim's hymen was
found to be intact but her vaginal opening appeared large enough to permit
the actions she claims were committed upon her by the young men.  This is
not particularly unusual.  Some minor abrasions in the orifice confirmed
recent intercourse."

   He perused the boys' transcripts.

   Out of her hearing, according to the other two boys, Leon told them he'd
persuade her to use her mouth.

   Back then, girls of seventeen were ignorant, certainly in the provinces.
The girl would have none of the knowledge a young Parisienne of today.  The
girl may never have heard of oral sex.  That must have been traumatic for
her.  Unless, of course, the theory held by the investigators that she was
sexually experienced has some validity.

   The director looked over each interrogation transcript, trying to get a
sense of whose words sounded truthful.

   Leon pinched her nipples as well as `other places'.  The girl claimed
that `he gave me no choice', that his pinching compelled her to do it. 
Leon, on the other hand, claimed his pinching wasn't that hard; that,
except for her nipples it wasn't even pinching.  He said her sounds
indicated pleasure.  He undid her from the tree and she performed the act
on him while he lay on the blanket.  While she did it, Leon fondled her
with his hands and told the others, "She likes it, I can tell."

   After the girl satisfied him, Leon wanted her to do it with each of his
friends, but they demurred, saying they `didn't want that'.  They each had
intercourse with her once more.  When the second boy was ready to have her,
Leon told the girl, `take it doggie style, on your hands and knees'.  While
the boy had her from the rear, Leon had her as he'd had her before, from
the front.

   Because of Leon's age and that of the girl, who was seventeen, the
authorities dropped the matter.  Two members of the panel were fixed on the
notion that the girl, two years older than the boys, might have been the
seducer.  The parents of the girl were compensated, and nothing more was
done.

   Since then, Castel avoided scandal.

   The director attached the paper clip and marker, "Personal Actions" and
slipped the papers back in the folder.  He took out the "Professional
Actions" papers and removed the marker and clip.

   He's certainly a manipulator.  In the field, that could be an advantage.
If things go well, he'll learn what the setup on the island is fairly soon
after his arrival.  Risk seems less than ones he's faced before.  Still,
one never knows for certain.  Not until an agent disappears
and--perhaps--is found later, floating in the Seine.  Or is never found at
all.

   Castel valued money, which was normal enough.  On an occasional
assignment, however, he had stretched his authority.  Not as yet in
activities blatantly illegal.

   Fortunately Castel seemed to keep on the proper side of the law.

   Castel might have made a master criminal.  Perhaps as notorious as that
Adam Smith.  What a headache for Paris and London he had been!  The model
for the fictional Moriarty of that British author, Doyle.  Sheer nerve and
contempt for his opponents.  Those, plus intelligence, explained his
success.

   The director closed the folder and slipped it in a drawer.  He flicked
the intercom on.

   "Send him in, Marie."

   The door opened and Leon strolled in.  Disdaining the trouble to await
Le Directeur's invitation, he took the chair before the desk.

   "I've been ordered to report to you, as you know, M.  Le Directeur. 
About an international problem, one necessitating a knowledge of English."

   The older man nodded.  "And other abilities, M.  Castel.  Have you read
the summary sheet that I faxed you?"

   "Such as it is.  It seems that you're quite ignorant about what I'm
being sent into.  Some island in the tropics, with a slave trade in white
women.  Not much information I can use to prepare myself.  You're not even
aware of its location."

   "We believe it's in our area of the Windward Islands, perhaps near Santa
Lucia.  A number of our islands are privately owned.  All by wealthy and,
for the most part, influential people.  A few owners happen to be French,
but most are foreigners."

   "How do you propose I pose as a client?" Leon asked, withdrawing a
packet from his jacket.  "They are wealthy.  You aren't known for
generosity with l'argent petit, Monsieur le Chef."

   The Chef de Securit, reddened.  On paper, the man was subordinate to
him. But he had been recommended for this investigation by a close
associate of the Premier.  In the past, politics had laid its coarse hand
on him and he knew better than to resist it when motivated solely by
personal irritations.

   He extended his arm over the desk, holding out his lighter and striking
it simultaneously.

   "We have the names of several of these so-called `clients'.  One is a
woman who takes her vacation there each spring.  She has a reputation for
liaisons with younger men.  She's extremely wealthy."

   "You expect her to pay my passage?" Castel chuckled.  Le Directeur read
it as a sneer, but perhaps he was being too thin-skinned.

   Castel continued.  "Isn't that improbable?  Or, at least problematic?  I
don't know the woman.  Evidently you expect me to seduce her.  How long do
I have?  Is she married?  Is she haut societ,?  I'm not in that class, M.
le Directeur."

   The director suppressed his annoyance.

   Is this man trying to get out of the job?  How the devil has he survived
in the field?  Some thug should have assassinated him long ago.

   "Babette is an attorney," the director replied; "but she inherited
wealth.  Her father, who's a widower, lives in Monaco, in a villa.  I
understand her mother left her several hundreds of millions.  She has no
siblings.  As for her husband, he lives on the Riviera with his mistress.
Babette and he split several years ago."

   "Does she have a current lover?"

   "She recently gave him the boot.  For chasing actresses."

   "How old is she?"

   The directeur cleared his throat.

   This Castel is reported to have a temper.

   "Not very young.  Uh, forty-nine, I believe."

   Leon blew a ring, and leaned back.  "You want me to be une prostitu,e."

   The older man sighed.

   Damn politicians!  Why did they saddle me with this dandy?!

   "Monsieur Castel, this is a most delicate matter.  I understand your
distaste for this assignment, but I have it on the highest authority that
you were chosen as the sole man in Securit, who possesses the intellect and
sheer audacity to carry it out."

   The statement produced in the director a slight feeling of la naus,e,
but it was the sort of unctious phrasing that he deemed necessary with
political appointees.

   Leon suppressed his urge to laugh at the man.  He flicked the cigarette
over the ashtray.

   On reflection, however, he realized that he had little choice.  Hardly
any more than had Le Directeur.

   "I presume you have a photograph of the girl?"

   The older man withdrew the folder from the middle drawer and opened it
on the desk.  He handed Leon the photo.

   "Mmm!  Very pretty.  She's what, about twenty?"

   "Twenty-two.  As I said, an exchange student, a graduate one.  Quite
mature and, as you might suppose, intelligent.  She disappeared along with
her roommate.  I understand that normally, graduate students in the United
States live like Sorbonne students, off-campus.  This Millet girl chose not
to.  Perhaps she felt more comfortable as a foreigner by living with the
other students.  In any case, her roommate and she were abducted together.
We have more detailed information from the New York authorities.  It's all
in the folder."

   He drew out the second folder.  "This contains information about Babette
LaFleur."

   "Do you have a picture of her?"

   The directeur withdrew it and handed it to him.

   "Mmm, actually, she isn't bad.  She must have been a real beauty, once."


   The woman was a brunette; obviously older than himself, but her figure
looked good.  A pretty face.  Being wealthy, perhaps she kept her youthful
countenance free of age lines surgically.  That might be true of her figure
as well.  Ample breasts, but clothing and brassieres could enhance their
appearance, so the photo meant little.  Her hair was smooth and uncurled,
parted in the middle and shoulder length.

   "She's still quite attractive," the director affirmed.  "I've arranged
for you to be invited to the American Ambassador's party, which she'll be
attending.  I suppose she'll have an escort, but he'll be ad hoc.  You
should be able to introduce yourself without his being a nuisance."

   "Do I have a free hand?"

   Le Directeur guessed what Leon was thinking of.  However, the matter was
delicate.

   "Within reason.  In what sense do you want your `hands free'?"

   "M.  Le Directeur, I'm sure you've assigned many undercover agents. 
What does an agent do--with a pistol to his head--if he's ordered by a gang
of `engorg,s', to strangle someone?"

   "We have no indication that the abductors are murderers."

   "Perhaps not.  But you have too little information to assert that. 
Moreover, there are other acts that will be necessary to preserve my cover.
I'm sure you ascertain my meaning.  I must act the part of a `client',
participating in all the activities of one."

   Le Directeur understood Castel's meaning.  Whatever the man's motives or
intentions toward those women, the safety of Le Directeur's agents took
first priority.  Not that he could verbally state as much.  This problem
crept up more often than the director liked, which was never.  What made
this situation far more complicated was the involvement of this daughter of
the Consul.  If anything happened to her, whether Securit, had any
responsibility for it or not, the blame would most likely be placed on his
shoulders.

   Is he interested in preserving his cover?  Or in carte blanche to enjoy
all the young women he can?  Like most undercover agents he is probably not
that different from the criminals he associates with.

   Leon reached in his jacket pocket, and withdrew a small notebook.

   "I would much appreciate your signature on a page in my pocket diary,
giving me carte blanche.  The diary will remain here in France.  In the
care of a friend, you have my word."

   Hoping this didn't return to haunt him, the director took out his pen.



   CHAPTER EIGHT: Janine & Holly Arrive on the Island and Begin Training

   It was ten in the morning and still cool when Crane waited for the two
new females.  The sun hadn't yet scorched the sand and pier.  The tide was
in; nevertheless, the pier was too high for the launch to dock where the
cruise ship usually did.  He waited at a point halfway between there and
the shore.  He inhaled the invigorating sea air and, along with its odor he
caught the scent of perfume.  He wondered from which young woman it
emanated.

   Beside him were his two female trainers.  Kelly was buxom, a slightly
overweight blond (dirty blonde), and eighteen years old.  Nina, a svelte
brunette, was twenty-two.  Each wore the usual blue shift and brass collar.
Their earrings differed; Nina's were delicate gold spirals while Kelly's
were two inch diameter blue rings.  Crane disliked those blue ones: they
made him think of hoola hoops.

   They watched the approaching boat.  It crept, sidling sideways, toward
the pier.  Crane was able to make out the hooded figures of the two
captives in it.  Soon he could even see their hands that were bound behind
them.  The boat struck a stanchion gently, and the crewman who wasn't doing
the steering threw out a line.  Crane caught it and secured it.  A few
moments later the man was helping each girl up onto the pier.

   Crane watched as Kelly took the arm of the taller brunette and Nina that
of the blonde.  The blue girls escorted them down the sunlit boardwalk and
onto the jungle trail that led to the main building.

   Crane waited until the two crewmen were beside him; then he asked the
skipper Mike, a fortyish gaunt man with a graying beard, "I understand we
had problems getting these two.  Do you have the details?"

   "A little, Crane." Mike always took his time.  Crane waited patiently.

   The former fisherman withdrew a pipe from a satchel over his shoulder
and followed with a small plastic packet that he opened.  Using his
forefinger, he filled the bowl with the tobacco and tamped it.  He lit it
up.

   After exhaling his first puff, he began, "We nabbed the two when they
left a college hangout on their way back to the campus.  When they didn't
get back, one of their friends who had been in the hangout with them,
reported them missing.  Evidently that allowed the cops to get on it fast.
The broad with the long hair is some celebrity, and there was a lot of
pressure to find them.

   "I talked to Yvonne on the liner, but she wanted no part of them.  She
refuses to take on any girls until the searching dies down.  I saw
helicopters and patrol boats all up and down the East Coast.  Luckily, I
had my fishing lines out and some catch on ice to display.  I wasn't
boarded, just asked on the radio if I'd seen anything suspicious."

   * * *

   Late that day Crane stood at his large window facing the west.  The sun
was an orange globe, so low that its rays were no longer bright enough to
hurt his eyes.  With the rainbow of colors filling the western sky and,
below it the calm blue-black sea, it was a beautiful sight.  Why did he
feel sombre?

   You aren't sombre Crane.  You're bored.  You're a manipulator, and
you've no one new to put under your thumb.

   He heard a knock on the door.

   "Come in!"

   It was Kelly.  "Master Crane, Nina sent me up to tell you the two new
girls are ready for you."

   "Have they had anything to eat?"

   "Oh yes, Master Crane.  We gave them lunch at about one.  The doctor's
medication was in the lobster bisque.  Afterwards, I gave them enemas and
bathed them.  They're all prepared.  As you ordered, we brought them to the
lounge."

   "Whips and toys?  Collars?"

   "I think we got everything, Master Crane."

   "Good.  Let's go see them."

   They descended the stairs to the lounge.  Crane paused before entering
to get a view of the new girls before meeting them.  Their two male guards
were seated at the bar talking with the bartender who was leaning over it.
The two occasionally glanced over toward the female captives who were
sitting with Nina on a couch against a wall.  Nina's heavy
shoulderbag--stuffed it seemed, from its rotundity--lay on the carpet
beside the sofa.

   Three male clients and Rita were at a table adjacent to the bar, while
two other clients were in armchairs, conversing and occasionally glancing
toward the couch.  The two men were obviously interested in the female
captives.

   One girl was a striking willowy brunette with long black tresses.  She
looked to be in her early twenties.  Crane supposed she was the one all the
commotion was about.  The younger girl, her roommate at the university, was
the girl his agency in New York had intended to acquire.  Blonde and not as
tall as the brunette, she looked several years younger.  She was pretty
enough to feature in any swimsuit competition, typical of the women
selected by SMF.  She didn't interest Crane except for her value in the
auction.

   Perhaps the brunette would provide him some diversion.  From what Mike
had told him, she must be of importance to the American authorities.

   Neither girl wore the clothing she'd arrived in; no doubt it was being
laundered.  Each was now dressed in a trainee uniform, a conservative one,
black and white striped pleated miniskirt with white cutoff tee, the hem a
couple of inches above her navel.

   Hems of the miniskirts ended at mid-thigh.  Crane was able to discern
about an inch band of skin separating the skirts from the elasticized tops
of their black stockings.  On their feet they wore glossy black flats.

   Despite the shortness of their skirts, Crane saw no sign of their
panties.  First day trainees were obliged to wear them, so he assumed they
were wearing thongs.  Even from the doorway the sheerness of the nylon tees
was apparent.  He could see both the bumps of each girl's nipples and the
pink hue of the material over their aroelas.

   He entered the room and walked to them.

   Nina looked up.  "Master Crane," she said, indicating with a wave of her
hand to the blonde on her right, "this is Holly Harding.  This is Janine
Millet." She pronounce it `Millay'.

   "H-Hi Mister Crane," the blonde said.  She gave him a smile that looked
forced.  The brunette looked up impassively.  She said nothing.

   Crane wasn't concerned with niceties.  He said, "You've probably learned
a few things from Nina and Kelly about why you were brought here.  Normally
I'd process you with five or six other females, but I can't spare a lot of
staff labor on just the two of you.  I'll try to inform you what to expect
here in as few words as possible."

   The brunette broke in with, "Mister Crane, you made a serious mistake
when you kidnapped us.  Right now I'm sure the American FBI and CIA are
searching for me.  Probably some of their military as well.  It would be
best for you if you released us as soon as possible.  You shouldn't worry
about our knowing where this is; they kept those hoods on us all during our
dreadful trip in that boat."

   Crane felt a stirring of some interest.  He detected a slight French
accent, although her English otherwise was flawless with, in addition, a
slight British accent.  But those were asides.  Her lack of fear--at least
overt fear--was what interested him.  She considered herself more important
than her companion.  He'd have to find out more about her.  But only after
he'd made her more compliant.

   It's been a long time since any female has been this self-possessed
after arriving here.  Of course these two haven't gone through the normal
orientation process with all its humiliations.  They don't yet know what
they're in for.

   He pondered how to begin with them.  It was a unique situation.  The
male trainers were unimaginative.  Too often they immediately subjected
novices to physical abuse, with whippings or occasionally even the use of
prods, to coerce compliance.  Those methods bored him.

   His two female trainers were more subtle and preferred psychological
abuse, humiliations of all types rather than crude physical methods.  They
usually succeeded in breaking down the resistance in captive females just
as readily as the methods used by their male counterparts.

   When he'd spoken of not sparing his staff for just the two of them, of
course he was deliberately exaggerating.  It would probably be three days
or more before Yvonne's ship arrived with the batch of new females that
these two would have been part of.  Along with them on the ship would come
a new crowd of clients.  He might just as well amuse himself with these two
before the new crush of work descended on him.

   "Are you aware of why you were brought here?" Crane asked.

   "No," the blonde said with a shake of her head that caused her hair to
brush her shoulders.  Her hair was smooth, centrally-parted, and so light a
blonde that Crane would have bet that on a cloudy day it would appear to be
silver.

   "For ransom undoubtedly," the brunette said.  "You're making a great
mistake keeping us here.  I told you, lots of people will be searching for
us.  I'm sure they have to be looking right now."

   Well, it might be amusing to convert them into sex toys without
informing them that's my goal.  Janine is older and seems the spokesperson
for the two of them.  She'll be the interesting subject; the blonde will be
easy.

   "Janine, stand up."

   Janine gave him a smile that approached a sneer.  "I'm not accustomed to
taking orders, Mister Crane.  Particularly from persons I have no liking
for."

   Crane was aware that everyone in the room was now watching.  He had no
need to raise his voice when he turned and called one of the guards.

   "Miguel, would you please take this girl?  Tie her over one of the card
tables so that she's in the rear entry position."

   The dark-haired, mustached young man had been watching with his fellow
guard and the bartender.  "Sure,Crane," he responded, grinning.  He
approached the seated girls.

   When he reached them, he bent over Janine and he seized her arm.  The
brunette tried to ward him off.  "You're hurting me!" she protested.

   The blonde girl looked up at him.  She appeared frightened.  "What are
you doing?" she asked.

   The guard didn't respond.  He pulled Janine from the couch.  When she
refused to walk, crying, "Let me go!" he dragged her over the carpet, to
one of the four heavy mahogany card tables in the center of the room.

   The guard pushed Janine forward.  She fell onto it, only avoiding
striking her face by catching herself at the last moment with her hands.

   The second guard retrieved Nina's bag from beside the sofa.  From it, he
extracted several cut lengths of rope.  He joined Miguel, who was holding
Janine face down on the table.  He grasped the girl's right wrist and
pulled her arm over the table edge.  He bound her wrist to its closest leg.
He handed another length of rope to Miguel, who repeated the action with
her left wrist.

   When they'd finished, Crane thanked them, and the guards walked back to
seat themselves on the bar stools, rejoining the bartender.

   Crane approached the bound girl.  Her long legs were vertical from her
hips down to her feet, the latter flat on the carpet.  Her struggles had
caused the miniskirt to creep up her hips.  It was high enough for Crane to
see some of her buttocks above the lacy tops of her black stockings.  A
band of black nylon covered her pudenda and partly the crack of her ass.

   Crane found her far more attractive than the shapely blonde, whose big
tits and over- voluptuous body held little interest for him.

   I'm developing a hardon; that's new.  But then I don't get many women
here with figures like hers.

   The blonde on the sofa watching, protested, "What are you going to do to
her!?" "Mister Crane, what is it you want?  Janine hasn't done anything to
you!"

   Crane ignored her.  "Kelly," he told the girl beside him; "I've seen
Nina use a whip.  I'm familiar with her capabilities using one.  Would you
like to demonstrate yours?"

   The girl next to him turned to look up at him, evidently surprised.  She
smiled.

   "Oh, would I ever!  Thank you, Master!"

   "Then take over."

   Kelly paused for a moment, hesitating.  "Well, Master," she began.  She
stopped then, and Crane was surprised to see she was blushing.

   Usually she's garrulous, never tongue-tied.  What's bugging her?

   "What is it, Kelly?  I'm not going to bite your head off!"

   She took a deep breath; then let it out.  Finally she said; "Would you .
. .  well, I-I've sort of always wanted to use a man's belt."

   "Is that all?" He chuckled.

   He undid his belt and slipped it from the loops.  "Here.  I'll leave the
details to you."

   Kelly approached the tied girl smiling, gripping the belt.

   She bent over Janine and leaned low until her face was close to the
brunette's.  "I'm your new teacher, Janine.  From now on you'll address me
as `Mistress Kelly'.  If you prefer, you may call me `Milady'. 
Understand?"

   Janine twisted in her bonds to look at her.  "I think you're all crazy
in this place!"

   "Oh, dear me, what a pity," Kelly said.  She shook her head in mock
regret; "I'll have to discipline you."

   She moved behind Janine.  She grasped the hem of the miniskirt, and she
pulled it up over the girl's back.  This exposed the brunette's entire
buttocks except for the crack between them which was partly covered by the
thong.  Further down, the nylon over the girl's pudenda was so narrow that
Crane saw twin furrows of curly black hair to each side of it, like
shrubbery bordering a walk.

   At this point, the three male clients and Rita all rose from their table
near the door and approached the center of the room.  They selected a table
even closer to the bound girl than he was, and seated themselves to watch.
The two guards and the bartender then stood up.  They followed suit, taking
a table on the other side of Janine.  Crane smiled.

   Kelly squatted behind the girl.  She hooked her fingertips into the
waist of the thong and jerked the panties down, over the black stockings
past her knees.  She let them slither down, to lie looped around the girl's
ankles.  It left Janine's buttocks and pudenda visible to everyone in the
room.

   Kelly reached up with one hand.  Her palms stroked over the white
cheeks, and her fingers followed all their contours.  She ran her
fingernails down the length of the crack between them.

   Her cute ass is has really turned me on.  My cock is like a piece of
steel.

   Kelly stood up.  She got behind Janine and, gripping the buckle, she
wrapped two loops of the belt about her hand until the loose end was
shortened to about the length of her forearm.

   She drew back her arm.

   "This," she said, "is for not addressing me properly." She swung it hard
across Janine's buttocks.  It struck both cheeks with a loud `crack!'. 
Janine cried, "Ow!"

   She turned her head, and she looked back at Kelly.  "You have no right
to do that!" she exclaimed.

   "You have no right to hit me!  I'm no child, and I've done nothing
wrong. If you know what's good for you, you'll release me--now.  And you
have no reason to embarrass me like this.  Please pull my panties back up,
and lower my skirt.  It's very churlish of you, letting all these people
see me like this!"

   Kelly smiled.

   She leaned over Janine and again put her face close to the young
woman's. Janine's head was on the tables' surface, her face turned
sideways, and she was looking at Kelly.  Kelly put pursed lips to Janine's
upturned cheek, and kissed it.

   "Dear me," she mocked; "is Janine embarrassed by having all these nice
people see her cunt?"

   Kelly reached down between Janine's thighs.  The brunette pressed her
legs together tightly, but her action was futile.  Kelly ran her fingers
through the fur of Janine's outer labia, brushing them lightly.  Using her
thumb and forefinger, she spread them.  She jabbed the exposed pink inner
ones with her nails.

   "Oh!" Janine gasped.  Her hips jerked forward, in an attempt to escape.
But she was unable to move even an inch, and she succeeded only in striking
her thighs hard against the table.  She looked shocked.

   "It isn't really so difficult, Janine, " Kelly simpered.  "Surely you
can learn to properly address your teacher!

   "You must try harder to learn, Dear.  Please understand that I'm not
angry with you.  I'm simply trying to help you."

   Crane gazed at the girl's bare buttocks and exposed labia.  He felt more
aroused than he had in a long time.

   Tonight I'll use that cute rump.  After dinner I'll have her brought up
to my apartment.  I'll tie her bent over the bottom bar of my bed with her
arms under it and bound about her legs.  I'll spend the night fucking her
in the ass.

   "Please!" Janine's blonde roommate cried, "leave her alone!  She hasn't
done anything to you!"

   Kelly looked over at Janine's friend.  "You must learn to be quiet while
I'm instructing Janine, Holly.  This is to remind you to be silent in
class."

   Kelly swung the belt, hard.  It struck the brunette's buttocks with a
whack!  that sounded like a ruler striking a desktop.  Janine emitted a
loud "Ow!"

   The blow was harder than the previous one, and she jerked and pulled at
her bonds so hard at the impact that her body thrust upward, onto the
table. It left her feet in the air, her legs dangling over the table edge.

   Holly began to cry, uncontrollably.  Janine's response, Crane judged
from looking at her face, seemed to be acute embarrassment.  She said
nothing but blushed deeply.

   "Oh my," Kelly said.  She bent over Janine and gazed at her buttocks, as
the girl lay prone on the table.  "These are certainly beginning to look
pink."

   She ran her palm over Janine's rear.  The brunette squirmed at the
contact.  "Are they a bit sore?  So soon?  Oh, surely not."

   "Leave me alone!," Janine said.  "Please pull my skirt down.  Now!"

   "You look uncomfortable in the air like that," Kelly said.  She gripped
Janine's hips and pulled her back, until the girl's feet were again flat on
the carpet.  She was careful not to allow the hem of Janine's miniskirt to
slip back down.  Meticulously, she re-tucked it in the skirt's waist.

   "Now, Janine," Kelly said, "We'll return to your instruction.  Tell me
what my name is."

   "Will you stop this foolishness?  You know I'm not going to do say these
childish things!  Lower my skirt, right now!"

   "Oh dear," Kelly responded, shaking her head.  "You do require
discipline, Janine.  Well, remember, it's for your own good."

   Kelly swung the belt.  She struck Janine's buttocks so hard that they
quivered, and the blow drew a loud, "Ow!" from the brunette.  "Stop it,
right now!  I'm not going to say those stupid things!"

   It had no deterrent effect on Kelly.  Janine attempted to dodge the
blows, but her feet were barely on the carpet; and they were further
impeded by her panties that remained around her ankles like a coil of black
rope.  Each blow struck fully as hard as the first.

   Kelly aimed carefully between her blows.  But she swung the belt with
such force that perhaps it caused her arm to tire by the sixth blow. 
Rather more likely, Crane thought, was that she deliberately mis-aimed it.

   The belt struck Janine directly on her exposed pudenda.

   Janine screamed, "Ow!!  Bastards!  Stop it, immediately!"

   If possible, she was blushing even more.  Crane thought that, despite
the obvious sting of the strap, her embarrassment was more acute than her
pain.

   The blonde girl was sobbing.  Finally, she exclaimed, "Please stop! 
Stop it!  Stop hitting her!"

   "Nina," Crane said; "Please silence Janine's noisy friend."

   "Yes, Master," Nina replied.  She rose from the sofa and retrieved her
bag.  She rummaged through it, and she withdrew a multistranded cat whip,
the tails of which were tipped with small plastic bearings.

   "Stand up, Holly," she told the blonde.  "You're too disruptive."

   Holly's eyes widened, and she stared at the intimidating whip.  She
suddenly quieted her sobbing.  She began to tremble.

   "I-I'm sorry I spoke.  I promise I'll be quiet."

   "Stand up," Nina repeated.

   Holly rose from the sofa, shaking.  "Don't whip me!  Please!" she
begged.

   "Take off your panties," Nina said.

   Holly looked about the room, at Crane, and then at the men and Rita. 
Her face reddened.

   "Must I?  I promise, I'll be quiet."

   Her countenance angry, Nina repeated, "I said, take off your panties! 
The more disobedient you are, the worse you're going to be whipped!"

   "Oh no, please!" Holly cried, surrendering.  "I-I'll take them off."

   Hastily, she crouched, her face pink.  She reached awkwardly under her
pleated miniskirt.  Instead of pulling her thong down by its waist however,
she didn't reach that high.  She drew it down by its two leg openings. 
When the garment was halfway down her stockinged legs, she stood up.  She
allowed it to slide down her black-stockinged legs to her ankles.  She
kicked off her shoes, and followed it with the thong.  She left them on the
carpet.

   "Pick up your panties," Nina told her.

   The blonde girl crouched awkwardly, so low that her knees nearly touched
the carpet.  Blushing the entire time, she avoided bending over as she
retrieved her panties.

   Holly finally stood up.  She held out the black nylon panties toward
Nina.  Her eyes were on the whip that Nina gripped.

   Nina said, "I know you don't want to be whipped, Holly.  If you really
want to avoid it and if you promise not to be any more disruptive, I'll
allow you to make a choice that will avoid the whipping."

   "A choice?"

   "Yes.  Which would you prefer, a whipping or a gagging?"

   Holly looked puzzled.  "A gagging?  I'm not sure what you mean."

   "Goodness me, what an airhead!" Nina exclaimed.  "When I say gagging, I
mean gagging.  We don't want you making any more noise.  Stuff your panties
in your mouth.  Choose either that or the whipping.  Which is it?"

   "Oh!" Holly exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes.  "Is that the choice?
You want me to do that?"

   "I'm getting exasperated!" Nina exclaimed.  "You haven't been addressing
me properly, and you're becoming a nuisance again.  One more word from you
and I'll give you no choice.  Your ass will be so sore that you won't be
able to sit for a week!"

   "A-All right," Holly choked out.  "I-I'll take the gagging."

   "Well then, hurry," Nina replied; "In your mouth with it!"

   Blushing, Holly raised the thong.  She opened her mouth.  Using the
fingers of both hands she stuffed it between her teeth.

   "All the way in.  I don't want to see nylon dangling from your mouth."

   Holly forced it in until her cheeks bulged.  Pressing the nylon with her
fingers until her teeth were nearly biting them, she managed to close her
mouth.

   "Good," Nina said.  "Now, sit down.  We'll watch Janine's training."



   CHAPTER NINE: Sheila's Boss Max is Interrogated by Lieutenant McCurdy

   "Max," Grace said to the intercom; "It's Lieutenant McCurdy, on line
three."

   Max sighed.  Rory seldom called in person unless he was pissed about
something.  He glanced at the clock.  Just after nine.  It looked like a
long morning.

   "Would you bring me coffee, Grace?  This is liable to run into break
time."

   He leaned back, punched the `record' button, and lifted the receiver.

   "Stedman.  What's up Rory?"

   "Listen, you Bastard, you're fucking up my investigation!  If you give
me shit, I'll feed your balls to my Doberman.  Get your ass down here to
the station and fill me in on these model abductions.  You're in this thing
to your ass, Max.  Get down here and spill your guts.  I mean now!"

   The slam of Rory's phone impacted Max's ear before he could utter a
response.

   He retrieved his threadbare sport jacket from the tree, took two gulps
from the cup his secretary held, and pushed through the door.  "I'll be at
the precinct station, Grace.  God knows how long."

   Twenty minutes later, he was in McCurdy's office.  Unlike his
own--perpetually in a state of disorder--the lieutenant's was immaculate.
The cigarette burns on the desktop had been partly obscured by polish, and
the only objects on it were his telephone, a pad, and a pencil.  Family
photos lined three walls; the one behind him solely occupied by double
windows that faced on Ninety-Fifth.

   McCurdy was, like Max, slightly overweight but it was hardly noticeable
on his six and one-half foot frame, seven inches taller than Max's.  At
fifty, his hair was iron gray, in need of cutting.  His eyes were a
piercing blue so dark as to seem black and, with his Roman nose and
clean-shaven countenance, he could have passed in another time for a
Caesar.

   He waved Max to the chair before his desk.  It was entirely wood, and
cheap.  Max hoped he wouldn't be in it long.

   "I should make you stand, you prick.  Anyway, no bullshit, Max.  Tell me
all you know about these abductions.  I know fucking well you're into it,
so don't bullshit me."

   Max saw no advantage to being evasive.  He had too little to go on as it
was.  Ed's followup with the blonde after the open house seemed promising,
but that was all.  He had nothing concrete.  At least now he knew that the
cops hadn't dropped their own investigation, so they had to know more than
he.

   Max summarized what he'd learned from Ed and the young contacts who'd
interviewed the girls.  He didn't mention Sheila or the open house, which
hadn't as yet led to anything definite.

   "Everything I have is in this folder, Rory.  I'll leave it with you, but
I need the photos.  Ed has the only copies."

   McCurdy took a few notes and then said, "And just what were McGinnis and
those two broads doing at that wine and cheese affair last Sunday--the
blast put on by SMF?  I know that the blonde with the tits works for you.
And the skinny brunette is her roommate.  What were they there for, Max? 
Maybe I should have had you bring them along, but I didn't want a fucking
committee in my office."

   Max explained.  "They were supposed to call me when they got back from
Sheila's photo session last night, but as of nine this morning they hadn't
called.  I tried to get Ed first thing this morning, and then Sheila, but I
only got their machines.  I was about to phone Wendy's employer when I got
your call."

   Rory stood up, more agitated than Max had ever seen him.  He paced
around his desk and Max several times, retrieving a pack of gum from a side
pocket of his jacket and stuffing a stick in his mouth.

   "Christ, Max.  You're gonna get me back on the nicotine habit.  How dumb
can you get?  Those girls and Ed could be off to that island by now.  If
you'd told me about this before going off on your own, I'd have at least
had a tail on them.  When were you going to let me know that you were
gumming up our investigation?  Six months from now?  After you published an
expose on the snatches?"

   Max felt his face grow hot.  Rory had never spoken to him like this
before--as if he were a high school boy caught shoplifting.  He loosened
his tie, retrieved a cigar, and then stuffed it back in his inside pocket.

   That's all I need to do, light up while Rory's trying to quit.

   "Rory, once we learn where the island is, I intend to notify the proper
authorities.  Your men told me the cases were closed.  Anyway, the island
probably isn't in your jurisdiction.  I mean, it has to be outside New
York, so it's a Federal problem."

   Rory dropped back in his chair.  He ran a hand through his hair.

   "Max, you went off half-cocked.  If you'd called me, I'd have told you
to hold off.  Some new abductions made us reopen everything.  You're right
about one thing, though.  It is a problem for the Feds.  And for me--for
both of us."

   Max looked puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

   "Max, just four nights after those six girls turned up, several more
disappeared.  Two were SUNY coeds, roommates.  One of those was an exchange
student, the daughter of the French Consul here.  The FBI jumped in on it
right away.  We're working with them as well as with the French Securit,.
I'm liaison with them both.

   "Your three people make this investigation all the more complicated. 
The first thing I want to find out is what they've learned.  That is, if
they haven't been abducted."

   "I don't see how that's possible.  Ed and Sheila, plus her
apartment-mate?  Ed is no patsy, Rory."

   Rory stared at him.  "Max, sometimes I wonder about you.  A pistol is
all it takes to persuade the toughest guy."

   "Even if they have been taken, Rory, they may be able to contact me."

   "I wouldn't bet on it.  You must know whatever a pimp or
kidnapper--whatever you want to call one--does when he gets a fresh
female?"

   He didn't bother to await a reply.  "He strips her naked and rapes her.
Your assumption that your blonde will keep her shoes on and her purse handy
is fucking naive, Max."

   "Ed is pretty resourceful, Rory.  He's delivered the goods in our past
investigations."

   "Look, Max--if your people find out anything, anything, you let me know.
And I mean, right away.  My ass is on the line in this French girl's
disappearance.  If you hold back, I'll make your name worth diddly here. 
And, if I can, with the Feds as well."

   Max shifted in his chair.  He wondered if the lack of padding and solid
wood was a form of sadism on Rory's part.

   I suppose a good number of its occupants are `perpetrators' as Rory
calls them.

   "Two of my people took a risk in this assignment, Rory.  I have to think
of their safety first.  And, don't threaten me.  You know better than
that."

   McCurdy pulled open a drawer and placed an ashtray on the desk.  He
carefully removed a wad of gum from between his teeth and deposited it in
its center.

   "Yeah, Max.  I do.  Independence of the press and all that bull." He
fastened his gimlet eyes on his friend.  "Don't get any ideas about
lighting a cigar."

   Max, relaxing a little, resisted the urge to smile.

   "If they're O.K.  and have any info, I'll pass it along, Rory.  But
don't ask me to hold back on publication--that's my call.  For now, I'll
keep the lid on, but only because my people may be at risk.  Not because
either you or the feds want me to."

   "Look, Max, we've been up this alley before.  We can work together on
this and we'll both benefit."

   He popped another stick in his mouth and dropped the crumpled wrapper in
the ashtray.  Then, giving him his steely stare, he pointed his forefinger
at Max.

   "You keep me informed about whatever you hear from your people--as soon
as you hear it.  O.K.?  For my part, I'll do my best to look out for your
people--assuming they're there--when the bust goes down.  If your people
plan any action--if they can--you run it by me first." He paused, but Max
said nothing.

   Rory sighed, and leaned back.

   "Maybe we can help each out here, Max.  We both have a stake in this
working out."

   "Information's a two way street, Rory.  Do you have any other
information--stuff my people can use?"

   "Not for publication, Max.  Anything I give you is off the record. 
You'd better keep the lid on it.  And I mean it, Max.  This is sensitive
stuff, and if your people are there when whoever it is goes in . . ."

   "What do you want, Rory, `Scout's honor'?"

   "Yeah, asshole.  `Scout's honor'."

   "O.K., Rory.  I'll keep the lid on unless something changes.  If it
does, I'll contact you before we do anything--assuming the delay doesn't
endanger my people."

   Rory nodded.  "Fair enough.  The French are pretty sure that island is
in their area of the Atlantic, east of Central America.  They have a lead
on someone that they think goes to the island periodically, to `sample the
wares', I suppose.  The guy vacations there every spring.  Securit, is
sending one of their agents along with that guy, next time he goes to the
island.  But this can't get out, at least not yet.  Understood?"

   Max pondered.  He didn't see how the presence of a French cop could have
any bearing on what information Ed and Sheila obtained if it actually
turned out that they'd been abducted.  In fact, if the French raided the
island, his two reporters would be right on the scene and might even be
witnesses in any future prosecution.

   Helluva story!  Bigger than I thought.  International sex-slave trade.
The French Consul's daughter!  But now with the French undercover, and Ed
and Sheila . . .  Two fucking undercover investigations on top of each
other . . .  cops and press, for Christ's sake . . .  on a fuckin' island .
. .

   But if Ed and Sheila actually get to the island and the French get wind
of it, extracting any information from there could be a real bitch.  Then
again, if they do get to the island, Ed and Sheila might need the help of
the French to just get themselves out.  Much less bring out the proof . . .
Shit!  Could we really be inside this big a story and have to cooperate
with the bastards?  They'll do the most to keep it bottled up!  Had to be
the fucking French!  What Western country is more fond of secrecy than the
French?

   But we don't know yet where Ed and Sheila are.  First I'll have to find
out as much as possible from what the cops know.

   "How'd you learn about the SMF connection, Rory?"

   "Look, Max, maybe cops aren't all college grads like you, but we aren't
as stupid as the media makes us out.  Most of the women who were abducted
went to some SMF affair beforehand.  We had a stakeout and female cop at
the last open house, and she got photos.  Ed and your blonde and her
roommate were in them.  And so was the Colombian who leases the property.
We're in the process of finding out all we can about the people who work
for SMF.  Some are really former models.  The photographer is legit, but
what happens to the photos he doesn't know.  He turns over all of them,
even the negatives, to the Hernandez guy."



   CHAPTER TEN: Leon & Babette with the Captain, On Board the Transport

   "We haven't moved for hours!" Babette exclaimed.  She went to the
porthole.  There were a few lights, but very distant ones.  "Why are we
stopped?"

   Leon shrugged.  He continued working with the weights, lying on his back
on the mat.  Up-down-up-down.  "Je n'en ai aucune id,e."

   "Well, I'm going . . ."

   She stopped.  So did he, holding the bar with arms straight up.  Both
had heard the sound against the bulkhead, a dull thud that shook their
vessel ever so slightly.  The impact of a smaller boat against the side of
the ship.

   Leon lowered the barbells onto the carpet, and he stood up.  Going to
the phone, he dialed their steward.

   "No answer.  Something important is happening.  You said you knew the
Captain.  Let's see her."

   "Oh, Leon--I don't think we should.  Not if `something important' is
going on.  She must be busy."

   He shrugged.  "It won't hurt to find out.  You're paying enough for this
trip.  We'll tell her the truth--we couldn't contact our steward."

   "Leon.  Yvonne is . . .  well, unconventional.  I have no idea what
she'll do if we bother her when she's busy.  She may be very angry."

   "I don't know what you're so inhibited for!  It's the first time I've
known you to be reluctant to do something.  This is nothing.  If she's
busy, she's busy.  We'll come back here.  Or go topside to have a look."

   Babette reluctantly acquiesced.  They left their cabin, climbed one
deck, and walked to the door below the stairwell.  Leon rapped on the door.


   "Ou est la?" a female voice responded.

   "Ah . . .  Yvonne, it's me, Babette.  If you're busy . . ."

   "Ah, Babette, ma cherie!  Entr,, s'il vous plait.  Il est ouvert."

   Leon opened the door and they stepped over the water bar and into the
room.

   "Not bad!" Leon said, looking about the room, which was unoccupied.

   It was far more luxurious than their own cabin.  Covering the floor was
thick pile carpetting.  The furnishings included two reclining armchairs, a
sofa and coffee table, and, between pairs of sconces on each of the four
walls, hung gorgeous Bougereau nudes, prints of ones in the Muse, d'Orsay.

   There was a doorway opposite the end of the room from which they had
entered.  On entering the stateroom, Leon was able to observe the rear of
an armchair through the doorway and beyond it, a bed.  As he was looking
about, a motion in the other room caught his attention, and he saw a girl.
She seemed to be bending over, kneeling on a stool that stood before the
armchair.  She looked up, and Leon caught sight of ample, bare breasts and
a youthful figure.  Almost simultaneously, the girl noticed him.  She
appeared shocked, and she immediately jumped up and ran to one side, out of
his field of view.  As far as Leon could determine, she was nude.

   "That can't be the captain," Leon remarked.

   "What?" Babette said, looking toward the other room.  The girl was no
longer visible.

   A moment later, another woman's head appeared, looking around the back
of the chair.  A redhead, she looked about Babette's age or perhaps a few
years younger.

   "Oh Babette," she exclaimed, laughing.  "I had no idea you brought along
a man!  You've frightened poor Suzy half to death!  But it's so good to see
you again!  Will you introduce your guest?  I saw his name on the manifest,
but I fear I've forgotten it."

   She stood up, came around the chair towards them, straightening her
clothing, which consisted of a uniform with a navy blue jacket with brass
buttons and a heavy white cotton pleated skirt.  Leon looked her over. 
Bobbed red hair, a pretty face.  Slender, perhaps five feet eight.  She
smoothed wrinkles in her garments as she greeted them.

   "You've probably guess that I'm lesbian," she told Leon.  "Poor Suzy. 
She's just eighteen.  She isn't queer; she's `bi' like Babette.  But she
has no experience with men.  They intimidate her."

   She put her hand out to Leon.  "I'm Yvonne."

   "I'm pleased to meet you, Captain," he said, shaking her hand.  "My name
is Leon Castel."

   He detected the aroma, faint but unmistakeable, of aroused female.

   She probably didn't have time to put her panties back on.

   "Please call me Yvonne, Leon.  I presume you're Babette's latest
conquest."

   Glancing at Babette, she asked, "Tell me, Cherie, is he a baron or a
marquis?  And, where did you find him?"

   "Stop joking, Yvonne.  You'll swell his head further.

   "I picked him up in Paris.  He's a bit of a rou,.  Like you.  But, he's
even more reticent about his life than you.  I suspect he, too, lives
somewhat on the edge of la loi.  Ugly though he is, he isn't bad in bed."

   Leon was thirty-nine, with an athletic physique and, at six feet was
four inches taller than his companion.  Rather than `ugly', he was in fact
too good looking for Babette ever to concede in his presence.  With women
he was far too sure of himself.

   When Leon accepted her hesitant offer, that she had proffered with
apprehension--fearing that he'd turn her down flat--to accompany her to
Lecoliere Island, shivers of anticipation had coursed down her spine. 
Uneasily, she wondered how long she would keep him.

   It had been years since she'd had a relationship with such an attractive
man.

   Leon cleared his throat, pondering the advisability of asking a question
of the Captain.

   I'll see what she volunteers.  There's no point in being nosy until I'm
on the island.  All I need is minimal information.  The Director should be
able to identify a female sea captain easily enough.  I'll let him do the
leg work.  He's at his desk all day, the exercise will do him good.

   He said, "I shouldn't think that there are many women captains of
ships."

   Yvonne shrugged.

   "Leon, vocations for women-teaching in elementary schools or secretarial
duties-are pass,.  Dad was a sea captain.  Since my school days I've spent
more time on the ocean than on land.  I ran a fishing trawler for nearly
ten years.

   "I meet resistance from men in commercial shipping, but I'm pretty
durable.  Men don't often get the better of me."

   Her father captained a ship, and she captained a trawler.  That should
be enough for the Director.  Now let's find out what's going on outside.

   Leon said, "We came to ask why the ship has been at anchor so long."

   "Well, as you can see," she replied; "at present I have very few duties
to perform."

   Perhaps that reminded her of the girl in the other room.  "Suzy!" she
called.  "Come out and meet Babette and Leon!"

   There was a silence for a few seconds.  Then they heard, "Please,
Yvonne! I'm embarrassed.  Don't make me come out now."

   Yvonne shrugged.  "Suzy is a bit shy.  I suppose you'll have to meet her
later.

   "Babette," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper; "Suzy's tongue
technique is simply marvelous.  You could take lessons from her."

   "Yvonne, please!  Babette exclaimed, flushing.  "You say the most
outrageous things!"

   Leon smiled.  When it comes to balls, I would say that Mademoiselle
Capitaine has more than many men.

   "Yvonne," he said; "I assumed you didn't have many ship's duties, right
now, but we knew that something was going on outside.  We heard the impact
of a boat against the hull."

   "Well, yes.  I suppose you did," she responded.  She lowered her voice
again.

   "I don't want Suzy to hear.  She's garrulous.  The less she knows, the
better.

   "At the moment we're loading our `cargo'.  They are almost certainly
ones that you'll have the chance to bid on when we arrive at Lecoliere
Island.  You can have a look at them if you'd like.  Want to?"

   "Girls?"

   "Certainly.  Please keep your voice down.  And women and men as well. 
There might be a boy or two, but I'm more interested in the girls and
women. I pay little attention to the males."

   "I'd like to see the girls.  Would you, Babette?"

   "Of course.  I'd love to see them, Yvonne.  It will benefit us if we
have the opportunity to look them over before the auction."

   "I need to change my uniform," Yvonne said.  "You won't be allowed up on
deck unless I'm with you.  Only certain members of the crew--ones who are
aware of what goes on on the island--are allowed on deck right now.  While
I'm changing, help yourself to drinks from the cabinet."

   Ten minutes later they were on deck watching the boatswain's chair load
prisoners onto the deck.  As each shivering and nearly naked, hooded
captive arrived, a guard led her to the railing where she was lined up with
the previous arrivals.  There the guard fed a rope from a ring in the
previous arrival's collar through a ring in the newcomer's collar.

   "They're beautiful!," Babette exclaimed.

   "I assume you mean the women," Leon remarked.  "I'd rather see their
faces before making a judgement."

   "I do see one male I wouldn't mind taking back to Paris with me."

   Leon nodded, smiling.  "He is rather exceptional."

   "If you want to see the women's faces," the Captain said; "I'll give you
the opportunity later."

   The trio followed the arrivals who, linked by the rope, were feeling
their way down two flights of stairs.  They entered into a corridor in
which a guard opened a cabin door.  He herded the prisoners in and bolted
the door behind them.

   "Will we be able to see them on the ship?" Leon asked.

   "I have an album containing photographs of them," Yvonne responded. 
"Besides the photos, it has detailed information about each girl."

   "I can't let it out of my hands.  But, if you're interested enough, you
and Babette can come to my stateroom to see it.  If you're going to bid in
the auction you'll be interested in the data that a typical client is
interested in, like her age, hair color, height and so on, even some
unusual details, like the size and shape of her breasts.  You can judge how
pretty they are from the photos; the album generally has four of each
girl."

   "Nude?"

   "Of course, nude!" Babette said, smiling.  "Don't act naive, Leon.  What
other kind would clients possibly be interested in?!"

   There might be money in this, if there's time for it before we get to
the island.

   "There seem to be a lot more clients than girls on this ship," Leon
said. "I wouldn't think a client would have a very good chance of getting a
girl in the auction."

   Yvonne shrugged.  "It depends on how much the client is willing to bid
for her.  If he outbids the other clients, he'll get the girl."

   "There's a good chance he won't, though," Leon said.

   "Of course.  With twenty-five clients and only twelve girls, that's
obvious.  But there are girls on the island already.  Ones that the regular
clients purchased previously.  Crane keeps them in cells.  He has them do
the usual chores that any hotel needs to have done.  Why the question?"

   "What I'm getting at, Yvonne, is that each client surely knows that his
chance of getting one of these girls you're loading on the ship right now
isn't good.  But, the girls are here.  No one's doing a thing with them
now, I assume.  They'll be on board for thirty-some hours or so, until we
arrive at Lecoliere.  I would think that some clients would grab the chance
to use one or two of them before we dock.  Couldn't we make a bit of money
with them?  Show some photos to the clients.  Use the album as a sales
tool--as advertising."

   Leon smiled down at the Captain.

   "Am I shocking you, Yvonne?"

   "Shocking me?!" Yvonne laughed.

   "Not only aren't you shocking me, Leon, but your idea isn't even
original.  I've already done just what you're suggesting.  Several times,
in fact.  Do you imagine that you and Babette are the first passengers I've
allowed to watch girls being loaded onto this ship-- and that you're the
first to have thought about using them on the ship?"

   "You've done it before?"

   "I just told you I did.  Not quite in the way you're suggesting, though.
What's happened in the past has usually been a couple of clients spotting a
girl, either when she's brought on board or seeing her photo in my album,
and then making me an offer to spend a few hours using her as
entertainment. Usually it's just two men who make me an offer for a girl,
but I've rented one or two to larger groups.  I draw the line at two girls
though.  It complicates my job by a lot.  If you're serious about using a
girl, we'll have to discuss it.  And soon.  We have only about thirty-six
hours before landfall."

   "Well, I am serious.  What's complex about the idea?"

   If you're serious, we'd better start moving on it.  I'll have Pierre--my
steward--take the album around to show to the clients.  He'll determine how
many are interested.  He'll collect their money."

   "How much do you think we can make?"

   "I can't even guess that.  It's best that we choose just one girl.  We
have a limited amount of time, just over thirty-six hours.  We don't really
have time to prepare more than one girl.

   "Between now and when we dock, I'll have to spend considerable time at
the helm.  You'll have to do the work here in my stateroom.  You'll have to
get things ready.  Then, you'll have to monitor the girl and the clients.
Babette, are you agreeable?  There will be an awful lot of work for Leon to
handle all by himself.  Can you help?"

   "I have no interest in any money, but if you want me to I'll help Leon,
certainly."

   "Can we see your album now?" Leon asked.  "We ought to pick a girl
ourselves to offer the clients, otherwise each passenger's liable to want a
different girl."

   They climbed the stairs to the Captain's quarters.

   Indicating her sofa, Yvonne said, "Wait here.  I keep the album in my
office."

   When she returned, she sat on the sofa, resting the album on her lap. 
The album was a binder of the type used by attorneys for legal documents,
larger than a photo album.  Leon observed colored tabs that separated
sections of the book.

   "What are the tabs for?" he asked.

   "To separate the shipments," Yvonne responded.  "Each section contains
information on a single shipment to the island."

   While she was opening the book, Leon tried to read a tab, hoping to find
the one labeled with the date of the Millet girl's abduction.  However, he
discovered the tabs were undated.

   The tabs were labeled, `Shipment 1', `Shipment 2', and so on.  The last
labeled tab, where Yvonne opened the album, was entitled `Shipment 19'.

   I'll have to go through the album.  I'll wait for Yvonne to go on the
bridge.  Nineteen shipments!  If there are twelve girls in each shipment,
that means, hmm, two hundred forty minus twelve is two hundred twenty-eight
girls.  Incredible!  This operation must have been going on for some years.
The album should tell me a lot.  I'll have to photograph each page.  She
didn't take much time getting this out; it's probably just in a desk, not
in a safe.

   Glancing at Babette, Leon said, "I see you're looking at a busty blonde.
The left page was closer to her than to him.  Leon leaned against Yvonne in
order to see it better.

   "Interested in her?," Yvonne asked Babette..  "She has an exquisite
figure."

   "Yes, she has," Babette agreed.  "A pretty face, too."

   * * *

   That evening, Leon and the two women dined in the Captain's quarters. 
Suzy, the young brunette, was serving them.

   The girl wore a French-maid's costume--a short, tight black skirt that
displayed her rump, black stockings on her long legs, and black velvet
pumps on her feet.  Leon could see that her breasts were ample from the low
cut, scoop-necked white blouse that she wore.  Over her blouse and skirt
she wore a miniscule black apron and on her head was a white cap.  Leon
would have liked her heels to have been higher, but he supposed that would
be impractical considering the ship's motions.

   He watched her pour the Grand Marnier.  She bent low, and he was able to
view both her decolletage and twin hills of her ass.  He reached out and
stroked the latter lightly.  It caused her to stop pouring for a moment. 
She otherwise showed no reaction.  She didn't even glance at him, which
surprised him.

   He'd done the same thing often enough to a cafe waitress with more
effect.  The waitress almost always displayed either annoyance--by a cold
stare--or, on occasion, a slight smile.  Once in a while he and she would
engage in a stare-down, and his wink after they both stared for thirty or
so seconds often caused the girl to burst into laughter.  It provided him
with a convenient opening with which to begin a teasing conversation with
her.

   I'm a bit surprised that she didn't show more reaction.  Perhaps, if
she's as afraid of men as Yvonne claims, she's embarrassed.

   Yvonne took a sip from her glass.  She told them, "When I rented a girl
on our last trip to the island, our layover to pick up stock was rather
long.  The clients got bored with spending all their leisure in the casino,
so I made the offer on my own initiative.  Providing them with a girl
turned out to be lucrative for me.  Of course, then the clients had several
days with her.

   "Unfortunately, with this girl, we have only tonight and part of
tomorrow."

   Yvonne glanced at the maid.  "Suzy; would you please bring us some
coffee from the galley?"

   "Yes Mistress," the girl responded.  She curtsied and left the room.

   Turning back to them, Yvonne explained, "I prefer Suzy not to hear much
about the island or what is done to the girls there.  I never allow her off
the ship there.  Suzy is a bit garrulous, and I'm not at all certain she
could keep secret what goes on there."

   "The girl I rented out last time became pregnant.  Crane didn't care; he
simply kept the girl in one of the slave cells.  Clients eventually tire of
a slave and they usually turn them over to Crane.  He keeps them in the
cells until he has six or so of them to ship back.  I don't take them.  He
has some smaller boat dump them at various points along the coast.

   "I didn't take any precautions with that girl, but I can't let the same
thing happen to this Sheila Ericson.  Crane is very particular about the
condition of the girls I deliver to him.  If we rent her out, you'll have
to be sure the clients use condoms.  Clients aren't accustomed to using
them or, for that matter, having any other constraints.

   "During much of tonight and tomorrow morning, we'll be passing by a
number of islands, and I'll have to use care and keep in designated
channels.  I'll be on the bridge for much of that time.  You two will have
to watch the clients."

   "I'd like to be sure this is worth the trouble," Leon asked.  "Will you
at least tell us how much you made last time?"

   Yvonne shrugged.  "Leon, I told you--how much we'll make is a guess. 
Sheila is blonde, which should help.  Three or four men on board are
partial to blondes.  Her big tits should attract clients like flies to
honey.

   "On the last trip, the girl was a pretty brunette, a little younger than
Sheila, perhaps eighteen, but she had nowhere near the looks of Sheila.  I
think it was eleven . . .  or was it twelve? . . .  clients that used her.
Twelve, I think.  I charged each of them a thousand American dollars."

   "Mmm!" Leon exclaimed.  "Twelve thousand!  Not bad for a night's work!"

   "You get only half of that.  My take is fifty per cent."

   "What!" he laughed.  "We do all the work but you get half the fee?  You
aren't exactly generous, Yvonne."

   She shrugged.  "It's my ship and my stateroom.  And, I'm taking a risk
letting clients use her before delivery."

   "Well," Leon conceded; "even if my net is only fifty percent, if we get
twelve clients, that amounts to six thousand for you and the same for me."

   "Don't expect that much," Yvonne interjected.  "We have only tonight and
tomorrow morning.  The previous time I had three days.  We won't get twelve
clients.  If we do, we won't have time for them all."

   "Even so . . .  " Leon said; "it will be a big chunk of cash."



   CHAPTER ELEVEN: Senator Ellsworth, Yvonne, and Judith

   Senator Ellsworth stared out the stateroom window.  During rough
weather, the spray and even waves sometimes reached the lower decks, but
here on B deck there was no need for portholes.  The sea was calm below a
cloudless sky but, neither it nor the cruise was on his mind.  The album
with the nude photographs of the captive women and girls located two decks
below lay on the sofa behind him.  The photos of the buxom blonde excited
him.

   I must have her.

   When Ellsworth wanted a woman, it was only a question of time before he
had her.  Sometimes there were obstacles of course, often a husband.  Those
weren't deterrents to the Senator.  On the contrary, they were condiments.
They enhanced his enjoyment of her.  As for ethical considerations,
Ellsworth never weighed such trivia.  In fact, applying coercive means to
bring a woman into his bed increased his enjoyment of her.  When the woman
was married, he found that having her husband aware of her dalliance was
quite as effective as any aphrodisiac could possibly be with regard to his
performance with her.

   Just a few minutes before, Ellsworth had dismissed Yvonne's steward from
his stateroom.  He had told the man that he would keep the album.  "I'll
return it to the Captain myself," he had told Pierre.

   His thoughts returned to the brunette who sat behind him.  Judith was
reading in the armchair.  She was unaware of the true status of the girls
and women on deck D and thought that the three girls whose photographs he
had shown her were hired.  He had been careful to show her just those
three. Ellsworth was aware that the Captain's album was a damning history
of the island's captives.  He was cautious about allowing anyone other than
himself to see its contents.

   Doubtless it wouldn't surprise Judith if he had one of the three females
brought up to his stateroom.  He had told her, with relish, the ways in
which he had used the girl whom the Captain had provided the clients with
on their cruise to the island the previous summer.  Judith
may--perhaps--have disapproved of his actions but, if she had, she hadn't
said so.  She was eminently practical.  Her goals were much like his had
been at her age.  When they interfered with advancing her career, Judith
had few compunctions.

   She complied with his whims in bed.  Of course, he hadn't yet obliged
her to perform with another female.  It would be interesting to see her
reaction to that.  If necessary, he would coerce her.  Yvonne would provide
him with a crewman to help in the effort if he found it necessary.

   Actually, he doubted that it would come to that.  In the past, even when
Judith hadn't concealed her distaste for one of Ellsworth's whims, she
suppressed her personal feelings.  Sensibly, she always sacrificed them to
enhance her standing with him and, of course, advance her career.

   Over the years, she's been of enormous benefit to my standing in the
party and my influence in Washington.  A pity that has to end.

   Strange that their relationship had come to this.  For her first few
years with him she had pleased him, both from efforts on his staff and in
his bed.  Ellsworth even felt a bit nostalgic thinking of his plans for
her.

   How different her life is going to be after we dock and I take her to
Crane.

   He heard the sound of her closing her book and placing it on the end
table and then the creak of the chair as she stood up.

   "I want to take a shower, Senator," Judith said.  "Will you be taking a
nap?"

   "Soon," he told her.  Her query slightly annoyed him.  It implied that
he was no longer virile enough to do without a nap following lunch.  Now
that his decision about her was made, many of her offhand remarks irritated
him.  He'd have to watch himself if his plans for her were to proceed
without his showing his hand too soon.

   "I'm going on the bridge to find the Captain.  I intend to see this
blonde girl."

   "Sheila?  Are you going to accept Yvonne's proposal?"

   "I don't intend to share the blonde with others.  I'll be back down
after I discuss it with her."

   Shit!  That was a flub.  Judith looks puzzled; it's no wonder.  Yvonne
and I term the females on Deck D `party girls', and other clients try to do
the same.  It keeps the temporary ship's staff--the chef and kitchen help
that never step on the island--ignorant of the true status of the girls. 
As far as they--and Judith-- know, the island is another Aruba.  I can
guess what she's thinking: why should I care if others share a party girl?

   Now that we're heading directly to the island, it's probably too late
for her to do anything about her situation.  But, she's ingenious.  I'll be
cautious.  Unless it interferes with my enjoyment.  Nothing will impede
that.

   "Mmm.  Yvonne won't like that," Judith said.

   "What?  Oh, you think Yvonne will object to my keeping the blonde to
myself?  That's her problem, Judith, not mine."

   * * *

   On the bridge, Yvonne was examining the CRT display of their ship's
location.  At their current speed they should arrive at Lecoliere Island in
a bit more than thirty hours.  The nearest other ship was at the edge of
the radar screen, headed north.  This close to the island she normally
would cautiously slow down, waiting until the other vessel was farther
away. But the other ship would be off-screen soon, anyway.

   The bridge was entirely enclosed in Plexiglass.  Yvonne saw the Senator
before he reached the doorway.

   Her contacts with Ellsworth had never been pleasant.  She hoped his
appearance on her bridge didn't auger another problem for her.  Ellsworth
was a master at manipulation.  He hardly ever visited her, either on the
bridge or in her stateroom, without trying to pressure her.  She heard the
door open.

   "Good afternoon, Senator," she said, not looking up.

   "Yvonne," Ellsworth told her, "I appreciate your sending your steward to
me before having him take this album to the other clients.  That was wise."


   "Oh?  In what way?" She looked at him.  "What is it you have to tell me,
Prescott?"

   Yvonne was well aware that Ellsworth hated to be called by his given
name.  He relished his title.  It gave her a little pleasure to aggravate
him in this way.  She had so few other options.

   He carried the album under his arm.  He must have intimidated Pierre. 
Her steward knew very well that he shouldn't relinquish possession of the
book.

   "I'm interested in this blonde exclusively for myself, Yvonne.  I intend
to buy her in the auction.  If necessary, I'll persuade Crane to accept a
bogus high bid from me.  I'm not going to share her with other clients. 
Certainly not here on your ship.  Perhaps on the island, after I break her.
Then it might be interesting.  I might share her just to see how she
submits to a large number of clients, of both sexes."

   Yvonne raised her eyebrows.  She felt anger grip her.

   The bastard.  Wants to cut me off from the cash we'll get from renting
her.  He loves to swing his weight around!

   "Prescott; it isn't your choice to make," she objected.  "I'm Captain of
this ship.  The crew take orders from me.  Sheila will be in my stateroom
tonight, and the clients who paid to rent her will be there.  Now, get off
my bridge.  If you force me to, I'll call Security."

   "Now, now, Yvonne," he replied mildly.

   I know his technique.  When he speaks softly, he has something nasty in
mind.

   "We know how much your livelihood depends on your accreditation as
Captain, and on the seaworthiness of this vessel."

   He gave her a thin smile, but she saw the steely glint of his eyes. 
There was no humor in his look.

   "I'm sure you're aware, Yvonne, that I have influence with the
authorities who provide your accreditation.  And also those who oversee
inspection of your ship.  Simply because you aren't registered in the
States doesn't protect you.

   "Besides that, my Dear, there is the little matter of the cargo you
carry.  Illegal in most of the countries that this ship makes port in."

   When Ellsworth had pressured Yvonne in the past, in her aggravation she
imagined that her knowledge of his visits to the island could be a means of
retaliation against him.

   All of that was daydreaming.  I'm in a far more dangerous situation than
he is.  Ellsworth has so much influence that, even if I sent proof to the
media, probably the most that could happen would be his retirement.  For
him it would mean a scandal.  But, for me . . .  it could mean prison, with
my ship confiscated.  After all my efforts and success . .  .  The risk
isn't worth it.  The bastard.  Not a thing I can do.

   She yelled, "You unctuous prick!"

   "Careful, my Dear." His smile broadened.  "You know how dependent you
are on my good will.  Another coarse epithet might induce me to require a
bit more of you.  More than just providing me with this Sheila."

   He took a step closer, and Yvonne was conscious of how his six feet
towered over her.  She felt a surge of fear.  But, even though he was
nearly touching her, she stood her ground.  For a moment she thought he was
going to grab her with his large, fat hands.

   He looked down, his eyes meeting hers.  He enunciated his words
carefully.

   "I suppose you lesbians are not very good at cock-sucking.  You have no
experience at it.  In your case, Yvonne, I can make an exception."

   He showed his teeth in a thin smile.  "Perhaps you would visit me
tonight for the pleasure of learning the technique.  Judith will give you
directions.  Between the two of us, by morning we'll make you quite adept
at it."

   Yvonne bit her lip, stifling her retort.  Tears of anger welled in her
eyes.  She turned her head, hoping he didn't observe them.

   The stinking rotten bastard!  I could kill him!

   "Well, I fear your steward will have to convey your disappointment to
the other clients, Yvonne.  As for the blonde, I expect you to have her
delivered to my stateroom in . . .  oh, let's say, two hours.  It will give
you time to prepare her for me."

   Yvonne watched him softly close the door behind him and walk to the
stairwell.

   * * *

   Senator Ellsworth slipped out of his bed.  He felt refreshed from his
nap.  Judith was still in the shower.  He pondered what to wear.  This
blonde girl might resist.  A bathrobe would be an encumbrance.  He settled
on a white tee shirt and white shorts without underwear.

   Judith was drying herself when he appeared in the main room of their
suite.  He didn't admonish her for dampening the carpet; why bother?  His
plans for her future would serve to settle all those recent little
annoyances as well as the major problem she posed.  Completion of his plan
would be effective and permanent.

   Judith, at thirty-five, had come up in the world.  After finishing law
school and, a mere six months later passing the bar in the Senator's
southern state, she'd obtained a position on his local staff.  Through
skilled application of her abilities, both on his staff and in his bed, in
three years she'd become a permanent aide to him in Washington.  She
traveled with him almost everywhere--except to the island.  When it was
necessary to avoid media attention travelling with him, she went
incognito--often on the same plane--but in tourist class, while he flew in
first.

   A pretty five foot seven inch brunette with a pert nose and soft brown
eyes, a fashionable bob and B cup breasts, she possessed a slender,
well-proportioned figure.  She was striking at the Senator's soirees.  Many
of his fellow lawmakers coveted her, but she refrained from accepting any
of their propositions.  Fortunately for both the Senator and Judith,
Senator Ellworth's wife disliked capitol life.  She seldom visited
Washington.  So, when Congress was in session Judith was the hostess who
managed his social affairs.

   Each summer, when Congress adjourned, Ellsworth flew to Florida and
caught the launch to the ship to Lecoliere Island.  Judith returned to
their state and her private practice.  His contacts had informed him that
she saw an occasional boyfriend among those who hadn't yet married,
including one, called Bill, that the Senator knew she was screwing.  Then,
before the next session of the Senate convened, she flew north to visit her
parents.

   The more he considered his plan for Judith the more Ellsworth was sure
his decision was the best one.  During the winter break when he'd returned
to his state for the usual stroking, his supporters had mentioned Judith as
their choice for Representative in his old district.  With the publicity
that would give her, plus her looks and talent, plus a couple of sessions
as Representative, she would be well-positioned to run for his seat in the
Senate.

   Judith was ambitious; far too ambitious.

   Their relationship had been one of one hand washing the other, each
deriving a benefit from it.  But she wouldn't hesitate to supplant him as
senator.  In a primary against him, the likelihood was great that she would
win.

   As for the sex, that too is wearing thin.  She no longer satisfies all
my whims.  What's worse, she's probably the cause of my recent embarrassing
performances.  It can't be age, not yet.  Not that it's deliberate on her
part.  Her body simply holds no surprises any more--it bores me.  True,
some of my compatriots covet her.  They think her figure is desirable. 
Well, so did I once.  I like my women with meat on their bones.  Those
B-cup tits bore me.  I hope this blonde I've paid for really has the
D-cuppers that the album states.  The blonde muff also.

   To his wife Ellsworth would have imparted a reprimand about the carpet,
but not to his secretary-cum-attorney.  He had valued her too much to risk
rubbing her the wrong way in insignificant matters.  As for now, there was
no need to change.  In a day or so she would be where she would no longer
be a threat, not even a minor annoyance.

   "I've been informed," Ellsworth told her; "that the media have mentioned
you in connection with our trips.  I want you to make it known that you're
not going with me.  You're heading home.  When you land in Atlanta, take a
flight incog to Miami.  We'll stay at the Flamingo there for a night before
catching the launch in the morning.  You'll find the island quite unlike
any vacation spot you've ever been to."

   * * *

   Tonight should make an amusing and ironic finish to our years together.
It will be a suitable prelude to a future she'll find so different from her
past.  I wonder if I could persuade Crane to provide films featuring her?
Next summer when I visit the island, I'll pick them up and take them back
to Washington.  My collegues, particularly ones who attend the soirees that
she arranges will find them entertaining.

   "You have no objection, I hope, to sharing me with this blonde . . . 
um, Sheila Ericson, Judith?"

   "Sharing?"

   She stopped patting her hair with the towel to look at him.  "Uh . . .
no.  No, I-I don't object Senator."

   I caught her off-guard.  She didn't anticipate that.  Now she's probably
wondering if I meant what she's thinking `share' might involve.  A menage a
trois, a lesbian tryst, or a combo of the two.

   She added, "I . . .  I'm inexperienced at that sort of thing, Senator.
Uh . . .  Is this just sex?  Or is it social as well?"

   "Just sex."

   She went to the walk-in closet and paused.

   "What would you like me to wear?"

   He thought.

   Sheila will be wearing a skirt and blouse.  Now, what would be
appropriate attire for Judith when she opens the door and greets the
blonde? I want something memorable.

   "Black stockings, with garters."

   Ellsworth paused.  He reconsidered.

   "No.  Thigh-highs will be better, with their built-in elastic tops.  Put
on black pumps, with three or four inch heels.  For jewelry, wear your
black pearl choker with its matching bracelet."

   "I meant, Senator, which type of outfit did you want me to wear?  A
dress?  Or a blouse and skirt?"

   "Neither.  Just the hosiery and shoes."

   "That's all?" she asked.

   "That's all."

   It was a rare treat to see her blush.



   CHAPTER TWELVE: Senator Ellsworth Abuses Judith and Sheila

   When Sheila awoke, Jerry's wife Anne took her into the tiny bathroom. 
Anne, who Sheila supposed must be a few years older than herself, was an
auburn-haired beauty with a proverbial hourglass figure, including long
svelte legs and firm C cup breasts.

   Sheila felt filthy both inside and out.  Fortunately, wash cloths and
towels for four people had been provided in the bathroom and, although each
had already been used, they served the purpose.  With Anne's help, Sheila
was able to clean herself up.

   After helping towel her dry, Anne handed Sheila a paper cup full of
water.  "You must have had a dreadful ordeal!" Anne said.

   "Yes.  There were four of them," Sheila replied.

   "The worst of it was how long it lasted.  I kept praying they would
finish.  Before they did, though, I think I fainted.  I can't recall much
after that."

   The taste in her mouth and reek in her nostrils had been bothering her
since she woke up.  Rinsing her mouth with water alone didn't help much. 
"I wish I had a toothbrush," she said.

   "Here's a wrapped unused bar of soap," Anne said, removing it from the
cabinet.  "If you can stand soap in your mouth."

   "I'll use it," Sheila said.  Despite the bitter taste of the soap, she
was relieved when she'd rinsed it all out.  Finally, the reek of semen was
gone and her mouth tasted clean.

   As the two women exited the bathroom, the other prisoners were quiet. 
No one asked Sheila about her ordeal.  For that she was grateful.  Probably
they guessed some of what had been done to her.

   There was a knock on the cabin door.  For the second time a male voice
told the prisoners, "Everyone stand away from this door!"

   Two crewmen looked in.  One Sheila immediately recognized.  It was
Pierre.

   Oh god!  Are they going to rape me again?!

   "You, Sheila!" he ordered, pointing at her.  "Come with us."

   "Jesus!" Jerry exclaimed.  "Why don't you bastards leave her alone!" He
looked as though he was going to move toward Pierre.

   Pierre ignored him, but the other put his hand onto what Sheila thought
must be a weapon holstered in his belt.

   But Jerry saw the motion, and he halted.  He said nothing further. 
Pierre reached out, grasped Sheila's wrist, and pulled her through the
doorway.  The other crewman slammed and locked the door.  Pierre led her
down the hall toward the stairwell with the armed crewman following.

   "W-Where are you taking me?" Sheila asked.

   "To the crew's head.  Our bathroom."

   "W-Why?"

   "You'll find out soon enough."

   She began to tremble, growing more fearful as she followed the man who
was gripping her hand.

   They proceeded down a flight of stairs and into another hall.

   At the end of it, Pierre unlocked a door.  The entered another corridor,
where they stopped before an open doorway.

   The large, brightly illuminated room appeared to be a communal bath. 
Sheila saw men's urinals, sinks, and stalls and, in the center of the room,
an enormous sunken tub.  The tops of its sides were at floor level.  The
tub and its fixtures, as well as the walls, ceiling, and floor of the room
all seemed to be made of stainless steel.  The floor felt cold through her
slipper-shoes.

   "Henri," Pierre said; "Undress her while I start filling the tub."

   What followed embarrassed and humiliated Sheila.  Once she was nude, the
men walked her to one of the stalls, seated her on a toilet, and gave her
an enema.  Then they bathed her in the huge tub.  After drying her, they
positioned her on what they told her was a bidet.  On it, she was ordered
to wash herself.

   After she was towelled dry, Henri told her, "Bend over.  You can put
your hands on the bidet so you don't fall."

   She did as she was told, and she felt something hard and cold pressed
against her anus.  She recognized it as the nozzle of a tube of lubricant
from the episode with the four men.

   When they were done injecting it into her, they led Sheila to an open
closet where clothing hung from hangers.  Most appeared to be uniforms,
either in white or in navy blue with brass buttons, but hanging in the
center were a white blouse and a black and white striped pleated skirt. 
Beside them, folded over a hanger was a pair of black thigh high stockings,
and beneath them on the metal floor, stood a pair of glossy black flats.

   "We'd better put the hood on her," Pierre said, reaching up on a shelf
above the bar.

   "Don't bother," Henri replied.  "From what I saw of him last summer,
Ellsworth don't give a fuck about who sees him do squat.  If you ask me,
even the Captain is leery of him, and she don't panic too easy."

   * * *

   The Senator glanced at the clock.  A little before twenty-one hundred.
The blonde should be delivered to his stateroom about ten minutes from now.
He doubted that Yvonne would risk annoying him by delaying the girl's
delivery.

   Ellsworth was pleased with himself.  His threat had intimidated her, and
it had produced the expected result: Yvonne had capitulated.

   A pity though..  I'd have enjoyed seeing how the lesbian took to sex
with a man.  And it woud have been interesting to see how she reacted to
being instructed by a woman half her age.  She's old enough to be Judith's
mother.  As for Judith, would she have demonstrated giving a blowjob?  Or,
perhaps she would have held Yvonne's head, and pushed it, moving it up and
down, all the time giving her verbal instructions: "Lick with your tongue,
Yvonne . . .  Suck it, Yvonne . . .  Don't lose any, Yvonne . . .  That's a
good girl, Yvonne . . .  Now swallow, Yvonne . . .

   Ellsworth smiled.  It was a pleasant picture.

   He intended to position the armchair so it faced the metal bars that
made up the foot of their bed.  Accordingly, he moved the chair a few
inches forward on the heavy carpet.  He moved it so that it faced the foot
of the bed about four feet from it.

   Pierre had provided him with handcuffs.  Ellsworth locked a cuff about
each of the legs at the foot of the bed.

   As he sat in the armchair, his cock was alread semi-hard from
anticipating the blonde's entrance.  That was a good sign.  It confirmed
his belief that his recent problems with potency arose from boredom with
Judith rather than from anything organic.  His shorts, without underwear,
felt comfortable enough in spite of his near-erection..

   * * *

   Judith had thoroughly cleaned herself.  She had given herself the enema
that the Senator had insisted on.  She turned off the valves in the bidet
and began drying herself.  She wished she didn't feel so uneasy.  Perhaps
it was her imagination, or perhaps a lack of self- confidence.

   But she didn't really believe that.  For some time now, not just today,
but for the last month or so Ellsworth had been distancing himself from
her. Not in bed of course.  The Senator was too sexually active for that.
Although, now that she thought about it, he had recently had instances of
impotence with her.  She had ascribed that to age; men were supposed to
become less virile when they grew older.  Prescott Ellsworth was sixty.

   This blonde whore that he was having delivered was partly the cause of
her uneasiness.  Prescott wasn't monogamous; Judith had no illusions about
she being the only female he bedded.  But this was the first time he wanted
her and another woman to share him at the same time.

   It was also the first time he'd wanted her to fill her anus and rectum
with lubricant.  Not that it would be novel for her.  Her sex with Bill had
involved virtually everything imaginable.  Bill's participation in Gemini
had exposed him--and by extension, her--with all sorts of D and S.  Judith
had found submission to be an enormous turn-on.  She had even gone to an
occasional bar with Bill to re-enact the episode he'd had with a couple
shortly after he'd joined the Society.

   Ellsworth was another matter.  He had always handled her with kid
gloves, even though he sometimes seemed to think he was shocking her.  Sex
with the Senator was pure vanilla.  What turned him on was sex at odd times
and odd places.  He was enormously addicted to having her under his desk
sucking him off while he had some female visitor in his office.  Either a
visitor or that eighteen year old just out of secretarial school.  Judith
thought that some of the letters he dictated to her were totally bogus,
intended entirely to get the girl in his office to sit across his desk from
him in her miniskirt while Judith gave him a blowjob.

   Well, her goals hadn't changed.  As long as she was on his staff she
would comply with the Senator's whims.  Her own physical and emotional
needs took second place.  Like men, she had to realize that to advance in
one's career, one needed to make personal sacrifices.  That had been made
clear to her last summer when she'd returned to their state and she phoned
her boyfriend Bill--correction, former boyfriend--Bill Starrett.  He was
now engaged to Sherry, her best friend.

   That had hurt.  But Judith had understood.  How could she expect him to
see her only during the times she was away from Washington?  The night that
he told her about Sherry, he had offered to take her to dinner, but she had
declined.  Knowing men, he might have invited her to his apartment.  She
didn't want to be exposed to temptation.  She would have had no resistance
whatever.  Bill gave her something that no boyfriend or lover ever had
before or since.

   Bill had joined the Gemini society when he'd worked for a year across
the bay from San Francisco.

   Later, back in the South, he'd met a couple at the bar in a hotel where
they were staying for the night.  Somehow the conversation had reminded him
of the Gemini Society, and he'd told the couple about it, including his own
membership.  After describing some of the activities he'd participated in,
the man's wife had leaned over on her bar stool to whisper in his ear, "I'd
really like to suck your cock."

   He had gone with the couple up to their hotel room.  The husband had
tied up his wife.  He had abused her with his belt, to `get her in the
mood'.  She had fellated Bill while her husband watched.

   Judith never had any inclination to inform the Senator about her
experiences with D&S.  To her, it had nothing to do with him.  Until now,
she always looked forward to summer, when she and Bill would swing with
another couple and engage in B&D.  Humiliation was a real turn-on for her.
It would arouse her like nothing else would.  Unbelievably, sometimes
amidst being forced to do or to accept some degrading act, she would
experience an orgasm, albeit a small one, without having her clit even
touched.

   She threw the empty KY Jelly tube in the wastebasket.  She wiped herself
again and tossed the tissues on top of the used tube.

   She thought again about the Senator's whims.  He had been subjected to
much criticism from the media.  Perhaps this spring break was what they
both needed.  They both would relax on the sand; Prescott had said the
beach was beautiful.  She'd have a tan to take back to Washington.  For
now, whatever his whims, she'd defer to them.

   She stood up and slipped her robe on.  Then she thought of how he wanted
her to dress.  She felt her face grow warm.  Perhaps he wasn't serious. 
No. He was serious.  The Senator never joked about such things.  God, she
was getting really aroused thinking of it!

   At least these people on the ship don't know me.  I'll never see them
again once we're back in Washington.

   Ellsworth was seated in the bedroom armchair.  He'd positioned it so it
faced the metal bars that constituted the foot of the bed and was four or
five feet away from it.  The Senator was dressed in a tee shirt and white
walking shorts, and his legs were propped on a footstool.  She carefully
avoided looking at the tent his erection was making in his shorts.

   I suppose he's thinking about the blonde whore.

   Judith withdrew a pair of her black thigh-high hose from the second
drawer of the dresser and laid out the stockings on the bed.  She retrieved
her black pumps from the closet.  She took the choker and bracelet from the
top drawer of the dresser and stood before the mirror above it to put them
on.  She displaced strands of her hair in the process, and she took the
hairbrush from its top and brushed out the tresses.  She walked then to the
vanity, and she applied some crimson to her lips.

   In the mirror she noticed Ellsworth glance at the clock.  He gave her a
smile, but there wasn't even a trace of humor in it.

   "You're stalling, Judith.  I don't want you to greet the blonde while
you're wearing that bathrobe," he said.  "Dress as I told you to.  Hurry
up; I expect that she'll be here any moment."

   "I wasn't stalling, Senator." She looked over at him from the vanity. 
"I didn't realize that . . .  oh, never mind." She put the lipstick in the
drawer.

   There was a knock at the door.  "Answer it," Ellsworth said.

   Judith called loudly, "Please wait a moment!" and she stood up.

   Her face felt hot as she removed her bathrobe and dropped it onto the
stool.  She was nude except for her choker and bracelet.  She quickly ran
to the bed and sat on it, grabbing one of her stockings.  She didn't look
at Ellsworth but felt his eyes on her.  She'd been naked before him often,
but for some reason she felt embarrassed now, too embarrassed to meet his
eyes.

   My god I'm getting turned on!  This is like something Bill would have
tried.  I wonder why Prescott's trying to humiliate me?  It's so
uncharacteristic of him!

   She supposed he could see her muff, which she'd trimmed into a nearly
perfect isoceles triangle.  As she raised her knee and pulled on the
stocking, she observed that the dark brown of her muff was nearly black,
nearly the same shade as her hose.

   She heard the knock on the door repeated.  A male voice called through
it, "Should we bring her in, Senator?"

   From the corner of her eyes she saw Ellsworth turn his head toward the
doorway.

   "No.  Wait out there," he said.  "Judith will be there shortly."

   Judith drew each stocking snug.  Then she bent down, slipped her pumps
on, and stood up.

   She felt his eyes travelling up and down her form as she stood before
Ellsworth.

   "Do you want me to bring her in here right away, Senator?  Should I
suggest cocktails in the parlor?"

   Her face felt hot as she felt his eyes continue to look her over.  The
black stockings for some reason, made her particularly embarrassed.  Her
clit felt hard.

   I'm embarrassed but, oh my, am I turned on!  God, I wonder if my labia
are swollen?

   "She may feel more comfortable if we converse with her a little before
getting in bed."

   My god, maybe we'll have an orgy like Bill and I used to have with Steve
and Phyllis!  Except there won't be another man.  What a pity.

   "On the contrary," he finally replied.  "I don't want a party girl to
become familiar with me, Judith.  I'm speaking of `familiar' in the old
southern courtesy sense, you understand."

   "Yes, Senator.  I understand.  All right."

   I feel even more embarrassed now.  He isn't the least bit the southern
gentleman that he usually is.  I don't understand it, but . . .  tonight
should be interesting.  It doesn't feel very vanilla now.

   She walked, carefully because of the high heels, to the stateroom door.
Except for the black pumps on her feet, black thigh-highs on her long legs,
her choker about her throat, and the bracelet on her wrist, she was naked.

   She hesitated a moment and looked back at him.  He was watching.  She
opened the door.

   Two men in white uniforms were outside.  A beautiful blonde girl was
with them.

   "Holy shit!" the man before her exclaimed, staring at her.

   "Oh man!" the other said.  He began laughing.

   "I'm sorry miss," the man in front said.  "We ain't accustomed to
clients coming to the door naked." He turned to indicate the girl.  "Here's
the blonde that the Senator ordered.  Do you want us to bring her in?"

   Judith's face felt hot.  She responded hurriedly, "No thank you.  I'll
take her.  Thank you, both.  Please come in--is your name Sheila?"

   "Yes," the girl responded.  She appeared a few years younger than
Judith, and looked even more gorgeous than the photographs had indicated.
She was dressed very simply, in a white cotton blouse and a black and white
striped cotton skirt.  She wore flats, and black stockings.  It was obvious
that she wore no brassiere.  Judith wondered if she wore panties.  She
doubted it.  What would be the point?

   Goodness, Yvonne certainly finds beautiful prostitutes!  This girl could
make a living as a model.  I suppose she makes more, though, from wealthy
clients.

   Judith closed the door.  The Senator called, "Bring her right in,
Judith. I want to look at her."

   Judith entered the bedroom, leading the blonde by the hand.

   Ellsworth didn't rise from his armchair.  He beckoned with his hand for
the blonde to approach.  "Come closer, Sheila," he said.  "Stand there."

   The girl did as he requested.  To Judith, the girl didn't seem
embarrassed, but she did appear apprehensive.  Occasionally she glanced
through the doorways, first the one behind her, then the bathroom.

   "There are just the three of us, Sheila," the Senator said.  "Were you
expecting someone else?"

   The blonde exhaled--with relief, evidently.  "No.  But I was afraid
there might be."

   "Judith," Ellsworth said to her, "Move Sheila back.  I want her standing
against the foot of our bed."

   "I'm not helpless," the blonde said.  "I can move." She stepped back two
paces, until the back of her skirt pressed against the bars.  "Is this
where you want me?"

   Ellsworth nodded.  "Excellent, Sheila.  Judith, fasten the handcuffs
about her ankles."

   Judith observed that the two handcuffs were all prepared.  Each handcuff
lay with one of its two manacles clamped about a bed leg, its other manacle
lying open on the carpet.

   Kneeling, Judith grasped one of Sheila's ankles and pulled it close to
one bed leg.  She handcuffed it to the bed leg; then pulled the girl's
other ankle and repeated the act with it.  The blonde's legs were spread so
wide apart that Judith hoped the girl wasn't uncomfortable.

   As she knelt between the blonde's legs, Judith felt tempted to glance
up. She was curious to see if, as she'd suspected, this young whore was
devoid of panties, but she didn't have the courage.  Her own nakedness made
her embarrassed enough, without displaying prurient interest in addition.

   "Why are you doing this?" the blonde asked, looking down at her.

   "I don't know, Dear," Judith responded, smiling up in response.  Even if
the blonde was a whore, she was younger than Judith.  It made her feel more
comfortable with the blonde.  She almost felt motherly toward her.

   Judith stood up.  Her nakedness bothered her, and it took an effort to
turn around and again face the Senator.  From past experience, however, she
knew he would want to direct things.  She waited, her hands at her sides.

   "Sheila," the Senator said, "You will call me Master.  I forgot to
mention this to you, Judith, but that means you as well.  Don't call me by
name.  From now on, you'll call me Master.  Do both of you understand?"

   "Yes, Master," the blonde replied.

   "I understand, Master," Judith said.

   His whims are certainly becoming strange.  Could someone have told him
about me and Bill?  Or the Gemini Society?  I can't imagine who.  This
`Master' thing hits close to home.  Bill and Steve used to have Phyllis and
me call them `Master'.  The Senator has investigators on his stroking list.
Could he have had someone investigate me and Bill?

   "Judith," Ellsworth said.

   "Yes, Master?"

   "Bring me the black cloth bag that you'll find in the bottom drawer of
my dresser."

   Judith complied.  She had to move two neatly folded white shirts to
retrieve the bulky bag.  When she lifted it, though, she suspected another
set of handcuffs, from both its weight and the sound of metal against metal
as she removed it from the drawer.

   Her guess turned out to be correct.

   "Turn around, and put your hands behind you," Ellsworth told her.

   While she stood with her back to him, the Senator removed her choker and
her bracelet and dropped them in the bag.  He clamped the handcuffs about
her wrists.

   Judith had long known about the Senator's handcuffs; they were no
novelty.  Sometimes he bound her to his bed, but never like this, never
behind her back.  He had four sets of them that he had gotten from one of
his FBI friends.  Using them all, sometimes Ellsworth bound her on her
back, with her hands and feet stretched out toward the four corners of his
bed, her wrists and ankles manacled to the uprights of his antique four
poster bed.

   That was usually when he had the urge to use his toys on her.  He would
tease her until her clit seemed rock-hard and she felt ready to explode. 
Then he would stop.  He wouldn't allow her to come.

   Instead, he got on top of her, in a sixty-nine position.  She dreaded
that, for Ellsworth never showed any concern for how uncomfortable it was
for her.  The first time he had done that she had gotten enormously
aroused, and she had had one of her mini-orgasms when he had started in on
using her.  But not any more.  It wasn't like getting whipped and then
having sex after getting turned on by it.  It was discomfort that lasted
too long.

   Inserting his organ in her open mouth, he would shove it in as far as it
would go, until she gagged on it and his belly pressed down on her face. 
Then he would use her mouth as if it were her cunt, and he would pump his
hips, piston-like, up and down, gagging her with every thrust, and causing
her eyes to fill with tears.

   She always felt a sense of relief when she heard his cry and felt him
stop, even though he kept it in her throat, and despite the spasms when it
jerked, that accentuated her gagging and her tears.

   Afterwards, when he'd released her, she would sit in his recliner.  She
spread her legs, supporting them on its arms.  While the Senator watched,
she used one of his vibrators.  She gave herself five or six orgasms, until
she had satisfied herself.

   These handcuffs were different.

   After he manacled Judith's wrists behind her back, Ellsworth withdrew a
collar from the bag.  Of supple leather, it had a series of rings hanging
from its circumference.  A ring larger than the others hung from its rear,
and a short chain with a snap hook at its end, hung from the large ring.

   "What's the collar for?" she asked.  Bill had several of them, but she
was surprised that the Senator had one.

   "You'll soon find out, my Dear," he replied, smiling.  "By the way,
please address me as I requested, Judith.  If you forget, I have a little
prompter in the bag, one that should help remind you to address me
properly."

   It was a short black whip with a leather handle.  The whip end was a
flexible leather strap the length and width of a twelve inch ruler.

   "Stand still," he told her.  He drew the collar about Judith's neck,
pulled it snug, and buckled it.

   "Raise your arms behind your back," he told her.  When she complied she
knew the purpose of the chain that dangled down her back.  The Senator
looped it under the short chain that linked her cuffs together and then
brought it up.  He pulled it until her wrists were uncomfortably high,
between her shoulderblades.  Then he connected the snaphook to a link in
the chain, securing the handcuffs and her wrists in their elevated
position.

   Judith was entirely helpless.

   My god, if he just touches me, I'll explode!  Maybe he's been reading
books on B&D.

   "There," he said.  "Now, each of you is ready.  We'll begin."

   He sat back down the the chair.  With one slippered foot, he pushed the
ottoman aside.  "Here is your place, Judith," he said.  He pointed to where
the stool had been.

   Judith felt her face grow hot.  She looked at the huge tent that his
erection produced in his shorts.

   Oh god.  He wants me to do that while the blonde watches!  Jesus, the
minute I get it in my mouth I'm liable to go off!

   Ellsworth spread his legs.  He unzipped his fly, opened it, and with
both hands, he pushed the cloth down the length of his organ.  He worked
the cloth under his testicles until they, as well as his rigid penis, were
completely exposed.

   "You heard me," the Senator said, giving her his steely glint.  "Kneel!"


   Feeling hot with a mix of humiliation and arousal, Judith obeyed.  She
went to her knees before his exposed genitals.

   He gave her a smile that seemed like that of a cat before a saucer of
milk.

   He spoke to them in his deep, gentlemanly voice, with its Southern
accent:

   "You both can see what the mere thought of seeing Sheila's bodily charms
does to me.  As Judith knows, when I'm once aroused, I never deny myself
satisfaction."

   He looked down at the brunette again.

   "Judith, you will provide me with that satisfaction.  While Sheila shows
me her body, you will suck my prick."



   CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Senator Continues his Abuse of Judith and Sheila

   The two men were gone now, and they had left Sheila alone with this
couple.  It was a great relief not to have been returned again to that
cabin with the four men, and her apprehension was nearly gone.  These two
didn't frighten her.  But they were a strange couple.

   A half-hour or so ago, when the two crewmen had brought her upstairs,
this brunette had opened the door, to greet them essentially in the naked
state she was in now.  All she wore then were shoes and stockings that
ended at her thighs and, above them, except for a bit of jewelry the young
woman had been naked.  As she was now, kneeling between the man's legs and
facing his exposed sex organs, the only difference was that her jewelry had
been replaced by a collar and handcuffs.

   Who are these two people?  They're not at all like Al and Ken.  They
both sound more cultured.  What does this couple have to do with the
island?

   The young woman was directly in front of Sheila.  She was so close, that
whenever Sheila glanced down between her wide-spread, stockinged legs, the
woman's naked buttocks met her eyes.  The brunette's handcuffed wrists were
up between her shoulderblades, held there by a taut chain to her collar. 
Her black-stockinged knees were her sole means of support and, to maintain
her balance with her hands behind her, the young woman had to keep her
body, from the neck down, motionless.

   The brunette leaned forward until her head was over his lap and she
lowered it.  She began moving her head, rhythmically, up and down.

   Ugh!  That's disgusting!  That man must be at least sixty!  She can't be
more than a few years older than I am, perhaps twenty-five.  Why is she
doing this?

   Despite trying to keep her body motionless, the brunette occasionally
lost her balance, but the old man always caught her, and kept her from
falling.

   Otherwise the man hardly noticed the brunette.  His attention, Sheila
could see, was entirely on herself.

   He was a distinguished-looking, massive, white-haired man.  Probably he
was once extremely handsome, and his features even now were attractive. 
His physique was also probably once Apollo-like, but now he was nearly
corpulent.  Sheila was embarrassed to be watching the woman degrade herself
in this manner.  But she felt a greater sense of repugnance that a man so
old would compel a young woman to do such a thing.

   Compulsion had to be involved.  Sheila couldn't imagine why the woman,
who was almost as young as herself and sounded intelligent and perceptive,
should otherwise obey the man so subserviently.

   He must have some power over her.  She could be a prostitute.  But she
seemed too reluctant to do what he wanted to be one.  Maybe she is one of
the girls who's been on the island and has been enslaved.

   The man saw her looking at him and returned her gaze.  He placed his
hands on the back of the brunette's head, his fingers in her hair.  He
pushed the young woman's head down, until all Sheila could see of it,
framed as it was by the white cctton of the man's shorts, was her hair. 
The girl gagged, and she squirmed.  Although her voice was too muffled to
be certain, the sounds she made had to be protests.

   The man grimaced; he moaned, and he closed his eyes.

   When he again opened them, he gave Sheila a smile.

   She felt too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

   "Your mouth feels exquisite, Judith," he said, looking down.

   Ellsworth wrapped his meaty hands around the girl's head.  His fingers
disappeared in her hair.  He moved her head up and down as if he was using
some inanimate object with which to masturbate.

   "Sheila," he said.  He didn't interrupt the action of his hands.

   "Y-Yes?" Sheila felt acutely embarrassed.

   "That isn't your proper response."

   "I'm sorry, Master."

   "Much better.  Open your blouse.  You're not wearing a brassiere, are
you?"

   "No, Master."

   "Good.  Show me your tits."

   Now I see why he handcuffed just my ankles.  He wants me to use my
hands--to undress.

   Sheila was proud of her breasts.  She knew that many men find large
breasts appealing.  Her embarrassment at watching the scene actually
dissipated as she unbuttoned her blouse and opened it.

   "Very nice," he said, staring.  He licked his lips..  "You're beautiful,
Sheila.  It will be a great pleasure fucking you."

   There it is; he's going to screw me.  Not thatI could do much to prevent
it if I tried.  He's so big!  Attempting to defend myself it would be
hopeless.  I'll submit to whatever he does to me.  I'll just get it over
with.

   Thank god I got that patch.  But I still don't understand why those four
men used me the way they did.  They never had normal intercourse with me.
Not once.

   "Play with them," he said.

   Now embarrassment returned.  Her face hot, she put her hands to her
breasts.  She tweaked her nipples, pinched them.  Flicked them with her
fingers.  They swelled and hardened.

   "Push them together," he said.

   She put her palms to their sides and squeezed them together.

   "Mmm!" he exclaimed; he wet his lips again.  It was evidently a habit he
had.  Eli never did that.

   "What wonderful cleavage.  I'll certainly have to tit-fuck you."

   His fingers were still about Judith's head, moving it slowly up and
down. He began to accelerate his motion.  Suddenly, he stopped, and he
emitted a moan.  He looked down at the girl.

   "I'm close, Judith," he said.  "When I come, I want you to drink it.."

   Judith abruptly raised her head.  She said, "What?  B-But Pres . . . 
I-I mean, Master!  I don't do that.  You know I don't!"

   Ellsworth gripped the back of her head with one hand.  He forced it back
down, so far that the girl again gagged.  With his free hand, he raised the
whip.  He struck twice, hard--first on one buttock, then on the other.  The
room resounded with two loud `crack!'s.

   With each blow, the brunette emitted a muffled cry, to Sheila an
unintelligible `Nnnf!' She jerked her hips from one side to the other, but
she only succeeded in losing her balance.  Ellsworth grasped her shoulders
before she could fall.

   "Perhaps not before, Judith," he responded coolly.  "But, you will now."


   "Sheila," he said, looking up; "Raise your skirt above your stockings.
Show me your cunt."

   Now Sheila's embarrassment returned.  While holding her breasts out for
this man to view wasn't the same as showing them off to Eli, it still
stimulated her.  With Eli, she knew that he would soon have his hands on
them, and she anticipated his fingers gripping her nipples, sending thrills
through her.  And she knew they would be followed by his mouth.  Even
though this old man wasn't Eli, she still felt pleasure holding them out
like this.

   Showing her genitals was different.  It didn't matter how much she
examined herself with her hand mirror, she always thought that they were
ugly!  Even when Eli licked her and sucked her clit, she only wanted him to
do it when it was dark.  She hated it when he left the lights on.  She was
seldom able to come then--only if the circumstances really turned her on.

   "Show me your cunt!" Ellsworth repeated.

   Ellsworth lifted the whip from the chair arm.  "If I have to repeat
myself once more, I'll use this on you."

   He added, "Just think about the position you're in, with those stocking
legs of yours wide apart.  I can't whip your buttocks; they're against the
bed.  Think about it.  I'll have to whip you where it will sting much more
than it would on your ass."

   "I'm sorry, Master," Sheila said, contritely.

   She released her breasts, and she lowered her hands to the hem of her
skirt.  She drew it up and then hesitated for a moment when it reached the
tops of her stockings.  She inhaled, gathered her nerve, exhaled.  She
pulled the hem up to her waist.

   My legs are spread so far!  God, my labia must be visible; they must be
gaping apart!

   The white-haired gentleman smiled.  "In your photos your muff looked
blonde.  Sometimes colors in photographs don't accurately reproduce color.
I'm pleased to see that yours did.  Pull your labia apart.  I don't suppose
that your clitoris is visible, but pull up its hood anyway."

   Blushing, Sheila did as he asked.  Conscious of his eyes watching, she
used the tips of her forefingers to spread her labia in front.

   "Not many women have gold fuzz on their labia.  Still, I like your pink
inner ones even more.  Pull up the hood."

   This felt strange, opening herself down there while he watched.  It gave
her a thrill.

   "Do you masturbate a lot?" he asked.

   "I, uh, some." Blushing.

   "Masturbate for me.  Give yourself an orgasm."

   Sheila felt awkward.  "I-I don't know if I can . . .  I mean, with you
watching."

   "Try anyway.  When you're ready to come, spread your labia as you're
doing now.  I want to watch your clitoris.  Understand?"

   "A-All right."

   Sheila spread her labia further, using her other fingers as well as her
index ones.  She stroked in an oval motion around the region of her hood,
without touching it.

   She was conscious of his eyes watching.  They were fixed on her hands.
As he watched, he moved Judith's head up and down, slowly raising it and
then quickly thrusting it into his lap.  Sheila heard the sounds of
gagging, but soon moans as well, which she couldn't understand.  In any
case, the man paid no attention.

   How can I masturbate?--I'm so dry!  I should wet my fingers, but I
can't. Not with him watching.

   "Oh fuck I'm going to come!" the man exclaimed.  He looked down,
gripping Judith's head.

   "Drink, you slut!"

   Sheila, wide-eyed, saw him clamp his hands on the back of Judith's head.
He rose out of his armchair, gripping it.  As he pulled Judith's
head--impaled as it was by his organ, with her lips at its base--her body
rose with it.  When he was on his feet, she was on her knees with her back
vertical.  Her buttocks sat on the backs of her pumps, turning them
sideways and twisting her ankles into what had to be uncomfortable
positions.

   Ellsworth's eyes were closed.  He held his abdomen thrust forward. 
Sheila could see virtually none of her face.  His white cotton shorts
covered most of it.  His exposed testicles dangled under her chin.

   His organ jerked.

   Judith a muffled cry that Sheila couldn't interpret but sounded like,
"Nng-nng!"

   Judith emitted a loud moan, one that continued so long that Sheila began
to wonder when it would end.  The brunette occasionally interrupted it with
an audible gulp, followed by its continuation.

   My god!  That sound she made must have lasted for a whole minute--or
more!  Why did she moan like that?  It couldn't have been an orgasm!  But,
what was it?

   * * *

   After his orgasm, Ellsworth didn't release Judith.  Instead, he sat back
down in his armchair, drawing her head back down with him.  He gripped it
with one beefy hand, and with the other he motioned to Sheila.

   "Your tits and cunt carried me away," he explained.  "Keep masturbating.
Be sure to warn me when you're about to come."

   He glanced down at Judith.  He raised his hand slightly, and Judith
raised her head the same distance.

   "Lick it clean," he said.

   God, he's disgusting!  How can he expect me to masturbate?  I'm not a
bit excited, seeing him degrade her like this.  I'll never get aroused, I'm
dry.  But, even if I wet my fingers, it would be hopeless.

   "Master?" Sheila asked.  She hoped that she wouldn't anger him.

   "What is it?" he replied, looking up.  Now he no longer seemed the
southern gentleman.  His eyes seemed to bore through her.

   "I can't do it, M-Master.  I'll never come like this.  I'm sorry--I-I
just can't get aroused."

   What will he do?  I hope he doesn't use that whip.  I could take it on
my buttocks, but not on my front!

   "We'll fix that," he said.

   He looked down at the brunette again.  "That was very pleasant, Judith,"
he said.  "You surprised me; you really did."

   He released her head and leaned back.

   Judith attempted to sit up but lost her balance.  Ellsworth quickly
caught her by the shoulders and supported her.

   Judith raised her head and looked at him.  a "I told you I didn't want
to--to do that," she said.  "You'll have to use the whip to make me do that
again!"

   He laughed.  "For a naked girl with her hands tied behind her, you're
certainly defiant, ," he replied, in a surprisingly mild tone.

   "I'll have a surprise in store for you.  Soon, you'll be surprised to
see what you'll be willing to do."

   He stood up.  Then, slipping his hands under Judith's armpits, he lifted
her to her feet.

   "Turn around," he told her.

   He grasped her about the waist, and he turned her until she faced
Sheila.

   God I'm embarrassed!  Still, Judith must be much more ashamed.  How
could he do that to her?  Especially with me watching!

   I wonder if I should keep holding my skirt up?  I feel foolish standing
and holding it like this.  I sure don't want to anger him.

   He seemed to have a sadistic streak in him.  For whatever reason, he was
determined to humiliate Judith.  Sheila had no intention of getting in his
bad graces.

   "Judith," Ellsworth said; "Sheila is having difficulty becoming aroused.
That's unfortunate.  However, I have a remedy for that.

   "Your mouth did very well servicing my penis."

   His smile looked replete with hypocrisy.  "Let's use it to service
Sheila's cunt."

   "Get down on your knees again, Judith.  Sheila, please be so good as to
hold your skirt up for her.  Since she doesn't have the use of her hands,
you may have to spread those fur- covered lips for her."

   To Sheila, the brunette looked angry.  Judith didn't kneel.  She
half-turned away from Sheila to look up at him.

   "What you made me do was disgusting.  Now you want me to act lesbian.  I
won't.  You'll have to make me!"

   "That's easily done," he said, shrugging.

   The footstool was close to his feet.  He grasped Judith by the waist
with his two thick hands and bodily lay her with her belly over the stool.
With her hands behind her, it was unnecessary to hold her down as he
reached back to the chair arm to retrieve the whip.

   Ellsworth brought the whip across Judith's buttocks, hard.  The young
woman emitted a loud "Ow!" and her feet rose off the carpet.  She twisted
on the ottoman, looking back at him but there was little she was capable of
to dodge his blows, and he brought it across her buttocks again.

   He struck her again and again.

   To Sheila's puzzlement, the brunette's cries changed in tone as he
whipped her.  Surely her buttocks had to be getting increasingly sore, but
instead of the "Ow!"s of her first few cries, they became "Oh!"s.  Sheila
looked down, and it was evident that Judith's buttocks were a rose pink.

   "All right!" she finally cried.  "I'll do what you want."

   "Oh your knees, slut!" Ellsworth ordered.

   He grasped a fistful of her hair, and he pulled her by it to her feet.
He shoved her toward Sheila.  She nearly fell, and Sheila had quickly raise
her hands to catch the brunette.  Inadvertantly, one hand squashed Judith's
bare breast, but her other arm went around the girl and caught her.

   "Y-Yes, Master," Judith stammered.

   She awkwardly went again to her stockinged knees between Sheila's
spread--and similarly stockinged--legs.

   "Raise you skirt higher," Ellsworth said.  Sheila obeyed, feeling
herself blush.

   Something touched her labia, lightly.  It tickled, but Sheila knew the
touch of a tongue when she felt it.

   The tickling continued, and moved about.  Sheila was too embarrassed to
look down.  She felt it insinuating between her outer labia, and then
licking her inner ones.  The tongue approached her clit but avoided it.  It
swept up the length of her vulva, parting her inner lips like waves swept
aside by a ship.  But it avoided her clit.

   "Stand up, Judith," she heard the man say.  "Kiss her."

   Sheila watched as Judith, awkward without the use of her arms, struggled
to her feet.  The two young women were virtually the same height it took no
raising or lowering of her chin when she put her lips to Sheila's.  They
felt warm, Sheila thought.  The girl's tongue forced her lips apart, and it
went between her teeth.  It touched the roof of her mouth and stroked
forward and back.  It licked her own tongue and, without consciously
deciding to, she moved her own tongue to lick Judith's.  It penetrated
Judith's lips.  Her nostrils caught the scent of semen.  Then she tasted
lipstick, but she knew it wasn't her own.

   It must be Judith's.  Mine is long gone.  I had none left after blowing
those four men.

   Judith withdrew her mouth.  Sheila watched the girl's head descend; her
face went between the lapels of her open blouse.  Sheila felt a mouth on
her nipple.  The touch was like an electric shock.  She heard herself emit
an "Oh!".

   Judith nibbled it Sheila felt it harden.  Judith sucked it.  Her mouth
moved to the other nipple.  She swept her tongue up and down over it until
it was hard.  Then she pursed her lips about it and sucked.

   Sheila's face grew hot.  Oh my god.  I'm getting turned on.

   Her heart raced.  She glanced toward Ellsworth.  He was back in his
chair, watching.  His penis projected out from his open shorts.  It was
hard, and bobbed in the air.

   When Ellsworth noticed Sheila's eyes on him, he smiled.  He encircled
the shaft with a hand.  Keeping his gaze on her, he began pumping it.

   Judith went to her knees again, and Sheila felt her mouth.  Teeth pulled
her outer labia and nibbled them.  She felt the tongue again.  It slithered
slowly up her vulva.  The sensation was no longer of tickling.

   Oh god, my clit is hard!

   The tongue touched her erect knob, very lightly.  Thrills shot up her
body.  The tongue teased her swollen organ with several light
brush-strokes, then avoided it.

   Judith pulled her head back.  Sheila felt the girl's eyes on her.

   Sheila, her face hot, couldn't look down.

   Don't stop don't stop!

   "Master, she's getting excited."

   "I'm pleased, Judith.  Continue."

   Sheila saw him reach again into his white shorts.  His hand drew out his
balls again, below his exposed and rigid penis.  He lay them exposed, on
his shorts.  His eyes remained on her the entire time.  He again grasped
his organ and began pumping it.

   "When she's close," he said, "Stop.  I'll make her stew a little."

   Judith avoided her clit.  Sheila felt that the slightest touch of the
brunette's tongue on it would send her into space.  Before realizing it,
she was thrusting her hips forward.  Sometimes she caught Judith unawares,
and she swept her vulva over the girl's face.

   Sheila glanced over Judith's back at Ellsworth.  His eyes were on her
face, but sometimes he lowered them to look at the brunette.  Each time
Sheila looked at him the hand gripping his erect organ was pumping it more
rapidly.  She looked down and observed that Judith's eyes were closed.  Her
head was bent back and what Sheila could see of her face glistened. 
Sheila's nostrils filled with the scent of her own arousal.

   Oh, god I want to come!  If I can just move faster--I'll ram my clit
against her mouth!

   Sheila no longer cared what they thought of her.

   Abruptly, Judith pulled her mouth off.  "I think she's close," she said.
A drop of fluid dangled from her chin.

   "How is her clit?"

   "Like a rock!"

   He smiled.  "Does it look like a rock or feel like one?"

   As he spoke Ellsworth continued to pump the skin of his erect organ up
and down, his hand moving with machine gun rapidity.  His fist struck the
cotton of his shorts with force sufficient for Sheila to hear its
`slap-slap-slap-slap!'

   The forefinger and thumb of his other hand encircled the skin above his
balls.  He held them out for the women to view.  He had twisted them until
the skin about them was taut and shiny.  They resembled a pair of pink
balloons that were stretched nearly to the bursting point by a youngster
sitting upon them.

   "Her clit looks like a rock and feels like one, both."

   Sheila's clit couldn't stand all this teasing!  She felt a powerful urge
to masturbate.  After all, it's what he had told her to do.  But, he was so
weird.  He might use the whip on her if she attempted to put her hands to
her genitals again before he told her to.

   I noticed that, for a while, the brunette has gotten away without
calling him `Master'.  He hasn't whipped her for that.

   Ellsworth stood up.  He approached, continuing to fondle his exposed
genitals.

   Judith turned her head, and she looked up at him.  "Are you going to
tell her to finger- fuck herself now?"

   "I've gotten too horny.  Watching the two of you makes me want something
more active."

   Judith raised her eyebrows.  "After the blowjob I just gave you?"

   He nodded.  "This blonde really turns me on."

   Isn't he going to let me come?!  Oh, Jesus!

   "Get behind me," Ellsworth said.

   "Behind you?" Judith asked.  She looked puzzled.

   "You heard me!"

   Judith struggled up again.  The moment she did, Ellsworth stood before
Sheila.  He towered over her.

   Oh my god he's big.  He's like that lineman friend of Eli.  He must be
six-five or six-six!

   He was still holding his genitals.  "Where would you like my cock?" he
asked, smiling down at her.  "In your mouth, your cunt, or your ass?"

   She flushed.

   What should I tell him?  He's going to screw me no matter what I say.  I
don't want him to whip me as well, by irritating him.

   "Do I have a choice, Master?"

   He nodded.  "Eventually I'll fuck you all three ways.  And I'll
certainly fuck you between the tits.  But not right now.  Where would you
like my prick?"

   "In my mouth."

   What they then did seemed like one right out of a Gemini party that Bill
had experienced in California.  Ellsworth had her remove her blouse and
skirt and her shoes, but he told her to leave on her stockings.  It left
her `dressed' just like the brunette.

   The man temporarily unbound the brunette's arms.  With Sheila's aid,
Ellsworth tied the brunette down on his double bed, on her back.  He didn't
bind her as Sheila expected, lengthwise on the bed, but across it. 
Judith's feet hung over the far side.  Her head was nearly off it on the
near side.  The two of them tied her wrists and ankles to the four corners
of the bed, spread-eagling her.

   "Sit on her face," he told Sheila, "with your back to the bed and your
feet on the carpet.  If you want to come, ask Judith to suck you off.  If
she won't, then hold her head and fuck her face until you come."

   Sheila backed against the side of the bed and spread her legs.  She
straddled the brunette's head.  She tried not to put her weight on Judith's
head, but the attempt angered Ellsworth.  He stood before her and, before
she knew it he swung the whip horizontally across both her breasts striking
and indenting them both.  It caused them to quiver like moldings of gelatin
dropped to the floor.  The pain was excruciating.

   "Ow!" she cried, bursting into tears.

   "I told you to sit!" he said.

   Shaking, and wiping her cheeks, Sheila complied.  She moved all her
weight onto the brunette's head.  She could feel her labia spread and
engulf Judith's face.

   Without Sheila having to say a word, she felt Judith's lips enclose her
clit.

   Oh god--this is heavenly!

   Ellsworth didn't bother to remove his shorts.  Continuing to grip his
rigid organ in one hand and holding his twisted balls in the other, he
stood before Sheila.  Her position on Judith's head raised her torso just
sufficiently so her lips were in line with his penis.

   "You probably couldn't observe Judith's technique," Ellsworth said;
"but, for your information, she gives excellent head.  If you aren't as
proficient as she, I'll have you trained.  Several men on the island are
noted for their impressive cocks.  I'll have them instruct you.  Once your
jaws accommodate themselves to satisfying large diameter organs, you'll be
able to please any man.  Moreover, when these men are done, you'll be a
celebrity.  With them as references, every man there will be after you."

   "Now," Ellsworth said; "Demonstrate your best blowjob."

   Standing before her, he removed his hands from his penis and testicles.
He allowed the former to sag slightly and the latter to dangle as the two
protruded from his open fly.

   Sheila reached up with one hand to grasp his penis by the base.  Opening
her mouth, she took the head between her teeth.

   Thank goodness this isn't in proportion to his physique.  It would be as
big as Jerry's.  It might feel great in my cunt, but there's no way I could
have gotten it in my mouth!

   She was gratified that, unlike his actions with Judith, he didn't pull
her head down onto him.  He stood motionless, watching her.

   I'd better give him a good one; this old man has a sadistic streak.  I
wouldn't like to feel that whip on my breasts again.  It's incredible how
he hurt both of them with one blow.

   I'll give him a bj like I gave Eli; he ought to love that!

   She began by lightly pumping the skin from the base of the shaft while
holding the head in her mouth.  She wet it with saliva and licked the
underside of the head, lapping up and down over the slit.

   Eli told me that he was most sensitive around the slit.  I guess that's
why he always drove it in so hard.  Lucky for me his cock wasn't too long.
It never hit my uterus.

   She took his balls in her free hand and twisted them.

   I'd better get the skin tight like he did before it gets all wrinkly and
insensitive.

   When she had them tight in the sack, she withdrew her mouth from his
cock to give them some attention.  She swept her tongue over them, intent
on covering every millimeter of the taut skin.  She lowered and turned her
head.  Using the tip of her tongue, she flicked and jabbed their sensitive
undersides, and between the globes.  Gripping the skin above them with
encircling fingers and thumb so they dangled, she lapped them, making them
swing back and forth, pendulum-like.

   Ellsworth moaned.  His legs shook, and he staggered.  Sheila looked up.
His eyes had closed.

   She put her mouth back on the shaft.  She commenced rocking, holding her
mouth so the head slid forward and back on her tongue.  Unintentionally,
the motion pressed her clit between Judith's teeth.

   Her clit was getting more and more excited.  Judith's lips around it
kept up a delicate but continuous sucking.  She was again ready to take
off. This added turn-on of having a cock stuffed in her mouth was going to
make her first orgasm an explosion!

   Jesus!  I'm going to come all over Judith's face if this keeps up.  Her
chin, or whatever it is that I'm pressing down on, is stimulating the hell
out of my urethral sponge.  God, I'll be really embarrassed if I ejaculate
on her!

   Ellsworth was moaning continuously.

   Occasionally Sheila looked up at him.  His face was distorted in a
grimace that was familiar to her.  Every guy's countenance transformed
something like that when she gave a really fat blowjob!

   Sometimes Ellsworth opened his eyes, but not often.

   He's concentrating on how good his cock feels in my mouth.

   "Jesus, Sheila," he exclaimed, opening his eyes, "You could give
lessons!"

   Sheila smiled to herself.  She accelerated her rocking motions.  She
took the head deep into the back of her mouth, stopping just before it
gagged her.

   Before she expected it, Ellsworth emitted a loud yell, and semen doused
her tongue.  He cried, "Fuck!  Fuck!  Swallow it, bitch!"

   Judith evidently heard him also.  Her tongue began to vigorously lap
Sheila's clit, and her lips alternately sucked it in between her teeth and
blew it out.

   Sheila's own orgasm overwhelmed her.  She closed her eyes and, as the
waves coursed through her she yearned to yell, but her full mouth made that
impossible .  It was as powerful as any she'd ever had.

   Oh Christ--I'm having a double orgasm, clitoral and vaginal!  It feels
like I'm peeing-- poor Judith--I'm squirting all over her face!

   After the first taste of fluid on her tongue, Sheila pulled her mouth
from his organ.  She grasped the shaft in her hand and held it an inch from
her lips.  The next spurt doused her cheek, but then she presse the head
down on her outthrust tongue, aimed between her parted lips.

   All the subsequent squirts arced to the back of her mouth where, with
her eyes closed, she gulped them down.



   CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Janine & Holly in Training, Part Two

   Holding her hand over her mouth, Holly sat beside Nina on the sofa.  She
looked over at the table.  Kelly was leaning over the bound Janine.

   Kelly put her face down close to the brunette's.  She said, "What's my
name?"

   "Uh, Kelly," Janine responded.  "I mean Mistress Kelly."

   "That's better.  How old are you, Janine?"

   "Twenty-two. . .  Mistress Kelly."

   "I knew you were older than me!  I'm eighteen.  That's funny, I'm not as
old as you but I'm your teacher.  Don't you think that's funny, Janine?"

   "Yes, Mistress Kelly.  Very funny."

   Crane thought he detected a strong portion of sarcasm in the girl's
response.  He interrupted.  "Kelly, I don't think Janine is serious about
her instruction.  Do you?"

   "No, Master.  I think she needs more incentive."

   Kelly motioned to the guards, who had been watching from the bar. 
"Miguel, Jos,, would one of you escort Holly here?  Please tie her to the
table next to the one that Janine is on."

   "I'll do it, Kelly," Miguel responded.  Holly was beside Nina on the
sofa.  She seemed preoccupied with opening her jaws to insert fingers
between her teeth and rearrange the wad in her mouth.  Miguel walked over
to her.  He reached down and grasped her hand.  Holly looked up.

   "Follow me?" he asked, smiling down at her.  Unlike Janine, she nodded
and tried to smile in reply.  She failed because of her stuffed mouth, but
she obediently stood up, and she allowed him to lead her to a table close
to Janine's.

   At the table he told her, "Bend over.".  Blushing, she complied.  He
bound her hands as he had the brunette's.  When he was finished she was
bent at the hips as Janine was, her legs straight down to the floor and her
body straight out on the table.  Her D-cup breasts were squashed under her.


   "Shall I undo Janine now?" Kelly asked, looking at Crane.  "For lesson
Two?"

   A little sex training of Janine will get me all the more horny for
tonight.

   Crane replied, "Yes.  I'll get an armchair for her."

   Crane stood up.  He pulled a wide-armed recliner over the carpet until
it was between the sofa on which Nina sat and his own armchair.  Rita and
the three men with her were watching.  They must have realized that he was
intending to move Janine to the chair, because they immediately
repositioned their own chairs.

   Crane went to Janine and knelt down behind her.  He raised each foot in
turn to remove the ring of black nylon from about her ankles.  He stuffed
them in a pocket of his jeans.  Then he undid Janine's bonds and led her
toward the recliner.

   As she reluctantly followed, she asked him, "Aren't you interested in
knowing who I am?"

   "Learn to speak when you're told to," he responded.  He turned her and
shoved her backward.  She fell onto the armchair.

   "God you're uncivilized!" she exclaimed.  "Don't you know who I am?"

   Crane had what he sometimes thought was a pathological distaste for
having a person's story imposed upon him.  Even though he planned to
interrogate Janine, her offer of gratis information annoyed him.

   "No," he replied.  "Nor do I care."

   "Well, you should," she persisted.  "I'm the daughter of the French
Consul in New York!  Everyone must be looking for me.  You could still let
us go, you know.  Holly and I don't know for sure where this is.  Of
course, I think this is Colombia, but I'm not sure.  Have you notified my
parents that you're holding me?  They aren't millionaires, you know."

   I don't know if she's trying to intimidate me, impress me, or annoy me.
In any case, she's interesting.  Brainy.  But, foolish.

   "Why should I notify your parents?"

   "For ransom.  Isn't that why you kidnapped us?"

   Ransom certainly seems a plausible reason, even a probable one.  But not
if she considered the clients she's seen here, and the collars on Kelly and
Nina.  She's not thinking.

   "Janine," Crane said; "Use the recliner.  Lean back."

   She blushed.  "You know very well why I won't.  You have my panties in
your pocket.  Even if I were wearing them, I wouldn't lie back.  I felt
practically naked when that's all I had on under this skirt."

   "Well," Crane said, "your next lesson is going to require that you do
much more than that."

   "Lesson?  You're acting crazy again.  Like this `Master' silliness."

   "Lesson Two begins now," he said.

   "Lesson!" she exclaimed, mocking.  "Well, then, Master, just what will
you teach me?"

   "You want to know what you'll be taught?" he responded, mildly.  "It's
simple enough--to masturbate in public."

   "W-What?" Her face turned pink.

   "Pull up your skirt," he told her.

   "Spread your legs so your audience has an unobstructed view.  Then,
support your legs on the chair arms.  Lean back in the recliner. 
Finger-fuck yourself."

   Blushing, she said, "I won't even listen to you."

   "I haven't yet disciplined you for not addressing me properly.  That's
simply because teaching you this is more important.  Punishing you for
improperly addressing me will come later.Now, lie back and play with
yourself."

   "You are crazy, aren't you?  I'm not listening to anything else you
say!"

   "You don't think a whipping will persuade you to follow my order?"

   Her smile bordered on a sneer.  "Whip me until you draw blood for all I
care.  I'll never do what you said."

   "Who said `whip you'?"

   "What?" She looked puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

   Crane, with a motion of his head, indicated the girl bound to the table.
"Your friend Holly is the one we'll whip."

   Putting her hand in front of her mouth, Janine exclaimed, "Oh, no! 
You're not serious!  You wouldn't do that!"

   "Not only would I," Crane responded; "but you have just sixty seconds to
begin playing with yourself.  After that, Kelly will begin whipping your
friend Holly's ass."

   * * *

   Nina turned to Kelly, who was sitting beside her on the sofa, but on its
arm, not a cushion.  "It looks like Crane is giving you all the work today,
Kelly."

   Kelly laughed.  "I don't consider it work.  Do you?"

   Crane called over to them.  "Kelly, " he said, "I want you to use the
cat for this, not my belt."

   Kelly nodded.  "O.K., Master Crane.  I need practice using a cat
anyway." She turned to Nina.  "Can I borrow your cat, Nina?"

   Nina reached down into her bag.  "Sure, Kelly," she responded.  "But you
should really take a walk to the shed and get a supply of your own."

   She handed the whip to Kelly, who promptly walked with it to the table
where Holly was bound.  Kelly stood behind the girl.

   Crane watched her grip the hem of Holly's skirt.  She pulled it up.  Of
course, the girl was naked under the skirt, so the action bared the girl's
buttocks and genitals.  She raised the whip.

   If it were Nina she'd have fingered Holly, to embarrass her more.  Well,
I won't say anything now.  I'll ask Nina to give her a few pointers.  I
don't need another trainer who has no recourse except to the whip.

   He saw Kelly look about the room, apparently to be sure everyone was
watching.  Kelly turned the whip, to hold it as if it were a pen she was
about to write something with on Holly's bare back.  Kelly trailed its
dangling plastic balls down the base of Holly's spine, then further.  She
drew them slowly between Holly's buttocks and onto her pudenda.

   That's better.  Good for Kelly.

   At the contact, Holly suddenly jerked her hips against the table.  She
emitted an `Nnn!' sound.  Whether the sound was of surprise or of protest,
it was too muffled to tell.

   Crane glanced at his watch.  "Thirty seconds.  Thirty to go, Kelly. 
I'll tell you when to start whipping her."

   Janine had still not leaned back in the recliner.  She was staring down
between her thighs.  Her hands gripped the hem of her skirt, which she'd
drawn up to her groin.

   "Oh god!" she exclaimed.  "I can't do this.  I can't!"

   Kelly was stroking the cat up and down, lightly, over Holly's
fur-covered outer labia.  The tiny balls bounced and danced on the flesh,
and Holly began twisting her hips, trying to avoid the contact.  She
uttered more muffled sounds that Nina supposed were protests.  Her face was
pink with embarrassment.

   "Time Kelly!" he said.

   "Can I whip her now?"

   "Certainly."

   Kelly was tentative at first.  She brought the cat across Holly's ass
without enough force to strike it in just one area.  The tails scattered
broadly over her rear, with one or two landing on her labia.  She jumped,
however, and she emitted a louder protest than previously.

   Crane looked down at Janine.  Her fingers still gripped her skirt,
holding it partway up, but she was looking over at Holly.

   Crane said, "Kelly, you'll have to do better than that.  Janine here
needs encouragement."

   "All right, Master Crane." She bent down over Holly and told the girl,
"This is because your friend isn't cooperating."

   Kelly straightened up and drew her arm back.  She brought the whip
across the girl's thighs rather than on her buttocks, in a hard, vicious
blow.  It struck below Holly's ass, across her labia as well as her thighs.
Several of the plastic balls penetrated between the furry outer lips.

   Holly's feet shot out from under her, and her body slid forward across
the table.  The girl emitted what was doubtless a shriek.  Muffled though
it was, everyone in the room heard her `Mmmmff!!' Her head hung over the
far edge of the table, and Kelly had to pull her back by the waist, until
her feet were again on the carpet.

   Tears ran down her cheeks, and Crane could see she was sobbing although
he could barely hear her.

   Janine seemed frozen in her chair.  She was nervously gnawing her lower
lip, looking from Holly to her lap, her hand gripping the hem of her skirt.


   Kelly didn't wait for Holly's muffled sobs to cease.  She aimed and
again brought the whip across the girl's thighs; this time so that
virtually all the plastic bearings struck her pudenda.  A countless number
penetrated the outer furry ones to impact the sensitive inner ones.

   Holly's scream was muffled, as the previous one had been, but was louder
than the previous one.  The entire audience heard her loud `Mmmmff!!'. 
This time, Kelly held the girl's shoulder with her free hand.  Instead of
landing flat out on top of the table, her hips thrust forward at the blow,
and her thighs struck hard against the table edge.

   Besides the tears running down her cheeks, her sounds of sobbing were
audible in spite of the gag.  In her distress, some of the black nylon had
come loose from between her teeth, and an elastic loop dangled from her
lips to her chin.

   "Oh, stop it, please!" Janine said from the recliner.  She wiped tears
from her eyes with her palms.  "I'll do what you want."

   "We'll see," Crane said.  "Wait a moment, Kelly.  Hold up with the whip
until we see if Janine means it."

   "I do," Janine said.

   She parted her legs.  She kept her eyes down.  She seemed too
embarrassed to meet anyone's eyes, and she kept them down as she moved her
thighs onto the arms of the chair.  She spread them so that her legs, from
the knees down, dangled over the sides.  Blushing intensely, she drew up
the hem of her skirt to her waist.

   Her muff was a jet black triangle.  Crane thought she must trim it; it
looked too well- formed.  Janine hesitated a moment; then she inserted her
forefingers between her labia and spread them.

   "Push back the recliner!" he ordered; "When you sit up like that, how do
you expect anyone to see your cunt?!"

   Janine reddened again.  She pressed her lips together, perhaps in an
effort not to cry.  Or, perhaps to suppress some retort.

   She gripped the chair arms and pushed back.  The chair back abruptly
fell behind her, and she fell with it, to lie prone.  Her hips had been
thrust up by the chair seat.  Her genitals were in plain view to everyone.

   "That's better," Crane said.  "Now, finger-fuck yourself.  Don't hide
what you're doing, or Kelly will resume disciplining your blonde friend. 
Show everyone how you masturbate."

   "Oh, please!" she exclaimed, flushing.  "Don't talk like that."

   "Be sure to make yourself come," Crane added.  "You'll keep doing this
until you have an orgasm.  When you're about to have one, tell me.  I'll
put a finger on your clit.  I'm not going to let you fake an orgasm."

   Everyone watched as Janine moved her fingertips about in her vulva.  She
spread her inner labia about, and inserted fingers in her vagina.

   She began crying.  "I-I can't come like this.  I'm . . .  I'm just not
excited.  I'm sorry.  I'm trying, but . . ."

   Crane bent over her chair.  He put his forefinger between her legs.

   "You're dry," he said.  "Stick your fingers in your mouth.  Wet your
cunt with saliva."

   Red-faced, Janine put her fingers to her lips and wet them.  Crane
continued to urge her until her labia glistened with saliva.  Then, looking
down, she began moving her fingertips about in her vulva, slowly drawing
them in an oval, spreading her inner lips as they moved.  She avoided the
hood to her clitoris for a long time, but she periodically dipped first
one, and then two, and finally three fingers in her vagina.

   "Master Crane, may I speak?" Nina called from the sofa.

   "Yes, Nina.  What is it?"

   "Um, a lot of new girls have this problem.  We usually cheat a bit by
getting them turned on first.  You know, like with a vibrator.  If we have
the time, sometimes we get a slave.  Of either sex; my own preference is
for a male.  I have him give her a tongue job.  Then we let her continue on
her own.  It's a bit like starting a stove burner with a pilot light."

   Crane smiled at the simile.  "It's a fine idea, Nina.  I have the time;
what's your preference?"

   "I have a vibrator--two, actually--in my bag.  That's the easiest way to
turn her on."

   * * *

   "Oh god!" Janine exclaimed She was holding her hands over her face, too
embarrassed to look at anyone.  She lay back in the recliner, with her hips
the highest part of her body, her legs spread and supported on the arms. 
Nina was kneeling on the raised foot of the chair, holding the Magic Wand
to Janine's vulva.  The Rabbit was working away in Janine's vagina.

   "Jesus, Master Crane!" Nina said.  "Her clit is pretty fucking big!"

   "Already?" Crane asked.  "Take the vibrator away so I can take a look."

   He bent over the chair and grasped Janine's outer labia, pulling them
wider apart.

   "Oooh!" Janine said.

   Crane smiled.  The girl's clitoris was indeed large; nearly the size of
his thumb.  "You must masturbate a lot," he said to Janine.

   "Oh please!" she exclaimed.  "Don't say that!"

   "Are you close to an orgasm?" he asked.

   "I-I think so," she stammered.

   "Stop the Wand," he told Nina.  "And take out the Rabbit.  She's liable
to come any second."

   Nina took the vibrators back to the sofa and her bag.

   Janine lay as she had been while Nina was applying the toys, with her
hands over her face.  Crane reached down.  He slipped his forefinger into
her vulva.

   "Oh!" Janine said.  She took her hands away and looked up at Crane. 
"W-What are you doing?"

   "Seeing how juicy you are." He withdrew his finger.  "Here.  Lick it
off." His finger glistened and a droplet hung from his fingertip.

   "Oh, no--please!" she exclaimed, her face red.  She turned her head
aside.

   "Whenever you're disobedient," he told her, "Holly will be disciplined
in your place.  Kelly!" he called.

   "Yes, Master?"

   "Discipline Holly once more."

   "Oh no!  Don't!" Janine cried.  "Wait--I'll do it."

   She pulled herself up on the recliner, blushing.  She grasped Crane's
hand.  She held it before her face.  She extended her tongue, and she
licked his dripping forefinger.  When she had finished, until only her
saliva remained on it.

   "Good," Crane said.  "You're learning.  Now finish masturbating. 
Remember to warn me when you're about to come."

   He went back to his armchair and seated himself.

   Janine seemed to have lost her defiance.  She drew up her skirt again
but this time she fixed it in place by tucking the hem into its waist.  She
still avoided looking at any of her audience, instead keeping her head down
as she put her hands between her thighs.  Her forefingers went to work, and
soon she closed her eyes.  She emitted a long sigh, and she leaned back, he
fingers continuing to stroke, moving her labia aside as one forefinger
began moving from side to side over her now exposed and large clitoris.

   Janine let out a deep breath, and her other hand moved further down. 
Fingers disappeared, and her hand began to move foreward and back.

   Finger-fucking herself with one hand and working on her clit with the
other.

   Crane stood up, and he returned to her chair.  "Stop what you're doing
and get up," he told her.

   "W-What?" she responded, looking up.  "Stop?"

   "Yes, and get out of the chair."

   Crane grasped her arm, and he helped her from the recliner.

   He saw that she was about to straighten her skirt, removing the hem from
its waist and he told her, "Leave it as it is.  Come with me."

   He grasped her hand in his.  He smiled feeling her sticky fingers, and
he led her to the table where Rita and her three male co-client companions
were sitting.

   "Janine is going to give you a command performance," he told them. 
"Janine, continue playing with yourself for this select audience."

   The brunette blushed again, and Crane thought she was about to object.
Instead, she asked, "Do-Do you want me to come?"

   "Yes."

   Standing with her legs apart, Janine fingered herself.  She closed her
eyes almost immediately.  Apparently she'd lost much of her reluctance, for
her fingers worked at her clitoris and vagina without hesitation.

   After a few minutes, one of the men at the table stood up.  He
unbuttoned her blouse.  The interruption caused Janine to open her eyes. 
He left her blouse undone with her breasts exposed, and he returned to his
seat.  Janine again closed her eyes.

   Janine began to moan.  Her hands began to move faster, and she had two
fingers upon her clit, straddling it, working from side to side.

   She opened her eyes.  "I'm close, Master," she said.

   Crane reached between her legs.  He touched her swollen knob as lightly
as he could, but that was evidently enough to send Janine over the edge,
and she emitted a loud moan.  He felt her spasms immediately.  He gently
stroked her organ, until she shuddered, and he removed his hand.



   CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Captives Arrive on the Island

   After a wait of over an hour, during which sounds on the ship
diminished, the door was unbolted and two guards, each wearing a tan
uniform, appeared in the doorway.

   "We're going ashore now," one of the guards told them.  "None of you
speak unless a Master or a guard orders you to.  Follow me."

   Sheila immediately stepped to the front, and she followed him out the
door.

   I'll get right behind him.  If I'm up front I may be able to observe
things that people behind me won't be able to.

   Sheila followed the man, who was black-haired and heavily tanned, with a
mustache.  He appeared young, possibly no older than she.  He and the other
guards looked Mexican, or at least like actors whom she'd seen play
Mexicans in movies. .  She noticed, that although he carried no revolver,
he did have a device in his belt which resembled a policeman's
truncheon--except that the end opposite the plastic handle looked metallic.
She and the other captives followed him up three flights of narrow,
railinged stairs that were so separated that Sheila was forced to lift her
feet high at each step

   Oh god, what a mistake it was, to get in front.  Without my panties on,
I'm displaying everything with every step!

   Her face felt on fire when the group finally stood on the upper deck. 
She felt so embarrassed that she didn't want to look back at the captives
who had followed her.

   A moment later Edgar was at her side.  He whispered, "I tried to ask
about you, but the few times a guard appeared, he wouldn't say a thing.  He
wouldn't even tell me if you were on the ship."

   Looking around wasn't easy.  After the dimness of the cabin the sunlight
was blinding, and they were forced to squint just to see the white sand of
a beach a few hundred yards away.

   Sheila led the group, following the guard down a long ramp.  It led from
the deck to a pier that stood high out of the water on concrete pillars.

   Anyway, by being in front I'll see more of the island.

   When they reached the beach their eyes had partially adjusted to the
sunlight, and they saw that the wood of the pier connected to a long
boardwalk that extended to the left and right, paralleling the shoreline
and beach.  The guard turned to the right, and the group followed.

   Because of the sun's heat, Sheila felt grateful for the lightness of her
garments.  After several minutes they reached a grove of trees where the
boardwalk ended.

   Sitting in the shade in plastic chairs and sipping drinks were about a
dozen men and three women, all elegantly dressed in tropical wear, the men
in white.  Two of the women, a blonde and a brunette, Sheila guessed were
in their forties.  Both wore diaphenous evening gowns as transparent as the
captives' garments.  Although she was afraid to stare, Sheila managed to
examine the brunette from the corner of her eyes.  She couldn't perceive
anything under the woman's thin blue outerwear, but she was a little too
far from the woman to be certain.

   The gowned blonde woman was arrayed in an excess of jewelry and wore a
scarlet gown.  The brunette, who was attired in a tasteful sky blue gown,
must have each been voluptuous when younger.  Her figure was still
attractive but her abdomen and hips had probably acquired more girth than
she wanted.

   The younger woman was a trim redhead with a pretty face and an
attractive, slender, schoolgirlish figure.  She wore a white miniskirt that
displayed her fine legs, a white halter that contained apparently fine
breasts, ones that probably took B-cup brassieres when she wore them, and
sandals.

   Despite the prisoners having being warned not to talk, Edgar risked a
whispered, "Rich.".

   Sheila gave him a serruptitious nod.

   After the group of prisoners were halted, one of the men in white, a
tall, muscular man with a hawk-nose and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, got up
from his chair.  He turned to face his well-dressed companions and asked,
"What do you think of them?"

   They took their time.  One of the other men stood and approached the
boardwalk.  He examined Sheila first, looking her up and down; then he
examined the other women and girls, scanning each figure leisurely. 
Finally he smiled and said, "You've outdone yourself, Crane.  This bunch is
fantastic."

   "For once, John, I agree with you, the redhead said.  Crane, you're to
be congratulated.  These girls are model material."

   John said, "Almost every one could be a Playboy centerfold.  Where the
fuck did you find them?"

   The tall man smiled.  "That has to be a trade secret, John.  All I can
say is it was an involved operation acquiring them.  And expensive.

   "Remember that during the bidding.  For those attending an auction for
the first time, I'll inform you now that the starting figure is ten, so
don't pretend to be shocked when I repeat that later.  If you really want
to compliment me, don't be niggardly during the bidding."

   "The men aren't bad, either, Crane," the blonde woman said.  "I'm glad
you brought three this time.  Were you thinking of me when you chose them?"


   "I'm always thinking of you, Deirdre."

   Another of the seated men spoke.  "You have taste, Crane.  Nice teats on
every one.  That one at the end, especially.  Have her give us a look at
her knockers."

   Sheila glanced back.  She supposed the man was referring to the petite
college girl with the long black hair, Robyn.

   "You'll have to wait until later, George.  There will be time to see
what she has during the auction."

   The other buxom woman said, "George has the usual big tit fetish that
all you men have.  You men should realize that shape is more important than
size."

   Another man snorted.  "I'm a tit man, too.  They're all fine with me,
even the ones on the skinny broad.  All their knockers are big enough for
me."

   "I 'm with George," another man interjected.  "When it comes to teats,
the bigger the better.  When I get a new slave, the first thing I do is
have her push her tits together for me to fuck.  For that, they have to be
big."

   "Speaking of sizes, Crane" the blonde interjected, I hope that this time
you got at least one man with a good-sized cock."

   "Rita," Crane responded; "Do you expect me to advertise for them? 
Anyway, I have no idea what you'd consider `good-sized'."

   "Well, if you don't, let's have a look at them!  With all the bidding
that will go on for these adorable females, it will be dinner time before
you get to the men!"

   Crane shrugged.  "O.K., but let's make it quick.  I need to process them
and then have them made up and dressed.  I want to start the auction with
plenty of daylight.  Guard!  Direct the three males to show the ladies
their assets."

   The lead guard motioned to Edgar and the other two men, indicating that
he wanted them to raise their aprons.  Although he didn't act pleased by
the request, Edgar raised his apron to his navel.  Anne's husband Jerry,
who was beside him, did the same.

   But Bill, Jane's young boyfriend, who was a husky eighteen year old that
looked built for football, refused.

   "You there," a guard shouted; "Raise it up!"

   "Not in front of these women.  Who in hell do you think you are?," he
responded.

   Two guards approached him.  Bill didn't appear at all intimidated.  He
sneered.  Bill was at least a head taller than either of them, and at least
fifty pounds heavier.  He looked confident and, considering the disparity
in size, probably expected no more than an argument.

   The two guards were holding the rods and, when one passed near Sheila,
she realized that what had appeared to be a glass or clear plastic lens was
actually shiny metal.  The guard passed slightly behind Bill and deftly
shoved the tip beneath the young man's buttocks.  He flicked it upward
between Bill's legs.

   Bill emitted a cry.  He fell, groaning, to his knees off of the
boardwalk and into the sand.

   "Jesus!," he said, bent over in the sand on his knees.  He was retching,
his hands holding his testicles.

   Crane said, "You've just seen the effect of one of our slave training
tools, a cattle prod.  Any slave considering disobedience should consider
its effect on that young man.  A few thousand volts applied to a sensitive
area of your body will produce dramatic improvements in your behavior.

   "We seldom need to use them.  One application is usually sufficient.  We
also use whips.  They aren't as effective.  You'll find you can tolerate
the whips.  Because of that, you'll find that some masters will use the
whips on you simply for their pleasure.  That's their concern, I have no
interest in how Masters amuse themselves.

   "In the next few weeks, most of you will be trained.  You'll do chores
such as kitchen duties, meal serving, cleaning, and so on.  Those
activities we would otherwise need to pay servants for.  We pay no servants
here.  You slaves will do all of the tedious work.

   "Of course, your work as servants, although necessary, is not why you
were brought here.  We have a wealthy clientele.  We provide them with
beautiful women to use for their pleasure.  Generally, we train a new slave
before she is delivered to the client who purchases her, so she has the
knowledge and experience to satisfy his every desire, without the need for
him to explain.  He need do no more than state his wishes.

   "A few masters prefer an untrained slave, a girl or woman just as you
are, right off the boat.  Such a master prefers to initiate the female
himself.  In such cases, we deliver her to her master with her neck,
wrists, and ankles suitably manacled.  The bracelets, as well as her collar
have snap hooks to fit fixtures in our client's apartment, so we can locate
and position her where he wishes.  Each of you will visit one of the
apartments and, when you do, you'll note that the fixtures are not solely
attached to his bed.  Several walls have them, as do the floors of the
bedroom and kitchen, as well as the dining room and kitchen tables.

   "Three of you happen to be men.  I'll speak for your benefit now. 
Although I chiefly import women--since most of our clients are men, and
they are usually heterosexual--I do intentionally obtain some men.  A few
are also obtained accidentally in the process of obtaining women.

   "We have a few women clients.  You men will be their slaves.  Our women
clients have, I would say, varied tastes, even more so than our male
clients.  Not infrequently, one of our female clients purchases a girl, or
even a couple.

   "I have a few more comments about you females.  Some of you, especially
the younger ones among you, may be inexperienced in some sexual practices.
I realize that two or three of you are only sixteen or seventeen years old.
You need not worry; you'll be thoroughly trained.  When you're released to
your Master's custody, you'll be able to provide him with whatever he
desires of you."

   A female slave in a blue shift produced a prod from her pocket.  He held
it up.  To Sheila it looked rather longer and fatter than the one the guard
had used on Bill.

   "This is the type of prod used by our clients, as well as by an
occasional guest.  It has an on-off switch accessible to the wielder's
thumb.  In the base is a voltage dial.  You've probably noticed the phallic
contour of the metallic, 'business', end of the prod.  I'm sure you can
guess the purpose for that.

   "Here, our clients and guests--also our trainers I might add--have
considerably more discretion than the guards in how they use the prods. 
Sometimes a slave approaches me with complaints about how her Master uses
his.  Please don't waste my time with such complaints.  I have no interest
or opinion concerning how your Master utilizes prods or other means of
discipline.  When you've been sold and I've been paid for you, my interest
in you ends."

   He paused, looking thoughtful.  "There is one exception to that.  A few
slaves have special status here.  They work for me exclusively, and they
have special privileges.  If one of you has such an interest in working for
me, I'll be willing to interview you.

   "One more thing.  I'll try to be brief.  This afternoon will be a busy
one for you.  You'll be required to provide information about yourself, in
writing.  You'll be given a thorough examination.  You'll be prepared for
the auction, which means you'll be bathed, perhaps shaved, made up, and
suitably dressed to attract bids.  You'll be auctioned off.  Then, if your
new owner chooses to have my staff train you, you'll be taken to a
two-person cell, where you'll stay during your training period.  If your
new owner prefers to receive you untrained, you'll be delivered tonight to
his apartment.

   "The auction should take place before dinner tonight, at around seven.
The auction for the men will follow dinner, and will be at around
ten-thirty."







   114







   113



   ----- 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.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+