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From: m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net
Subject: {ASSM} :[New] ABDUCTED and ENSLAVED, Part 8
Date: Thu, 14 Aug 2003 07:10:06 -0400
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 Abducted and Enslaved, Part 8   (Chapters 37-42; pages 310-381)
{ ASSM } {Mersereau} NEW  "Abducted & Enslaved" Part 8 ( MM MF Mf FF FM Ff
Fm Mdom Fdom nc voy sm bd oral toys  )  (8/?)

The usual disclaimers: This is strictly adult material; all characters are
fictional.  Events in this story are unethical, immoral, and illegal.
Readers should understand that the story is strictly fiction.  Many of the
events and characters in it have no place in a civilized society.  No
redistribution without attribution to the above-named author.  No
commercial use whatsoever of this story. (Copyright of Mark Mersereau, per
the Berne Convention)

N.B. An MSWord version of this novel, which contains formatting to provide
emphasis and internal dialogue as well as other clarifying features, may be
obtained from the author at m.mersereau@worldnet.att.net.


CHAPTER 37: Sheila's Blue Girl Interview, Continued

Crane was seated behind his desk, and the two girls were in the armchairs
that faced it.  He leaned back in his swivel chair and rested his bare feet
on his desk.  His sandals, Sheila noticed, were on the carpet under his
desk.

"I no longer own you," he told Sheila, "and my decision about hiring you
depends on whether your current owner will sell you back to me."

Sheila wondered if Lindsey would agree to that.  She remembered that Kelly
had been owned before applying for a blue girl position.  Sheila decided
that, later, she would ask Kelly if her owner had objected when Kelly
applied for her blue girl job.

"Oh," Sheila said.  "I-I thought that, since you're the manager, that it
was your decision."

Crane raised his eyebrows.

"You forgot to address me properly, Sheila," Crane said.  His mild tone
didn't delude Sheila; she felt certain that he meant what he said. "You're
a slave, and you'll remain one, whether Lindsey owns you or I do.  The next
time you forget, I'll have you whipped."

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Sheila said, frightened.

"Who bought her, Master?" Kelly asked. "Wasn't it Lindsey?"

Crane nodded.

"I'll offer Lindsey her money back, but I think it likely that she'll
reject my offer.  During the auction, she seemed determined to buy Sheila.
 Whenever another client made a bid, I saw Lindsey's light come on, and she
made a counter bid.  I never had a client want a slave that much.

"During the auction, I was surprised that she bid so high," he said.
"Lindsey is certainly aware that any slave, even one with a body as
desirable as Sheila's, becomes available once her owner has left the
island.  When the bidding reached the stratosphere, Lindsey could have
easily let Hugo have her.  She knows that Hugo doesn't stay here long, and
 Lindsey could have rented Sheila as soon as he left the island.  The cost
to her would have been much less than she paid during the auction."

"W-What will happen to me, if she won't take your money back . . . Master?"
Sheila asked.  She hadn't expected this.

Crane shrugged.  "You'll be her slave for the length of her stay here.
Last season Lindsey vacationed here for about two months.  Of course, it's
possible that she will want me to keep you on ice.  If she does, I'll keep
you in a cell and not use you as a rental.  I'll still use you as a menial,
in the kitchen and for cleaning bathrooms and so on.  I'll probably fuck
you myself, but I'll guarantee to Lindsey that no client will.  If she
wants to pay for my putting you on ice, that's her choice.  Not too many
clients pay to keep a female on ice; they usually want a fresh slave on
their next sojourn here.

"Frankly, I have no special desire to hire you.  The amount that Lindsey
paid me for you was the most I've ever gotten for a female slave.  Fifty
thousand is a lot, and I'd like to keep it.  I'm only proceeding with this
interview because of the promise I made to all of you raw trainees when you
arrived.  I need more blue girls to work for me, but not at the high price
that I'll have to pay for you."

Sheila absorbed his statement with unease.  If Crane turned down her
application to work for him, how would she ever obtain her shoes that
contained the transmitter?  She might be kept as a sex slave for years.
Over that time her owners would compel her to do things that she probably
couldn't imagine!  She had already heard conversations of some of his
clients.  She recalled that couple who had discussed her buttocks on the
day she arrived.  The intentions of both the man and the woman, if they
obtained her in the forthcoming auction, had shocked her.

Gaining access to the transmitter was the only way that she, Ed, and Wendy
could possibly escape from this awful place.  Ed was down in that basement
cell with Bill, both of them handcuffed.  There was no way that Ed could
help.  As for Wendy, she was mounted on Crane's wall, naked.  There would
be no help from her.

Sheila saw no other way for them to escape the island.  Her becoming a blue
girl and obtaining the transmitter was their only chance!

Whatever Crane tells me to do, I'll do!

One of the three doors in the wall behind Crane opened, and a willowy
brunette with stylish gold-rimmed glasses and wearing a blue girl dress,
entered.  She carried a large tray which was loaded up.  To avoid an
accident with it, the girl carried it slowly, watching its contents
carefully without glancing up.

On it, Sheila could see a coffee urn, two pitchers, a jar that Sheila
assumed contained sugar, four sets of cups and saucers, and a stack of
small trays.  She also saw four small glass containers that resembled shot
glasses but were much smaller, perhaps half-size.

"Your coffee, Master," the girl said, continuing to look down.  She held
the tray up and curtseyed.

Then the girl noticed Sheila and Kelly.  A strange expression, perhaps of
unease, crossed the girl's countenance.  Sheila had never met the girl
before; so, the girl's reaction seemed odd.

Crane lowered his feet, and the girl deposited the tray on the desk.

Sheila thought the girl attractive, but she wasn't the voluptuous type that
seemed typical of Crane's female slaves, with their curvaceous figures and
large breasts.  Her figure was slender and svelte.  Sheila could have
mistaken her for a sixteen year old high school girl, were it not for her
womanly breasts and shapely legs.  Her moderately-sized breasts seemed that
of a woman of at least eighteen; the same seemed the case for her long and
shapely legs. Sheila estimated the girl's age at about two years less than
her own twenty-two years.

Crane glanced up. "Thank you, Sarah."

"Is that all?"

"Certainly not!  I expect the usual extras.  Besides that, you forgot to
address me properly!"

"Oh!" she exclaimed.  "I'm sorry, Master.  B-But, you're busy," she asked,
nervously glancing in the direction of Sheila and Kelly.

"You'll deliver the extras," Crane said, not bothering to look up at her.

The girl appeared discomfited, and Sheila thought she was blushing.

"W-Well, uh . . . d-do you want the 'double-u' or the 'ess'?"

"You forgot my title again, slave!" he shouted.  This time he looked up at
her, obviously angry.

Sheila was startled by the harshness of his voice.  Her heart began beating
rapidly.  Sheila wondered if she'd made a sensible decision in wanting to
work for him.

I have no choice, I must.

"I-I'm sorry, Master.  I-I'll bring the strap."

"I want the cat," he countered; "You've become careless."

Sheila was perplexed.  Now, despite his words, which were uttered in a firm
tone, he no longer seemed angry.  Still, his previous outburst still had
her heart racing, and she felt afraid of him.  His personality was
impossible to read!

"Th-The cat?" the brunette said, wide-eyed.

"You heard me!"

Crane placed a coffee cup under the spigot of the urn and delivered a
stream of black coffee into it.   He closed the spigot and looked up at
her.

In a mild tone he said, "As for your question, Sarah; which do we have more
of--the 'double-u' or the 'ess'?"

"The 'double-u', Master.  I've worked on Wendy for ten hours."

"Good.  Bring all of it.  Now, bring me the cat.  Afterwards, if you're a
good slave and perform well, I'll allow you to spend the afternoon
producing the 'ess'."

The girl appeared relieved.  She smiled.  "Oh, thank you, Master!  I'll be
good, I promise!"

She curtsied and left the room.

Crane stood up.  "Coffee, Kelly?" he asked.  He slid another cup beneath
the urn's spigot.

"Yes, Master.  Cream and two sugars."

Crane prepared the coffee and carried it to Kelly on one of the small
trays.  Kelly placed it on her lap.  "Thank you, Master."

"Coffee, Sheila?" Crane asked, looking down at her.

Sheila was glad that Kelly had obtained some first.  "Yes, please. One
sugar, but no cream."

Suddenly Sheila realized her omission, and a surge of fear went through
her.  She blurted out, "Master."

Crane smiled.  He returned to his desk and filled another cup.

Sheila regretted not having requested cream.  She'd been starving since her
arrival on the island.  Cream would have given her a few more calories.

However, she was afraid of Crane's reaction if she expressed her change of
mind.  She preferred to remain hungry than face his anger.

When Crane brought her tray, she noticed that, in addition to the
anticipated coffee with its cup and saucer, a linen napkin, and a spoon on
the tray, the latter held one of the miniature 'shot glasses'.

Kelly's tray had the same objects, including the shot glass.

 Whatever the latter's purpose, Sheila decided that she'd observe how Kelly
used hers.  If Kelly ignored it, she could ask Kelly later about it.

Crane had returned to his chair but, instead of pouring his own coffee, he
did something odd.

He pushed his swivel chair back on its casters, moved it to the side of his
desk on which the coffee tray lay; then he swiveled the chair ninety
degrees, placing him beside the tray.  His position now gave Sheila and
Kelly a view of him in profile instead of face-on.

Sheila was inattentive, worried about what would happen to her if the
Lindsey woman kept her.  Her imagination filled with nightmarish scenes of
her serving as the lesbian's sex slave.

When Sarah returned, she held a stranded short whip in one hand and a small
bottle in the other.  Preoccupied, Sheila barely glanced at her.

When she eventually looked up, she saw Sarah standing before Crane,
offering him the two objects.

Crane ignored her.  "Sheila and Kelly," he said, stirring with the spoon
and swiveling his chair to look across at them; "Which of you wants to
discipline Sarah?"

Sheila certainly didn't want to use the whip.  She didn't respond.  She was
astonished to hear Kelly say, "Sheila needs the experience, Master."

Crane shrugged.  He accepted the whip from Sarah and held it out by its
spaghetti-like strands in Sheila's direction, handle toward her.

Damn Kelly!  Why did she say that?!

She had little choice, and she forced a smile to hide her nervousness.  She
put her tray down on the carpet, rose from her chair, and reached over the
desk for the whip.

Its handle was of some dark wood and was contoured with depressions for
fingers.  As she flexed it, it seemed to fit her hand well.  Its strands
were probably leather.  They were roughly the thickness of cooked spaghetti
and seemed just as supple.  The ends of the ten or twelve strands (she
didn't count them) were small metal balls--pellets, really--about the size
of those used for an air rifle.

Holding it by its contoured handle, Sheila felt diffident.  She wasn't sure
what to do, and she turned to the blue girl beside her.  "W-Would you
instruct me, Kelly?"

Kelly laughed.  "What's your problem, Kiddo?" she asked.

"You've seen us blue girls use whips.  Just do like me and Nina.  Whatever
you do, don't be easy on her!"

Sheila still lacked any confidence that she could discipline the girl.  If
she were ten years older than Sarah, the girl would probably respect her
because of the age difference.  But she doubted that she was more than two
or three years older than the brunette.

Sheila herself had never disobeyed a guard or trainer; in fact, she had
never even considered disobedience. But, would Sarah feel the same as she?

To add to her nervousness, she felt foolish.

I'm a little older than she is.  Maybe I can intimidate her.

She raised the whip.  In a tone that she hoped sounded authoritative, she
said, "Put the bottle down, Sarah.  Come here!"

The girl lowered her eyes.  To Sheila's relief, she replied, "Yes,
Mistress," and approached.

In the same tone, Sheila told her, "Bend over the desk!"

To her gratification Sarah obeyed.  She rested her cheek upon her hands,
which were palms down on the glossy varnished top of Crane's desk.

Sheila reached down behind the girl and grasped the hem of the blue girl's
dress.  She pulled it to the girl's waist and held it bunched in her hand.
She reached over the desktop and grabbed one of the girl's wrists.  She
pulled Sarah's arm back and then enclosed Sarah's fingers about the
material.

"Hold it there," she ordered.

 Sarah was naked from her waist to her slippers.  Her buttocks,
creamy-white and chubby, were ideally positioned for the whip.

Sheila raised the cat and drew it back.  The metal pellets at the ends of
the strands stroked over her shoulder near her neck and tickled.

"This is for not addressing Master Crane properly, Sarah," she said.

She swung the leather and metal, and they struck the girl's chubby cheeks
hard, indenting them.  The report it made wasn't loud, but it was a funny
sound, something like 'whik! whik! whik!' but nearly simultaneously, a bit
like the sound of kissing by a dozen couples at one time.

"Ow!" Sarah cried.

Six or seven tiny pink dots appeared in the skin of her buttocks.  Two
raised pink lines extended across both cheeks-welts.

"Count!" Sheila ordered.

"One! Thank you, Mistress!"

Sheila struck her buttocks, again and again.

A few moments ago, Sheila had dreaded applying the whip.

Now, to her surprise, she didn't feel at bad using it.  Her conscience
didn't bother her at all.

She could hardly admit it to herself, but . . . each time that her arm felt
the whip strike . . .  and each time she heard the sound of its impact into
Sarah's flesh . . . and each time she heard the girl scream, she felt a
thrill!

When Sarah cried, "Ow!", "Five!" and, "Thank you Mistress!" Kelly suddenly
grasped Sheila's arm and stopped her.

"What's the matter?" Sheila asked, surprised.  "Why did you stop me?"

"You'll have to start over," Kelly said.

Sheila stared at the blue girl, in disbelief.  She felt that she was doing
well.

She even felt pride in how accurately she had swung the whip.  The pink
dots and lines were exclusively on Sarah's buttocks, without a single mark
on her back or thighs.

Rather than expecting criticism, she had expected Kelly to be pleased with
her.  She had even hoped for some praise from Crane.

Can she be jealous that I learned so quickly?

"Why, Kelly?" she asked, trying to hide her disappointment.

"I'll show you, Kiddo."

Sheila watched.

Kelly took the cat from her and she moved until she stood beside Sarah, who
was still bent over.  Aiming carefully, the blue girl brought it across the
girl's buttocks, hard.

Sarah shrieked.

Sheila was shocked.  Kelly's blow had struck much lower than any of her
blows had!  Not only had the pellets struck Sarah's buttocks, they had also
impacted her thighs.  Because of the girl's position, leaning upon the
desktop, her pudenda were exposed.  They protruded prominently from between
her thighs.  Several of the weighty pellets had struck directly upon them.


Kelly waited calmly, arms akimbo, for the girl's sobs to subside.  Then she
leaned down, until her head was upon the desktop, her face before Sarah's.
Smiling, she asked, "Well?"

Sarah wiped tears from a cheek.  She choked out, "Th-Thank you, Mistress!

Kelly stood up.  She asked Sheila, "Didn't you wonder why Crane asked for
the cat?"

"I didn't know that a cat was special," Sheila responded.

"Listen, Kiddo, if Crane just wants a slave's ass spanked, he wants a
strap," Kelly told her.

"If he thinks she deserves a really sore ass, he'll ask you for a riding
whip.  When we go to the shed to get your supplies, I'll show you one.
They're made of birch, and they're real flexible.  No matter how hard you
swing one, it won't break.  And, wow, Kiddo, do they ever sting!"

Kelly grinned.  "If you whip a slave with one of those, she won't sit down
for a week!"

"But, Master Crane asked for the cat," Sheila said.

"Hold your horses--I was getting to that.  If a Master tells you to use a
cat, you'll know that he's really pissed.  You better use it like I just
did."

"Ten strokes there?!" Sheila exclaimed.  "I couldn't stand getting hit
there even once!"

Kelly shrugged.  "Well, maybe don't give her ten in a row there," she
conceded.

"The idea is to make sure she doesn't make the same mistake again.  She'll
remember what it feels like to get whipped on her chicken wings."

She returned the whip to Sheila.  "I'd say, give it to her like that, maybe
every third swing, Kidd.  She'll remember that."

"A-All right," Sheila said.

If I want this blue girl job, I don't dare allow my conscience to bother
me.

She raised the cat again.  She aimed and struck the first blow at the
center of the girl's creamy buttocks, as before.

She aimed the second blow much lower.

Only about half of the pellets struck the the girl's buttocks.  The rest
impacted her pudenda, including the delicate inner ones.

The girl shrieked.

Sheila alternated her blows.  Every second one struck low on Sarah's
buttocks, and many pellets impacted across the girl's thighs.  Invariably,
some pellets struck her pudenda.

Sheila whipped the girl again and again, and every blow struck where she
aimed it.  With each impact, Sheila felt the same electric thrill, and the
girl's screams only enhanced the pleasure.

My god, I must be dripping wet!

Sheila raised her arm for the tenth swing, aiming the whip at the most
sensitive part of Sarah's body.  Then she swung the cat, hard.  Nearly all
of the pellets went where she'd aimed.  When they struck the sound reminded
Sheila of the sound emitted when the neighbor's preschool daughter made mud
pies, slapping them extra hard to flatten them:  it was a peculiar,
low-pitched 'splat!'

The girl shrieked.

It was many seconds before Sarah's screams subsided into soft sobs.  She
choked out, "T-Ten, Mistress.  Th-Thank you!"

Sheila said, "Sarah, from now on, you'll address Master Crane properly,
won't you?"

Between sobs, Sarah choked out, "Y-Yes, Mistress."

Sheila could feel her heart pounding.  She felt as though she'd had several
cocktails.  She slid the whip across Crane's desk.

Sarah, still over the desk, reached back with a hand.  She gingerly probed
herself, but instantly jerked back her hand, as if she'd touched something
scalding hot.

Her buttocks were lined with pink horizontal welts.  More were across her
upper thighs.  Interspersed between the lines were red dots.  If the welts
had been parallel, her buttocks would have resembled a musical score.

Sarah remained there for some time, occasionally uttering a residual sob.
Her hand still gripped the bunched up hem of her dress.

"Pull your dress down!" Sheila said.  "You look like a slut."

Sheila felt herself blush.

Why did I say such a thing?!

It was an awful thing to say!  She immediately felt ashamed.

She glanced at Crane.  Neither he nor Kelly gave any indication that they
disapproved.

Sarah replied, "Yes, Mistress."

She grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it outward so it cleared her
buttocks. and then, still holding it out, she slowly straightened up,
grimacing.  She wiped her eyes.

Crane was staring at Sheila.  His gaze was so intense that, had her face
not already been hot, she would have blushed.  Her heart was racing.

Crane suddenly smiled.  "That was well done, Sheila," he said.  "Very well
done."

"Thank you, Master."

She felt intoxicated.  She was acutely conscious of Crane's eyes on her.
The man seemed very masculine.  He was very much in control of things, no
matter how embarrassing they were to those around him.  He was even kind of
attractive, although in a rough way.

Had Sheila been home, she would have run to her bedroom and devoted the
balance of the morning to playing with herself.

Oh God-do I feel wet!

When she returned to her chair, she pressed her legs together before
sitting down.  She hoped the back of her dress didn't become damp and
prayed that none of the others in the room could detect the scent.

* * *

Crane raised the small bottle.  The stopper was glass and the flask looked
like it was intended to hold perfume.  Its capacity, she guessed, was about
two ounces.  At present, it was full of colorless fluid, and Crane was
holding it up to his eye.  He shook it, and the fluid, which looked more
viscous than water, formed a myriad of small bubbles that persisted.

"The 'double-u'," Crane said.  He handed the bottle to Sarah.  "Distribute
it," he said.

"Yes, Master."

Sarah filled Crane's glass first.  She walked around the desk and filled
Kelly's glass.  She filled Sheila's next and finally, she returned to
Crane's desk.  She took the last glass and poured the balance of what
remained in the flask into it.  She put the now empty flask on the tray.

"To more of the same!" Crane exclaimed, raising his glass.

The three young women raised their glasses and echoed his words.

The scent wafted from Sheila's glass, and she carefully sniffed it.  Its
powerful odor was unmistakable.  It was so strong!

She raised it to her lips, and the odor filled her nostrils.  Nausea
gripped her.  She feared that the moment she swallowed any, she'd vomit.

Where did Crane get so much of it? It must be from a dozen girls!

She gagged, and lowered the glass.

Suddenly Sheila realized that everyone was watching her.  She blushed.

Crane raised his glass again.  This time he put it to his lips.  He sipped,
and he closed his eyes.

"Nectar!" he exclaimed.   He closed his eyes.  He appeared to be savoring
it in his mouth.  After some seconds, he swallowed.

That was the cue for the others.

Sarah sipped hers and her only response was a smile.  She seemed to enjoy
it as much as Crane.

But Kelly downed all of hers in a single gulp, and she immediately followed
it with several gulps of coffee, all that evidently remained in her cup.

Sheila tried to follow Kelly's example.  She put the glass to her mouth and
took in half of its contents.  But, when she tried to swallow, her throat
closed down and she couldn't.  The liquid filled her mouth, lubricating it
and (especially) her tongue.  Its flavor was negligible, but the texture
lingered in her mouth like a coating of oil.  The odor reeked in her
nostrils, and she gagged again.  She finally managed to down what filled
her mouth and, as she swallowed, she forced herself not to grimace.

If only I had more coffee to wash it down with!

Sheila steeled herself and raised the half-full glass to her lips again.
She drained the balance.

 "Wendy is proving bountiful," Crane said to Sarah.

"She's tired, Master," Sarah said.  "I woke her up when I took off the
cup."

"She was asleep on the wall?  She's adapting quickly."

"Master?" Sarah said.

Crane was opening the spigot over his cup.

"What?"

The brunette looked anxious.

"D-Do you still want the other extra, Master?  While these slaves are
here?"

"You asked me that before!" he exclaimed, glaring at her.

 "Sarah," he added, stirring with the spoon; "You know very well that I
often work through my coffee breaks.  I'll often have staff or slaves in
here with me.  I certainly am not going to change my habits to suit a
slave!"

"Y-Yes, Master."

Crane added sugar and cream to his cup.  "Would either of you like more
coffee?" he asked, glancing at Sheila and Kelly;  "This urn retains the
heat quite well."

Each of them assented, and Crane carried the tray around the desk to them.
He held it while each of the girls poured her own.  This time, Sheila added
cream to her cup.  She sipped the hot beverage, and soon, when she explored
the interior of her mouth with her tongue, the slippery coating was gone
and only the odor lingered, still filling her nostrils.

When Crane was again seated, he told Sheila, "I have the impression that
you think blue girls are exempt from the usual tasks of sex slaves.  They
aren't and, if I hire you, you won't be."

Sarah was standing beside Crane's chair.  To Sheila's astonishment, as
Crane spoke, the girl undid the buttons of her dress.  She withdrew her
arms from the sleeves and began to roll the garment down.   When it reached
her breasts, she pulled it out to clear them and then continued rolling it
down until, when her navel was exposed, she stopped.  The garment
encircled her hips like a thick blue sash, just above her pubis.  She was
naked from the top of her head to below her navel.  Her breasts were of
moderate size and Sheila guessed they took B-cups.  They looked firm, and
were certainly well-shaped.

Ignoring Sarah, Crane swallowed some coffee.

"I'll see Lindsey later today," he told Sheila.  "To be frank, it would
please me if she keeps you.  She'll have you for about two months, which is
the usual length of time that  Lindsey stays here each spring.  Even if she
uses you for the balance of her time here, I'll have you when she leaves."

Crane smiled.

"I foresee charging more for you than for any of my current rentals. You'll
be the Academy's premium sex slave."

The prospect frightened Sheila.  Her worry made her pay little attention to
what Sarah was about.  The prospect of all the lesbian things with Lindsey
was scary enough.  What would her life be like if she became the featured
attraction here?!

"But," she said; "Even if Mistress Lindsey keeps me for the two months,
couldn't you hire me as a blue girl after she leaves?"

Sarah, bare to the waist, moved around the desk until she was before Crane.
 She knelt between his legs and unzipped his fly.  She inserted a hand into
his trousers and drew out his penis.

It was soft.  She was holding it under the head, between her forefinger and
thumb.  To Sheila, it resembled the fat worm that the girls in elementary
school used to say a boy's weenie looked like.

Crane said, "For the moment, I'll assume that Lindsey will sell you back to
me."

Sheila was too embarrassed by Sarah's actions to follow all that he was
saying.  The brunette had grasped Crane's knees and was now pushing his
legs farther apart.  While still holding his knees, the girl lowered her
head, and she sucked the flaccid organ between her lips like a huge strand
of cooked spaghetti.

Sarah began moving her jaws in a strange, side-to-side way.  Sheila guessed
that the girl was bouncing the pink head upon her tongue.

Crane ignored Sarah, but his penis soon hardened.  It lengthened also, and
Sarah raised her head to accommodate it.  It was so thick that it stuffed
her mouth and caused her lips, which were stretched around it, to look like
a red rubber band.

"One thing you should expect," Crane said, "is a test.  I intend to be
certain that you'll carry out all of my orders, not just easy ones.
Assuming that you pass, you'll work as a blue girl for one week.  Nina and
Kelly will supervise you.  If your work is satisfactory, I'll add you to my
payroll.  Your salary will be five hundred per week.  Any questions?"

Crane was waiting for her to reply, but Sheila found it difficult to think.


Sarah bobbed up and down.  Each time she raised her shoulders, virtually
all of Crane's organ appeared, even its dark pink head.  Each time she
lowered them, her torso above the waist descended until her face was hidden
by a leg of Crane's pants.  All that Sheila could see was the back of her
head and her brown hair.

Sheila was too nervous to think clearly, but silence became too
embarrassing.  To break the silence, she said, "W-Will you tell me more
about this test?"

Crane shrugged.  He was still holding the coffee cup.  He stroked Sarah's
head with his free hand.

"There's no need to tell you the details," he responded.  "You'll learn
those soon enough during the test."

"W-When will it be?"

"Address me as 'Master'!" he replied sharply.

Sheila's heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, Master, I'm sorry!" Sheila said.

Her voice was drowned out by a loud moan from Crane.

He closed his eyes and stretched back in the chair.  He thrust his legs out
rigidly on both sides of the girl.

Sarah raised her head from his penis.  The entire rigid shaft was visible,
from its base, visible along with some pubic hair in his open fly, to the
bulbous pink head, which glistened from a coating of saliva.

Sarah supported herself by gripping Crane's knee with her left hand.  She
grasped the wet shaft with her right one and began to pump and soon her
breasts were bouncing, swinging in time with her hand.

"Uh!" Crane exclaimed.  "Stop!"

He thrust out an arm and pushed the girl.  Sarah fell away from him and
fell hard onto the carpet on her side.

With his penis protruding from his pants, Crane stood up and took three
steps toward Sheila and stopped, his member bobbing before her face.  He
grasped it in one hand and began to pump the skin rapidly.

"Open your mouth," he told her.

Sheila felt her face grow hot.  Her heart pounding, she parted her lips.

"Wider!"

She complied, closing her eyes, and thought of the hygienist who cleaned
her teeth. Sheila could never keep her mouth open this wide for very long.
The hygienist never complained when Sheila's jaws tired, but if they began
to close now, she feared what Crane would do.

"Come here, Kelly!" he ordered.

Sheila opened her eyes.  The blue girl was girl standing beside Crane.

"Yes, Master?" Kelly said.

Crane released his grip on his penis.  He took Kelly's hand and enclosed
his shaft with her fingers.

"Jerk me off," he said, and he withdrew his hand.

"Yes, Master."

Kelly began to pump it, but her position made it awkward.  She knelt down
on the carpet, wrapped an arm about Crane's trousered leg, and grasped his
cock with her free hand.

* * *

Sheila watched Kelly's pumping hand.  The pink head of Crane's penis was
directly before her eyes, protruding from the blue girl's moving fist.  It
was so close that Sheila saw a droplet ooze from the slit and dangle from
the tip.

"Keep your mouth open!" Crane said.

She wanted to reply, but her open mouth made it impossible.  Moving her
head as little as possible, she nodded.

Her eyes met Crane's, and she felt herself redden.  She broke the eye
contact.

Her jaw muscles were tired, and it was a strain keeping her mouth open.

Crane emitted an "Aaaah!"

The slit spurted.  Cream struck her upper lip.  Kelly's hand lowered the
head, and the slit spurted again.  A streak of cream disappeared in
Sheila's mouth, and she tasted the pungent flavor.

It fired again, and again.  Soon, her tongue was inundated with the fluid,
and it overflowed her lower lip, ran down her chin, and oozed onto her lap.

"Good job," Crane said.

He turned away from her.

"Kelly," he said; "Clean it!"

"Yes, Master."

Kelly adjusted her grip about it, she pointed the head toward her own face.
 She milked it and licked the oozing droplets from the slit.  She pursed
her lips around the slit, and pumped the skin back and forth several times.
 She withdrew them with a sound like that of a cork from a wine bottle.

Kelly gripped the head of his now flaccid penis with two fingers and her
thumb and shoved the organ back into his pants.  She then zipped up the
fly.

* * *

Crane said, "I'll see Lindsey this afternoon, Sheila.  If she's willing to
sell you back to me, I'll test you tomorrow morning.

"There's another task that I may assign to you that I haven't mentioned.

Clients sometimes ask to rent one of my blue girls, especially if she
happens to be as attractive as you.  If any client is interested in you and
he makes me a suitable offer, I'll lease you to him."

"You'll rent me?"

That was an unpleasant surprise.

"Weren't you listening?"

Her voice quavered.  "B-But, Master Crane, I thought that you only lease
girls whose Masters have left the island, the girls that you keep
downstairs in cells."

"I rent those females for however long that clients want them for.  I'll
lease a blue girl for only one day.  Ask Kelly about it."

Sheila glanced at Kelly, who grimaced.  She said, "He rented me to Lezzie!"


"You don't have to give me the details," Sheila said.

"Do you object to being leased out?" Crane asked.

Sheila knew that if she responded with a 'yes', it would give Crane an
excuse to terminate her application.

She responded, "No, Master."

"As a blue girl, you'll do whatever I order you to," he said.  "If I lease
you out, you'll satisfy all of the wishes of any client that I rent you to.
 You'll do anything for him!  Understand?"

Sheila had difficulty keeping her voice steady.  "Y-Yes, Master."

"Your lack of training is a problem, but you're married and I presume that
you're sexually experienced.  Did you swing with your husband?"

"Swing?"

Sheila had heard the term, but she didn't know exactly what it meant.
She'd once overheard a conversation in which the term was used.  It had
been at the Zine between two women, and one had mentioned trying it with
her boyfriend.

Their subsequent outburst of giggles and surreptitious guilty glances
around the room caused Sheila to conclude that swinging was something
dirty.  She imagined some sexual acrobatics, perhaps in a tree.

Crane evidently surmised her ignorance.

"Did you attend parties where you screwed another man while your husband
fucked his wife?"

"Oh," Sheila replied, reddening.  "N-No."

"That's a pity.  If you had, you'd make a more satisfactory rental.  At
least you're a college graduate. Coeds have fewer hang-ups than slaves who
only graduate from high school."

* * *

































CHAPTER 38: Leon & Deirdre

Babette awoke.  She peered at the illuminated digits next to the bed.  It
wasn't even six o'clock.  The agonizing ache of her jaws of the previous
evening had metamorphosed into a headache.  She rose quietly without
turning on the light and went into the kitchen for aspirin.  When she
returned she realized that Leon wasn't in their bed.  She searched in all
four rooms, but he wasn't in their suite.

Where can he have gone at this hour?

In Paris, Leon had filched money from her purse.  The bag still lay on the
kitchen counter where she had left it previous evening.  She looked through
it.  All of her ready cash seemed to be in it.  The rest was secured in
Crane's safe.

My key to the E.L. is gone!

Leon had taken it.

He was downstairs, probably in the E.L. enjoying one of Crane's young
sluts.  Babette felt humiliated.  He was still punishing her for not
outbidding Lindsey at the auction.  It was now a week since she had any
pleasurable sex with Leon.  Now he was going elsewhere for it, and there
was little she could do about it--Leon had a terrible temper!

On the other hand, Leon might not be with one of Crane's young rental
females.  His liaison might be with a female client.

During the auction, something went on between him and Deirdre.  I'm certain
of it.

The thought frightened her.  She could be losing him already.  All because
she hadn't been willing to keep bidding for that blonde.  She could have
easily matched Lindsey's last bid, but had not been willing to spend the
money.  Alternatively, she could have conferred with Lindsey.  She and
Lindsey were friendly enough, and the two of them might have come to an
arrangement to share Sheila.

Surely Leon wouldn't have objected to that!   Then, she and Leon could have
used the girl virtually whenever they wanted.  Perhaps between the three of
them they would have worn the blonde out, but a good whipping by Leon would
revive her.  If not, she could be readily replaced.  Crane had plenty for
rent.

Babette knew Leon's tastes.  She had learned them before they'd left Paris.
 In the past he had had liaisons with bisexual women and had even enjoyed
watching two of them together.  Once, during a menage a trois, he had even
screwed a lesbian.

If I'd bought Sheila, it would have spiced our relationship.  We'd use her
just like I used slaves in the past.



Why did I allow Lindsey to get her?  I was cheap!

Now Leon was downstairs, enjoying one of those young sluts.  Or, perhaps he
was with Deirdre.  Because she hadn't outbid Lindsey.

During the entire past week, Leon wanted only one thing of  her.  Late each
evening he took a shower.  After it, dressed only in his robe, he seated
himself in their large living room armchair and enjoyed a novel while
Babette had to service him on her knees.

He read for never less than an hour.  Twice, he had continued reading for
more than two!

Now Babette's jaws ached all day.  She dreaded the evenings.  Her sore
knees didn't bother her quite as much as her jaws, but even they never had
the time to recover.

The second . . . or, was it was the third evening? . . . her jaws and knees
had hurt so much that-desperate--she made him come quickly.

It infuriated Leon.  He slapped her face; then while she was still on her
knees, he bound her hands behind her back.  Then he tore open her blouse,
pulled her brassiere down, and used his belt on her.

Then, while her hands were still bound behind her, she had to service him
for another hour, but she was unable to make him ejaculate.

After he closed the book, he grasped a rope of her hair and used it as a
lever, working her head up and down.  Then he gripped the back of her head
in his hand and pushed, forcing the huge head of his penis into her throat.
 He ignored all her tears and gagging.  He didn't push her off until he had
satisfied himself.

Babette was unable to relax.  When the clock read seven-thirty, she
swallowed two sleeping pills from the bathroom cabinet and washed them down
with a glass of milk.

Then she returned to bed.

* * *

It was nearly five-thirty as Leon trotted down the stairs.

He was surprised to encounter Deirdre, entering from the stairwell door, on
the third floor landing.

"Leon!" the bleached blonde exclaimed, stopping him with a hand.  She
looked delighted, and she put her arms about him.

"Well!" Leon said, smiling down at her; "Deirdre, are you ever an early
bird!"

"I never sleep well when I visit the Academy," she said.  "I'm a city girl,
Leon.  It's too quiet here.  I'm going to the Coffee Shop.  Come along and
keep me company."

Deirdre was dressed in a white, short-sleeved nylon blouse and a checked,
black and crimson skirt.  Leon thought it looked like wool, in spite of the
torrid climate.  The blouse was translucent.  Leon could see both the bumps
of her nipples and their tint.  Her breasts looked firm enough without a
brassiere.

Before he could respond, she asked, "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Leon grinned and encircled her in his arms.  As he put his lips to hers, he
felt Deirdre's tongue.  It wormed between his lips and pressed against his
teeth.  He opened his mouth,  and her tongue immediately slipped in.  Her
hands gripped the back of his head.

Her large breasts squashed against his chest and felt cool through the
cotton of his shirt.

Leon lowered his hands and pulled her blouse from the elastic of her skirt
and slipped his hands up under it.  He cupped her breasts.  They felt
weighty and too large for him to completely enclose in his hands.  His
fingers touched her nipples.  They were hard.  He grasped them between his
thumbs and forefingers and began to knead them.

Deirdre cried, "Nnuh!"  and the sound seemed to transmit internally from
his mouth as much as through the air to his ears.

He squeezed her nipples, hard.

Deirdre moaned again, and she closed her eyes.  His penis was hard, pressed
against her abdomen through their clothing.

He withdrew his hands and grasped the front of her blouse.  He inserted his
fingers between two buttons and, levering with his muscular arms, he jerked
it open.  It ripped, and buttons ricocheted from the cinderblock walls.  A
sleeve slithered down Deirdre's arm and dangled from her wrist.  Her blouse
hung open and her bare breasts, firm as a high school girl's, jutted out at
him.

He grabbed her nipples and pulled.  Her breasts elongated and became shaped
like huge pears.  Deirdre moaned again, louder.

Leon felt her hands upon his erection, through his trousers.  He heard the
quick sharp 'zip' of the fly fastener; then he felt the breeze of the
stairwell on his naked cock.  It tickled like a camel's-hair brush across
the head.

She grasped the hem of her skirt and jerked it to her waist.  She was naked
under it.

He released her nipples and lowered his hands.  He placed them, palms down,
on the skin around her navel.  His forefingers searched lower, and found
the crevices between her belly and her thighs.  She shuddered and gasped.

He stepped back for a moment and looked down.  She had a neatly-trimmed
blond muff, with darker roots and below, long and shapely legs, and bare
feet in sandals.  Her protruding toes were topped with crimson toenails.

He reached up and grasped her nipples.

Deirdre backed toward the wall, unconcerned that her breasts had elongated
into cones as she pulled against Leon's grip.  Leon followed her, his penis
bobbing with each step.  Deirdre leaned back until her shoulders, one of
them bare, were against the unpainted cinder block wall.

She grasped his erect cock and pulled him by it until it was between her
legs.  She spread her legs further apart and pointed it upward in her
groin.

"Fuck me, you hunk!" she exclaimed.

Her voice echoed in the stairwell, and they laughed.

Warmth and tightness gripped his penis.  He released her nipples, and her
breasts bounced back to their natural shape.

 Leon slipped his arms about her and grasped her buttocks between his
fingers and thumbs.  He thrust his belly and hips forward, and his abdomen
struck Deirdre's naked belly.

His cock was snug in her vagina.

Jesus, she's hot!

"What are you laughing at?" she said.

Her hands were about the back of his neck, and she began to thrust her hips
forward and back.  Her belly beat his with machine gun rapidity.

"I wasn't laughing."

He tried to match her rhythm, but his thrusts and hers were uncoordinated
and, despite Leon's grip on her tensed buttocks, his cock escaped.  It
bobbed in the air between them, wet and glistening.

"Now you're laughing!" she exclaimed.

* * *

They continued down the stairs.   "You did a job on my shirt!" she said,
looking down.

"I'll buy you another," he said.

As they descended, Leon was unable to resist glancing at her breasts.  They
bounced seductively each time she made a step and he felt his penis again
growing hard.

"Don't bother," she said. "That fuck was worth ten blouses!"

Leon was annoyed whenever a woman uttered four letter words.  The sole time
that he didn't mind was when she uttered them in the heat of sex.

"Are you going to the Coffee Shop?" she asked.

"The E.L." he responded.  "I've never seen it."

"It's too early, Leon.  You won't find a single slave in the lounge at this
hour."

"I'll look anyway.  Go change that blouse."

Even if she's right, I'll take some photos of the room and its racks.

She smiled.  "Come upstairs with me while I change.  Then the two of us can
visit it together.  In a half hour or so there ought to be at least a
couple of slaves mounted in there."

In a bantering tone, he asked, "What's your interest in the E.L.?  Are you
a closet lesbian, Deirdre?"

"No, but if you and Babette stay here long enough, you'll understand why
women visit the room."

Leon knew very well why female clients visited the E.L.  All of the women
clients visited it and, according to Babette, their motive was simple. They
enjoyed watching male clients, many of whom were old and ugly, abuse pretty
young women.  It was entertaining!

Using a whip or a prod, a woman could compel the girl to do something
lesbian.  Even straight women sometimes liked to humiliate a pretty girl in
that way.

"You can't imagine how pleasant it is to have another female for a slave,"
Deirdre said.

"What about male slaves?"

"Crane doesn't put male slaves in the E.L., Leon.  But, any of his female
clients enjoys a male in her bedroom from time to time."

"Have you ever bought a slave?"

"I've shared ones, with a friend.  Do you remember Esther?  She was with us
when we met on the stairs on the day of the last auction."

Leon knitted his brows.  "I think so.  Is she a small brunette, fifty-ish?"

Deirdre nodded.  "About five feet five, moderately pretty, with brown hair.
 She's been coming to the Academy since Crane's second year.  I came with
her on my first visit here, the year before last.  We shared an apartment.
I would have preferred a male, but Esther wanted to rent one of the girls
that Crane keeps here for lease.  I went along, since she knew the Academy,
and I didn't."

"What did you make the girl do?"

Deirdre laughed, but her face was pink.  "There's no way that I'll tell you
that!"

Leon smiled.  "I didn't think anything would embarrass you."

"I see no reason to tell you about it, Leon.  I never even told Esther what
we did.  I never asked her what she did with Patty, either."

"Did you use a whip on her?"

"Of course.  Sometimes, even a whip wouldn't persuade her.  I don't know if
Babette told you this, but Crane loans any client who rents a female, a set
of 'tools'.  They're more effective even than a whip.  Jeff makes the tools
in the Machine Shop.  Each of the tools fits on a place on the female body.
 Some are mechanical and do things like squeeze.  Others are electrical.
They plug into a wall outlet."

"If this Patty was one of Crane's rentals," Leon said; "I wouldn't think
you would have to do much persuading.  She must have been accustomed to
doing what her previous Masters and Mistresses ordered her to."

"Not Patty," Deirdre said.  "Only one man owned her before Esther and I
rented her.  It wasn't hard for me to make her do things for me when we
were alone together but, when Esther and I threw a party, she was
difficult.  She hated it when we had women guests."

* * *

They reached the Main Floor, and Leon said, "Well, I'm going to the E.L.
now.  I'll meet you there later."

"Leon, why don't you come upstairs with me, first?  You're wasting your
time going to the E.L. this early."

"I'm sure.  Go change your blouse."

She pouted, but Leon was adamant.

"Well, all right," Deirdre finally said.  "I'll meet you there."

Leon waited until she had started back up the stairs.  Then he pushed open
the door into the Main Hall.

"I'll meet you!" Leon heard her call.  He didn't respond.

Leon was glad that she hadn't come with him.  Even if no slaves were in the
E.L., he'd still have the opportunity to look over the equipment and
furnishings and he could take a few photos of the room and the racks.

* * *

Leon stepped into the E.L. and closed the door behind him. His slippers
sank into the thick maroon carpet that covered the room from wall to wall.
The E.L. was large, and he guessed that it was twice the size of the Main
Lounge, the largest room he had thus far seen in the Academy.   There were
no windows.  The room resembled the Main Lounge in its liberal supply of
comfortable armchairs but, the chief difference between this room and the
Main Lounge, aside from its size, was its furniture.

There were no lamp stands, statuary, wall paintings, or cocktail tables.
In their place were racks and pillories.  It differed from the Training
Center with all of its racks, by this room's many comfortable armchairs.

A line of hooks was mounted on the wall behind him.  Each hook held some
device by a leather loop in its handle. Judging from the wires and plugs
attached to some of them, a few were electrical.

He looked around the room.  All of the chairs, racks, and pillories were
empty.

Deirdre was right; it's too early in the day for any slaves to be here.

He stood with his back to the entrance and took three shots of the room.
One was of the ceiling, and included its hanging chains and manacles.  The
other two photos were of each sidewall and included the hooks and devices
which hung from each as well as a number of racks.

Leon heard the snap of a key in the door behind him, and he hastily
returned the camera to his pocket.

He expected to see a blue girl, but it was Deirdre.  She'd arrived sooner
than he'd anticipated.  She had replaced the torn blouse with a
similarly-tailored sky blue one, and she had replaced her woolen skirt with
a midnight blue cotton miniskirt that displayed her long legs well.

Damn! I was hoping blue girls would bring in a trainee before Deirdre
changed her clothes.

"I told you it would be empty," Deirdre said, smirking.  "You should have
come upstairs with me.  Have you just been standing here?  Why didn't you
sit down?"

"I looked around a bit."

They heard whimpering from across the room.

Deirdre's eyes widened.

"It sounds like there's a slave over there, near the far right corner."

They wended their way toward the sounds, passing several armchairs and an
'Ex' that was similar to the one near the doorway in the T.C..  The room
differed from the T.C. in another way that he hadn't noticed.  Each rack
was located in an open area under an overhead spotlight with four or five
armchairs arranged in a semicircle facing it.

"Look!" Deirdre exclaimed, pointing; "Over there!"

Leon saw a brunette across the room, near the back wall beyond another
rack.  She lay on her back upon some low device and wore a trainee's
uniform.

"She must have been here all night, Leon!"  Deirdre said.  "I'll bet she's
a mess by now!"  She grabbed his arm. "Let's go see!"

"It isn't that early, Deirdre.  Blue girls are out of bed long before you
lazy clients get up.  They probably brought her just before I got here.  If
we hadn't talked so much on the stairs, I'd have met them in here."

Deirdre snorted.  "Leon, you don't know what you're talking about!

"If they brought her in this morning, they'd have brought her roommate too.
 They always bring them two at a time.  That girl was probably here
yesterday, along with her roommate.  Whatever their reason, when they took
her roommate back to her cell, the blue girls left her here."

"Why?  What's the point of leaving her?"

Deirdre shrugged.  "You don't think that Crane always gets obedient girls,
do you?  Sometimes he gets a strong-willed bitch.  Sure, maybe her trainer
can make her kneel and suck his cock, but Crane's male trainers are young
thugs.  They use whips and prods.

"The clients here are cultured men and women that sit around and watch.  A
young bitch isn't likely to do what some gray-haired old client tells her
to do!"

"So?  What are you getting at?"  Leon said.  "What does that have to do
with the brunette over there?"

"Yesterday, she was probably disobedient.  That's why the blue girls left
her here.  When they came here last night to take the slaves back to their
cells, some client complained about her-said she was uncooperative.  So
they left her here."

"As punishment?" Leon looked skeptical.  "What's so unpleasant about a
night in a rack?  It's just a little uncomfortable."

Deirdre gave him a patronizing smile.  "Think about it, Leon," she replied;
"Last night, she was the only slave here. All the rest were back in their
cells for the night."

"So?"

"You know our habits, Leon.  Clients sleep late.  We're night owls, here."

"That's because parties are at night," he said.

"What do you think a single man does here on a night when there's no party,
Leon?"

"Single?  I'm single."

"What I mean Leon," she said; "is, a man who arrives here at the Academy
without a female companion.  One who hasn't rented or bought a female
slave."

He shrugged.  "I have no idea."

"Leon, when you get horny, you fuck Babette.  What can a male client do
here at night if he has no partner or slave?"

"Jerk off," Leon replied.

Deirdre grimaced.  "Perhaps.  But, on non-party nights, most single men
come down here to the E.L.  It may be more expensive than masturbating, but
clients have money.  In any case, the E.L. is cheaper than renting or buy a
female from Crane."

"I see.  If they're fortunate, a slave girl will be down here."

She nodded.  "Sometimes we female clients come down here at night, just to
see the action.  It isn't as intimate as a party, but it can be
interesting.  Sometimes we even participate."

Leon smiled.  "How?"

"There will be a girl on the 'propeller'.  Then we do more than just watch
the male clients!  We can join in."

"The propeller?" Leon asked, puzzled by the name.

"It's over that way.  The girl might be on it."

She led the way between the racks.

"You haven't explained why leaving a trainee here overnight is punishment,"
Leon said.

"When there's no party, a 'single' male client comes down here and if he
finds a girl in a rack here, he fucks her.  So what?  Where's her
punishment?"

"You haven't guessed, have you?" Deirdre responded.

"If there's no party," she said; "or if the parties are only by invitation,
Leon, you'll find a gang of horny guys down here!  Can you imagine what
it's like for a girl to get gang-banged for a whole night?  She won't be
just screwed, either.  Crane's clients are weird!"

Leon counted eight racks as they wended their way between pillories and
armchairs.  No two of the racks in the room were the same, although he'd
seen duplicates of some in the T.C.  After the Ex, they encountered a
pillory and then a strange looking device with two pillars and a crossbar.
The structure resembled an enormous 'H'.

Leon ducked his head to avoid manacles hanging from the ceiling.  Deirdre
ignored them as their height was above her head.

They reached an open area, which was partially surrounded by padded
armchairs.  Four chains and handcuffs dangled over the clearing, and Leon
again ducked his head.  At the same time, they both stepped over four
manacles that protruded up from the carpet.  Leon wondered why four
handcuffs above and below; all of the previous ones had all been pairs.

Maybe two slaves are mounted here.

He wondered if the slaves faced each other.

Illumination came from recessed spotlights that cast wide beams of light
down between each pair of ceiling chains.

"Oh!" Deirdre said, suddenly stopping.  "The girl is on the propeller!"

Leon could tell that the girl was prone on her back, but the rack she lay
on was too low for him to see its shape.

"Just wait," she replied, smiling.

Leon wondered what there was about the rack that could be amusing.

* * *

Leon recognized the girl on the rack.  She was the one in the photograph
that the Director had shown him.  It was the French console's daughter,
Janine.

Her figure wasn't typical of Crane's female captives, with their voluptuous
centerfold model figures.  Nevertheless, she was attractive.  She was
slender.   Her blouse was partly open and one breast was exposed.  It was
well-formed but small for Leon's taste-far from the size of Sheila's or
Deirdre's.  Besides that, ther girl's prone position diminished its
apparent size even more.

"I see why you call it the 'propeller'," Leon said, grinning.

It had evidently been constructed from three flat-topped benches.   One end
of each bench had been cut off to form an obtuse wedge, and the three cut
ends had been butted together to make a rack resembling a three-bladed
propeller.

Deirdre looked up at him.  She said, "You can't imagine how the clients
used her, Leon!"

"Oh, no?  It seems obvious," Leon responded.

"Oh, you think it is, do you?"  Deirdre said, in a smug tone.  "What's so
obvious?"

Deirdre seemed confident that he would be wrong.  Leon tried to imagine
what could be incorrect about his guess.

Janine's upper torso, from her head to her waist, lay on one leather-padded
arm of the device.  Her arms were held down and were vertical from her
shoulders to her elbow joints.  Leon was unable to see her forearms, which
were horizontally under the bench. He presumed that handcuffs beneath it
kept her wrists together.  Her hips were scantily covered by a miniskirt
and were supported by the propeller's center.   Her bare legs were held
apart, and each one lay stretched out along the top of an arm, with her
ankles held tightly down by straps.



Janine's hair was a tangled mass, but although it was matted and discolored
by what Leon presumed was semen, he could see traces of its original ebony
gloss.  Her exposed left breast protruded from her white blouse, which had
lost three upper buttons.  Her striped skirt was wrinkled and was twisted
far to one side and its hem pulled up so it scarcely covered her pubic
region.  Her feet were bare.

He spotted her black slippers on the carpet a few feet away.  They lay on
their sides, looking as though some client had tossed them there.

Janine looked fatigued, but fearful, and her eyes were open.  She was
unable to move her head, and she had to follow the movements of Deirdre and
Leon with her eyes.

"What's your name?" Leon asked.

"J-Janine . . . M-Master."

 Leon considered the implications.  When (or, if) he succeeded in getting
her off of the island, the less she knew about him, the better.  As for his
actions, he could justify egregious ones on the basis of retaining his
cover.

Deirdre was leaning over the girl.  In a tone so saccharine that it was
obviously hypocritical, she asked, "Why did they leave you here, Dear?
What was it that they wanted you to do?"

Janine reddened.  "You people disgust me!" she said.

Her English seemed excellent, with hardly a trace of an accent.  He would
have to hear more, but he guessed it was as good as his own.

Deirdre smiled.  "You weren't cooperative with Crane's clients yesterday,
were you, Dear?"

Janine didn't respond.  She closed her eyes.

"Aren't her titties nice, Leon?"

Dierdre leaned over the girl.  She stretched, until her head was above
Janine's exposed breast, and she extended her tongue.  She flicked the
brownish-pink nipple, up and down.  It swelled, and soon it was erect.

"Stop that!"  Janine said, flushing and re-opening her eyes.

Deirdre pursed her lips and began to suck.  As she did, she unbuttoned the
two remaining buttons of Janine's blouse and drew it open, exposing the
other breast.

"Stop that!"

Leon's penis hardened.

Then he noticed Janine's ears and the fine jeweler's chains that went
through their lobes.  It had been easy to overlook them since her hair
nearly covered them.

When Janine was abducted, she had probably been wearing earrings.  Now
however, two fine jeweler's chains extended up from screws in the bench.
They went through her pierced earlobes and back, so taut that they
stretched her earlobes downward.  The stretching probably hurt, and the
chains certainly kept her head immobilized, facing upward toward the
ceiling and the glare of the spotlight.

Deirdre pulled her lips from the teat, leaving it wet.  She grasped both of
Janine's nipples in her fingers and began to squeeze and pull them.

"Stop it!" Janine exclaimed.  "Leave me alone!  You perverts disgust me!"

Deirdre's only response was to squeeze harder.

"Ow!!" Janine cried.  "Stop it!"

Deirdre smiled, and she clenched her fists, tightening her grip.

"Ow!!  Let go!  Ow!!"

Ignoring the girl, Deirdre said, "You can't guess how the propeller is
used, Leon, can you!"

Her emphasis implied that it was more a statement than a question.

Leon shrugged.  "I suppose a man fucks her standing up."

He demonstrated, moving between the two arms upon which Janine's legs lay.
He lifted the hem of her skirt and drew it up over her navel.  Her pubis
was hairless.

"Crane's people gave her a waxing!" he said.

"That isn't all," Deirdre said.  Deirdre was still gripping the girl's
teats, and she pointed with a nod of her head.  Do you see the welts?"

Leon didn't see any welts and anyway, he was more interested in her vulva.
 The girl's pink inner labia protruded beyond her outer, down-ringed ones.
He'd seen it before and it brought memories.

Her cunt looks like Edith's!

At nineteen Leon had been studying English at the Sorbonne.  One morning he
was enjoying an espresso at an outdoor cafe when, at the next table, a
thirty-ish woman with an atrocious American accent called the garcon.  Her
face was pretty, but what attracted Leon was her ample bosom.  There was
some confusion between Edith and the waiter about the meaning of "martini".


Leon explained diplomatically to the pretty American what the word meant to
a Frenchman, and it cleared the air.  When Edith suggestively asked, "Would
there by a guide that I could hire to show me the city, M. Castel?" Leon
took the bait.

She was an American businesswoman who was vacationing for a month in Paris.
 Leon served as her guide for the balance of the day.  They had dinner that
evening at the Tour d'Argent (Edith paid).  Later, in her hotel room on the
Rive Gauche, Edith introduced him to her peculiar fetish.  She wouldn't
allow Leon to touch her until he satisfied it.

She had him sit on the floor in her hotel room beside the bed.  She lay on
it on her side, facing him.  She drew up her knees until they nearly
touched those alluring breasts. The position exposed her labia and gave him
his first look at her unusual pudenda.  Her inner labia protruded beyond
her outer ones by nearly two centimeters.

Since then, Leon had seen others like it, but to a young man of nineteen,
hers were remarkable.

"Gently, Leon!"  Leon she had cautioned.  Her voice was husky with some
emotion that he would never understand.  He knelt beside the bed and sucked
one of the folds into his mouth and began to nibble it.  He took another in
his teeth and pulled.  Edith began to make strange sobbing sounds.

In the sexual activities that followed, Edith was wild.  By dawn, Leon had
ejaculated six times.  He never learned the number of her orgasms.

* * *

Leon looked down at Janine's thighs again, this time more carefully.  There
were several faint pink lines on it.  They were raised slightly and he
admitted it; they did look like welts.

"Come here, Leon," Deirdre said; "look at her face!"

He moved beside her.

Janine's forehead, nose, lips, and chin appeared glossy.  They looked
coated.  He touched her cheek and his fingertips came away sticky.  They
felt as if he'd dipped them in honey.

"Leave me alone!" Janine exclaimed, blushing.

She tried to turn her head away, but she winced, and she abandoned the
attempt.

Leon ran his fingertips over her lips.  An elastic string of fluid stuck to
them and, when he withdrew his hand, it broke and a droplet fell between
her lips.  Janine pressed them more tightly together.

Leon lowered his head and inhaled.

Her face was redolent of aroused female.

"Women clients used her!" he said, laughing.

"At least one did.  A lot of girls are repelled by lesbian sex, and she's
one of them."

"That was her punishment?"  Leon laughed, disparagingly.  "A whipping would
be much more effective!"

"You're wrong.  There are girls who would rather die than have sex with a
woman."

Leon still had his doubts.  "Even if such girls exist," he said; "why would
Crane bother trying to change her?  If she refuses to have sex with a
lesbian, who cares?  Most of Crane's clients are male, and they won't care
if she won't have sex with another female."

Deirdre snorted.  "Men do care, and you know it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Crane's clients expect a slave to do whatever they tell her to.  That
includes have sex with another female.  You should know that, Leon.  You
told me yourself that seeing two women is a turn-on for you!  The other
male clients are the same."

Leon reflected, and he conceded that Deirdre had a valid point.

"Yesterday, Janine must have refused to have sex with a female client,"
Deirdre said.

The blue girls had to punish her.  Do you know why they left her here
overnight, instead of taking her to the Discipline Room?"

He shrugged.  "You tell me."

"I'll do better," she said.  "I'll demonstrate for you."

She pointed to the closest armchair.  "Go sit there and watch.  When I give
the word, I want you to come and help me."

* * *

Deirdre wanted to be certain that Leon saw everything, and she waited until
Leon was seated in the closest armchair.  Then she walked to the spot where
he had been standing, between the brunette's spread legs.

"Two women usually use the girl on the propeller," she said.  "When you
help, we'll pretend that you're the other female."

Leon nodded.  "O.K."

Deirdre leaned forward over Janine.  She grasped the hem of the brunette's
miniskirt and began rolling it upward toward the girl's waist.

"What are you doing?" the brunette cried.  "Leave me alone!"

The girl couldn't move her head, but she kept her eyes open, following
Deirdre's actions with a fearful look.

When Deirdre was finished, the skirt was a thick sash about the girl's
waist.  Below the ring, Janine was naked, from her navel to her toes.

"What did you say your name was, Sweetie?" Deirdre asked.

"J-Janine."

"What a pretty name!"

'Slave Janine' has a nice ring to it!

"Oh . . ."

The girl gave Deirdre a tentative smile.  "Thank you."

"You have some marks on you.  Did they mistreat you yesterday?"

The girl tried to nod, but the chains stretched her earlobes further and
she winced and desisted.  "Those women last night were horrible.   I
couldn't believe women could be like that!"

"You poor girl!  Are these whip marks?" She touched one with her
forefinger.

"Ow!"  Janine winced.  "Yes, Mistress."

"These marks are awfully close to your privates.  Did they . . . ?"

"No!"  Janine said, blushing. "They threatened to, telling me to cooperate.
 They wanted me to do something disgusting!

The poor girl.   Soon she'll be much more embarrassed!

Deirdre felt a tingle of anticipation.

"And, did you, Dear?"

Janine grimaced.  "No!  I'd never do that!"

"But, they whipped you!  Your thighs have blisters."

"Oh.  That's why they're so sore.  Those women were horrible.  But, I
didn't do what they wanted!"

"You didn't cooperate with them?  Even after they whipped you?"

"No, I didn't."

A slight smile crossed the girl's face.  "I can take a lot of pain."

"Well," Deirdre exclaimed; "thank goodness for that!"

She leaned over the girl and smiled down at her.  "But, you'll cooperate
with us, won't you, Sweetie?"

"What?"  The girl looked fearful again.

Deirdre felt another tingle in her genitals. Anticipation always turned her
on.

She glanced at Leon to be sure he was watching.

"The last time I did this," she said; "a crowd of clients came over and
watched!"

That made him smile!

Deirdre inched forward on her knees and when she was snugly between the
brunette's thighs, she grasped the girl's outer labia and spread them.

"No!" Janine cried.

Deirdre inserted her tongue between the girl's exposed inner lips.

The girl gasped.  "Stop that!" she cried.

Deirdre drew her tongue upward between the labia, spreading them like a
boat cleaving water.

"Stop it, stop it!" the brunette cried.  She struggled in her bonds, but
her ankles were strapped too tightly, and her forearms were so far under
the bench that she could hardly move.

She twisted her hips, but Deirdre grasped the girl's knees and held them.
The girl was unable to repeat the movement.

She drew her tongue upward inside the left labium, pushing it aside; then
she repeated the stroke inside the right one.  Using the tip of her tongue,
she traced an oval, round and round the button, which was swelling.  Janine
shuddered.

Deirdre flattened her tongue, fitting it in Janine's vulva.  She drove it
slowly downward, like a plow, moving her tongue from side to side,
spreading the lips, until she reached the orifice.  She probed it,
inserting her tongue as far as possible.

"No!!  Stop it!  Stop it!" Janine cried.   She again tried to struggle, but
without effect.

Deirdre raised her head to observe Leon.  He smiled when he saw her look,
and he unzipped his fly.  His penis immediately bobbed into view from his
lap.  It swayed, forward and back.

Leon kept his gaze on Deirdre.  He grasped his shaft in one hand and began
to pump it.

Deirdre lowered her head again.  She stroked the button with her tonguetip,
lightly.

"Oh!" Janine exclaimed.

Deirdre moved her tongue around it.  It was larger.  She stroked it again.


"Oh!"

My god, this is getting big!

Deirdre had a fierce urge to suck it.   The tingle between her own legs was
insistent.  She spread her legs, glad that the carpet was so thick and
soft.

The girl began moaning.

Deirdre raised her head.  The girl had closed her eyes.

Deirdre removed a hand from one of the girl's knees.  She reached between
her legs.

God, am I wet!

Deirdre looked again at Leon. He was pumping his protruding organ, rapidly.


"Come here, Leon!" she called.

He smiled and approached, continuing to masturbate.

When Leon reached her, he looked down at her, pointing his penis at her
face.

"How about you helping me with this?" he said, grinning.

The head was an inch before her eyes, and Deirdre obtained her first good
look at his penis.  In the dark of the auction room she hadn't been able to
glimpse it.

It was one of the largest she'd ever seen, and she felt her heart pounding
in her chest.  Her salivary glands were working.  It took some effort not
to open her mouth and take it in.

"Later," she promised.

She rose to her feet, feeling intoxicated, and she walked past Leon to the
rear wall. She examined the devices that hung there from hooks.

She selected a short strap whose contoured grip was smaller than those of
the other whips and which fit her hand well.

This must be the kind that the blue girls use.

The handle was of a light-colored wood, perhaps oak.  The flexible and
glossy black leather was about ten inches long and about one inch wide.
She flicked it, up and down.   It was stiff, flexing only slightly.

This is ideal.  A blow from this will sting!

She returned and stood beside Janine's head.

"What do you want me to do?" Leon asked.

"What I was doing, silly.  Lick her cunt!"

Leon didn't reply, but Deirdre could read his expression easily enough.

He hates me talking like that.  He's pretending that he didn't hear me!

But he knelt between Janine's legs and reached up with both hands, grasping
her outer labia between his thumbs and fingers.  He tried to spread them,
but they slipped from his fingers, like fresh oysters.

Deirdre laughed.  "They're slippery, you idiot.  Grip them hard!"

"I didn't expect them to be wet," he said, looking down at his fingers.

* * *

Leon laughed.  "This is the biggest clitoris I've ever seen!" he said.

"That's what I thought," Deirdre replied.  "But, I haven't seen all the
cunts that you have."

Leon stared at her across the girl's body.

I shouldn't have said that.  I really annoyed him!

"It was a compliment, Leon," she said.   "What I meant was, you're
irresistible to women."

She smiled, implying that she had been bantering.  "How Babette got you,"
she said; "I'll never know!"  But she did know.

Her money.

At any rate, Leon seemed placated.

He lowered his head.  He grasped the brunette's knees in his hands as she
had, and he inserted the tip of his tongue between her inner lips.  He drew
his tongue slowly upward, , spreading Janine's pudenda as it went..

Deirdre looked down.  Janine no longer appeared embarrassed.

The girl's eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply.  Each time Leon
drew up his tongue, her parted lips emitted a soft, birdlike cry.

Keep your eyes closed, Dear!

Deirdre's heart pounded.  Anticipation was such a turn-on!

She moved forward until her hipbones butted the end of the propeller arm.
Her abdomen was only an inch from the brunette's head.

She raised the hem of her skirt and she spread her legs.

She rose onto her tiptoes and inched forward, over the brunette's head.
When her genitals were directly above Janine's upturned face, she stopped.

She shoved the whip under her armpit and held it with her upper arm.  She
lowered her hands and spread her labia with two fingers of each hand.

She leaned forward over the girl's torso and looked down.  Her pudenda were
about two inches above Janine's face.  She lowered her body until her vulva
was directly over Janine's nose and mouth and then, quickly, she sat,
putting all of her weight on the girl's face.

"Mmmff!"  Janine cried, struggling futilely in her bonds.

Deirdre smiled, imagining the girl's expression, her eyes wide open in
shock.

Janine attempted to move her head, but it was pinned by Deirdre's weight.
Moreover, Deirdre squeezed her thighs together, clamping Janine's head in a
vise-like grip.

All Deirdre could see of Janine's face was her chin.

If I hadn't trimmed my pubic hair, I wouldn't even see that!

In a saccarine tone, she said, "Lick me nicely, Dear.  I so want Leon to
see me come on your face."

 "Mmmf-mmmf!"

"I think she said 'no', Leon.  She didn't speak very clearly."

"Mmmf-mmmf!"

"I'm sure of it," Deirdre said, looking at him; "I can feel her trying to
shake her head."

Leon smiled.  "You'd better persuade her," he responded.

"Janine, Dear," Deirdre said, "You aren't cooperating.  I'll have to
encourage you."

"Mmmf-mmmf!"

Deirdre withdrew the strap from under her arm.

"Pull those lips farther apart, Leon.  I don't want to miss and hurt your
hands."

He obeyed, his forefingers and thumbs gripping her furry outer ones,
allowing Deirdre to see most of the girl's vulva.  The exposed button had
grown enormously.  It now looked as large as the tip of her pinky and
glistened in the overhead light.

"Far enough?" Leon asked, grinning.

Deirdre leaned forward for a closer view, pressing down her own aroused
clitoris.  It felt very pleasant.

"I'm giving you one last chance, Sweetie!" Deirdre cried.  "Start licking!"


"Mmmf-mmmf!"

"Persuade her," Leon said.

Deirdre raised the strap as high as her shoulder.  Janine's clitoris
pointed upward between Leon's forefingers.  It presented an easy target.
Deirdre swung the strap down, and it struck between Leon's fingers with a
'splat!'

The brunette emitted a loud, "Mmmmmff!!"  and she struggled violently in
her bonds, twisting her hips.  For a moment Deirdre feared that the girl's
pudenda would escape Leon's gripping fingers, but he held them.

"Lick it, Sweetie!" Deirdre exclaimed, laughing.

"It's shrinking Deirdre," Leon said.  "Again, before it's soft!"

She swung again, 'splat!'

"Mmmf!!  Stmpf, Plmf!" came the girl's cries.

Deirdre leaned forward and again raised her hips.

"What did you say Dear?" she asked.

"I'll do it!  Stop, please!"

"Lick it!"

She sat again, and felt Janine's tongue.

"Aaah!" she exclaimed.  Thrills shot up from her genitals.

She braced her feet on the carpet, and she began moving her hips.  She
undulated them slowly, in a circular corkscrew motion, stroking her
genitals on the girl's face.  It felt delightfully slippery.

"That's good, Sweetie!  Don't lick too fast.  We have all morning.  I don't
want to come too soon."
.
 Deirdre closed her eyes.  She tossed the strap away and heard it bounce on
the carpet.

The sensations in her groin were exquisite.  There was no need to move. The
girl was doing it all.

Deirdre opened her eyes.  Leon was now standing facing her across Janine's
body, his hand gripping his protruding penis and pumping it furiously.

Deirdre looked down, but she was unable to see any of Janine's face.  The
girl's breasts looked inviting.  She reached down and grasped the girl's
nipples between her thumbs and forefingers.

She wanted more than the licking tongue.

"Suck it!" she ordered, and she pinched Janine's nipples.  She worked her
clitoris forward and back.

The girl struggled under her, emitting muffled cries, "Mmmf-Mmmf-Mmmf!"

"She can't breath," Leon said.

"Who cares?" Deirdre exclaimed gaily.

She closed her eyes, concentrating.  The girl's mouth felt heavenly!

Deirdre raised her hips slightly, and the girl gasped and inhaled deeply.
Deirdre felt herself with a forefinger.  She was dripping wet!  She probed
lower.  Janine's lips felt slippery.

She looked down past her muff.  The girl's face was wet, from her forehead
to her chin.

"Keep your mouth open, Dear," Deirdre said.

She used her first and third digits to hold her labia apart and, with her
middle finger, located Janine's lips.  She lowered herself and guided her
swollen clitoris between them.

I hope I won't have to ask Leon for the whip!

Interrupting her pleasure would be so disappointing.

However, the girl had learned her lesson.

Deirdre pressed down.  It slipped in, and she withdrew her hand.  She began
moving up and down, in short, quick thrusts.

* * *

Deirdre emitted a loud cry.  She raised herself again and looked down.

Liquid suddenly squirted from her labia, onto Janine's face.  The girl
coughed, violently.  She closed her eyes and mouth, tightly.  Squirt after
squirt struck her face, and liquid ran down her cheeks and into her hair.
It collected in the depression under her head in the leather top of the
bench.

Deirdre looked up.  Leon was Leon grinning at her and masturbating rapidly.


His penis spurted.  A long streak of cream shot over Janine's body and
landed on her neck.  A second spurt struck a breast and ran down its
underside.  A third sank into her rolled up skirt and produced a dark spot.
  Two last, half-hearted, squirts traversed a few inches and pooled in her
navel.

* * *

Leon moved around to the girl's left side.  She was a mess, but the arm in
front of him was clean, and he wiped his shrinking organ on it.  He dried
it on her sleeve.

"What a fine idea!" Deirdre exclaimed, smiling.

She drew herself off of the girl, moved opposite him, and wiped herself on
Janine's other sleeve.

* * *
















CHAPTER 39: Sheila's New Cellmate

It was late afternoon.  By the time they'd taken the long walk, Sheila had
sand in her shoes.  While Kelly entered the Pet Shop, she stopped and shook
them.  When she had her shoes back on and followed the blue girl in, she
found Kelly pulling things, right and left, off of shelves and from hooks.
Kelly began handing them to Sheila, and soon the blonde's arms were full.

"Kelly, do I really need all this junk?"

Kelly shrugged.

"You might, Kiddo.  Anyway, I always take everything I can think of when I
come here.  It's a long walk round trip."

Loaded down, Sheila had difficulty not dropping something.  She and the
blue girl returned along the path much more slowly than they had come.  As
they approached the clearing with its tables and chairs where Crane and the
clients had awaited them on her first day on the island, the stack in her
arms shifted.  The enameled green hair dryer slipped out and vanished in
the greenery beside the path.  Kelly had to spend a minute of searching on
her knees in the sand before she located it.

They entered the Academy through the side door.  They were in the Reception
Room, and Sheila immediately glanced at the wall to their right. She was
relieved to see that the stacks of suitcases were still there.  As far as
she could recall, they looked as they had on the day that she and the other
captives had disembarked from the ship.  Sheila tried to see if her name
was scribbled on one, but few of the markings on the luggage faced the
interior of the room.  Of those she could see, none looked at all like
'Ericson'.

They passed the long tables where they had filled out the forms, and Kelly
opened the door into the Main Lounge.

About twenty people were in the room, most of them in armchairs,
conversing.  Sheila looked around.  Most of the occupants were men, but a
few women were also present.  She and Kelly passed three elegantly dressed
women in armchairs talking and smoking cigarettes which, judging from the
scent that filled her nostrils as they passed, were marijuana.

A man and woman were seated on their right, at a table near the bar,
half-full glasses before them, while two men were seated at the bar,
smoking.  A black man was arranging glasses behind the bar.

As the two girls crossed the room, it fell silent.   Sheila felt as though
the eyes of every occupant in the room were on her.

"A new blue girl!" the woman, who was seated at the table with the man,
exclaimed.

"Hardly," the man said. "Look at her clothes, Deirdre.  She's in training."

"You there, slave!" the woman called.  Sheila glanced behind her.  She
hoped that the woman was calling another girl, but she was not.  The woman
pointed directly at her.

"Come here!" the woman repeated.

 "What should I do, Kelly?" she asked, hesitating.

"Oh boy, Kiddo!" Kelly said, grimacing.  "I don't like this.  I guess you'd
better go over there; otherwise she'll get pissed.  Give me that stuff.
I'll wait in the hall for you."

Sheila wanted the blue girl to stay with her, but she supposed Kelly knew
best, and she transferred the pile of things into the blue girl's waiting
arms.  A few moments later Kelly was heading for a door opposite that
through which they had entered.

The couple, seated at a table close to the bar, had half-full glasses
before them.  The woman was blond and buxom, and Sheila guessed she was
about forty.  The man was tall, with black hair.  He looked about the same
age as the woman and was very handsome.  When Sheila reached the woman, she
noticed with a start that the woman's right hand was gripping the man's
erect penis, which protruded from his fly under the table.  She was
masturbating him.  His organ looked the size of a large cucumber.  It was
the largest erect penis that she'd ever seen.

"Y-Yes, Mistress?" Sheila asked, standing before her.

The couple looked up at her and neither said anything for a while.  She
felt her face grow hot.  Obviously neither of them was concerned that she
could see the woman's outstretched arm and her hand, under the table,
pumping up and down on the shaft rising from the man's lap.

The woman smiled, and she turned to the man.

"Leon," she said, "isn't this the female that Babette was going to buy for
you?"

The man nodded.  "She was too cheap to match Lindsey's bid."

"Is your name Sheila?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Mistress," Sheila responded.  The couple looked amused by her
embarrassment.

The woman's hand was incapable of completely encircling the man's member
and, periodically, the woman moved her other hand to aid it, and she
enclosed the shaft with both hands, her thumbs crossed and her fingers
interlaced around it.

"Are you the slave with the blond cunt?" the woman asked.

Sheila flushed, uncertain how to respond.  If she replied, 'My pubic hair
is blond, if that's what you mean,' she felt sure that her correction of
the woman would anger the woman and draw some punishment.

"Yes, Mistress," she finally said.

"Show it to us," the man said.

Sheila wondered if the man was joking.  But, hoping that the woman would
rescue her with some counter like, "Oh, don't ask her to do that, Leon,
you're embarrassing her!" seemed a futile fantasy here in the Academy.

The two clients waited, amused, obviously expecting her to obey.

Sheila raised the front of her miniskirt, hooked her thumb under the
elastic of her thong, and pushed it down, exposing her pubis. She held it,
her face hot.

The man curled his forefinger up at her.  "Closer," he said.

Sheila approached him, and the man inserted his fingers in the elastic of
her thong, at her hips.  He rolled it down into a rope and allowed it to
slide down.  It slithered past her knees and lay about her ankles.

"Raise your skirt higher," he said.

Sheila raised the hem a few inches.

"Higher!"

Sheila drew it to her waist, as far as the short skirt would reach.

The clients seated around them all seemed to be watching.

Oh god, how am I going to get out of this?

The man leaned forward.  He reached down for the thong, compelling the
blond woman to stop her up-down pumping.  She continued to hold it, her
fingers half around the shaft.

"Lift up your foot," he said.

She raised her foot and he drew the thong over her shoe.  "Now the other."

He tossed the black nylon onto a nearby vacant table, where it lay in a
ring beside an ashtray.

"Spread your legs," he said.

He sat back up again.  The blond woman started levering her forearm up and
down again, pumping the skin beneath the huge head.  The rose-purple crest
was so big that, when it was pointed directly up at her, Sheila was unable
to see the woman's fingers and thumb below it.

 "M-Master," Sheila said, hoping to escape, "I-I'm supposed to report to
Master Crane."

She woman exclaimed, "Slave, your purpose is to please us!  Spread your
legs."

Sheila obeyed.  She felt the man's fingers on her thighs.  They rose toward
her genitals, and she shivered.

Fingers pinched her pudenda.  She wanted to pull away, but feared that, if
she did she would exacerbate things.  She ignored her pounding heart, and
she feigned unconcern.  She stood, legs apart, while the fingers explored
her vulva.  They touched her everywhere.  Fingers entered her vagina, and
in spite of her resolve, she shuddered.  Soon the fingers moved toward her
clitoris.  They reached it and began to stroke, round and round.

"Open your blouse," the man said, "Show us your breasts."

"Y-Yes, Master."

Sheila undid its buttons, from the top down.  Then she opened it,
displaying them.

"Don't they look delicious, Leon?" the woman said.  "Do they make your
mouth water?"

"They do," he said.  "Deirdre, faster."  He jerked her wrist, up and down.
When he released it, she continued at the faster pace.

Wherever Sheila looked, her eyes met other eyes.  She looked down and saw
the purplish head of his penis.  It looked huge above Deirdre's pumping
hand.   She wondered how that monster would feel within her.  Then she saw
Leon's smile.  She flushed and looked away.

His hands were on her breasts, his fingers flicking her nipples.  When she
glanced down at his hands, his fingers gripped them.  He pinched, and she
felt them grow hard.

"I'm close, Deirdre," he said.

She slowed her pumping hands.  "Make her swallow it, Leon."

 He turned his chair around, until he faced away from the table.

"On your knees, slave," he said.

Sheila felt her face flush.  She went down on her knees before him.  The
huge organ stood upright before her face, and both of Deirdre's hands were
about it, pumping rapidly up and down.

A hand grabbed her hair and it jerked her head, pulling it painfully
forward.  When she looked up, the purplish head was directly before her
eyes.  It looked as large as a tangerine.

Sheila was unable to move.  She was between his thighs, her bare knees
pressed into the carpet.  She had lost a shoe and one foot was bare.   Her
legs were jammed hard against the front of the armchair, and her arms were
on each side of his hips, her hands pressed awkwardly into the cushioned
back of the chair.

At the end of each upward motion, Deirdre's hands came perilously close to
Sheila's nose. She couldn't see much except the blonde's pumping hands and
the fat head of his organ.  Below them she saw Leon's trousers and open fly
and, inside, his pubic hair.

Suddenly, Leon cried, "Aaaah! Aaaaah!  Aaaaah!  Aaaaah!"

The slit spurted, and a geyser of cream went into her face.  Sheila closed
her mouth and her eyes.

Sheila felt it on her eyelids and cheeks.  She felt another high on her
forehead that must have gone into her hair.

When it was over, her face felt as covered as it had that first day, when
she and Kelly had visited the E.L.  But, this was even worse.  So much was
on her face that it trickled from her chin.

"She's dripping on your pants, Leon!" she heard Deirdre exclaim.

The hand gripping her hair suddenly pushed, and she lost her balance and
fell backward onto the carpet.

"Get out of here!" Leon said.

Sheila drew up the tail of her blouse and wiped her eyelids until she was
able to see.

People were smiling at her; some were laughing.  All watched as she rose to
her feet.  Her face hot, she adjusted her skirt.  Then, buttoning her
blouse, she walked to the far door and exited into the hall.

Kelly was sitting on the carpet near the stairwell.  The blue girl looked
toward her and exclaimed, "There you are!  You took long enough, Kiddo!"

Sheila couldn't reply.  She was afraid if she attempted to say a word,
she'd burst into tears.

The blue girl stood up as Sheila approached.  Kelly pursed her lips and
shook her head, looking at her face and up at her hair.

"Some guy really did a job on you!  I was kinda afraid something like that
might happen.  If I'd stayed in the Main Lounge though, it might have got
worse.  Clients try to get two blue girls, like together, if you get my
drift."

Kelly picked up the pile of objects from the floor where she'd laid them
and re-stacked them in Sheila's arms.  She opened the stairwell door for
Sheila, and they started down the stairs.

Sheila felt filthy.

She was carrying four towels, two folded blue girl uniforms, a spare pair
of shoes, and a shoulder bag, the latter containing vibrators, handcuffs,
whips, a prod, toiletries, a hair dryer and a myriad of other things that
Kelly had told her might be useful.  Sheila didn't know where she would put
all the stuff!

* * *

"Here we are!" the blue girl said.  Sheila stopped behind her while Kelly
unlocked the gray metal door.

Sheila entered.  She was surprised to see her roommate asleep under a
blanket, her head on a pillow, facing the wall. Toni never slept in the
daytime, at least not over the week that Sheila had been her roommate.

"See ya in the A.M., Kiddo!" Kelly exclaimed.

The door slammed behind Sheila, and the sound of footsteps diminished.

She dumped her acquisitions onto her bed.

I'm tired, but it's probably just tension, from all that happened today.  I
don't think it's any later than mid-afternoon, about three.  Thank god I
have the rest of the day off!

She felt filthy, especially her face, although she also felt sweaty from
being outside in the heat.  She searched through the pile on her bed and
found the toiletry items, including the shampoo and conditioner.  She
carried them and the hair dryer into the bathroom.  She brushed her teeth,
showered, and washed her hair.

When her hair was dry she exited the bathroom.  For the first time, she
left the towel behind in the bathroom.  Toni never bothered covering
herself, and the younger girl laughed at Sheila every time she came from
the shower with the beach towel about herself.  Toni's ridicule bothered
her more than her embarrassment at leaving the bathroom in the nude.

She felt tired but refreshed, and she lay back on her bunk, resting her
feet on the pile of items.  She glanced across at Toni.  She looked again
and gasped.

The occupant of the right hand bunk lay with covers to her chin.  She had
turned over, and Sheila saw that she wasn't Toni.  It was the woman whom
she had met in that stateroom on the cruise ship, Judith!

The brunette opened her eyes and yawned.  She rubbed her eyes and looked
across at Sheila.  A look of recognition appeared on her face.

"Oh!" Judith exclaimed, her eyes widening, "I remember you!"

Sheila thought of the night she had spent with Judith and the Senator, and
she imagined, shamefully, what the brunette must think of her.

Judith sat up, holding the sheet up to cover herself.  Sheila was suddenly
embarrassed by her own nudity.

"You're, uh . . . the girl that Prescott hired on the ship," Judith said;
"What are you doing here?"

"Th-This is my room," Sheila responded, wishing she had the towel about
her.  She drew one of the blue girl uniforms from under the pile on her
bunk and stood up, holding it between herself and the brunette as she
slipped into it.

The brunette exclaimed, "Your room?"   She spoke the two words as though it
was the oddest thing in the world.

"Well," Sheila said; "I think this is my room.  I didn't notice the number
over the door.  I was carrying all this stuff and following a blue girl.
She opened the door.  Was there a girl here when you got here?  Slim, with
black bobbed hair.  She probably was wearing a maid's uniform and a white
cap."

"No one was in here," Judith replied.  Her shrug indicated that she
considered it of no importance.

"From the moment I got to this place, I've been lodged in one of these
little rooms.  I complained to the manager, but last night . . . " (She
glanced at her wrist, which was bare)  "or maybe it was this morning.  I
haven't seen a clock since I got here."

"I was carrying all that stuff," Sheila said; "and I didn't notice the cell
number.  Maybe she brought me to the wrong cell."

"'Cell'!" the brunette exclaimed with a short laugh.  "That is sure the
fuck the right word!  I had a better room at the Oakland Wye during my
first semester in law school!"

"When did you get here?" Sheila asked. "I left here, or my room anyway,
early this morning."

"The service here is shitty," Judith said.  "I should be in a suite with
Senator Ellsworth.  The manager showed me around this place last night.  We
finished really late.  I guess it must have been this morning.  Whatever."


She shrugged again.  "When I got here, I was too beat to argue with him.  I
just crashed."

Sheila wanted to sympathize, although it was hard to feel kindly toward a
client.  All of her encounters with them had been unpleasant.  "Crane
doesn't pay a lot of attention to other people's opinions," she said.

"Well, now that I've gotten some rest, I have no intention of staying here.
There isn't even a tub in the bathroom!" the brunette said.  "Hand me my
gown, Sheila."

With a turn of her head she indicated the rear wall.  A dark garment hung
from a hook over the foot of her bunk

Sheila handed it to her.

I'll be glad if she moves out.

The brunette slipped her arms into the dress, a royal blue evening gown
with silver spangles.  "Zip me up," Judith said, and turned her back.

Sheila drew up the slide fastener.

She said, "I think the blue girl who brought me locked the door.  I don't
believe that you can leave now."

After fastening the snap at the back of Judith's neck, she went to the door
and tried the knob.  It rattled but wouldn't open.

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't have a key?!" Judith exclaimed,
staring at Sheila with a look of exasperation.

"I forgot to ask for one.  I'll get one tomorrow."

Actually, Sheila didn't know if Crane would want her to have one before she
was working for him.

She said, "You'll probably have to wait until morning.  That's when they'll
bring our breakfast."

"Morning?!" Judith cried.  "I'm fed up!   First thing tomorrow, I intend to
find the Senator.  What's your name again?"

"Sheila.  I'll be a blue girl starting . . . "

"When Prescott learns of all that I've been through, he'll give it to that
asshole of a manager.  When I met him, I thought he'd be helpful.  To be
honest, I even rather liked him.  But it was all a front.  That man should
be selling used cars!"

"Crane?"

"Don't be stupid; who else would I mean?  He didn't even tell me that those
two blue girls were taking me back down here. We left the elevator before I
realized that we were in this basement again.  Isn't there any thermostat?
It's cold in here."

On the ship, when Sheila met her and the Senator on the ship and he abused
the brunette,  Sheila had sympathized with Judith.  She no longer did.

I can't imagine why Crane put me in here with a client.  All I can think of
is that his upper floor residences are full, and that he had no choice but
to put her down here.

"Tomorrow I'll be starting as a blue girl," Sheila said;  "I'll get to see
more of this building.  I promise, Judith, if I see the Senator, I'll tell
him that you're here."

"God, I'm tired!" the brunette said.  She sat back down, smoothed her
dress, lay back, and closed her eyes.

Sheila sat on her own bunk.  She was tired but not sleepy.

Even if serving breakfast and lunch in the Dining Room is as boring as Toni
says it is, I still envy her working there.  It's horribly boring just
sitting here.  The blue girl job will be interesting, but after work, what
then?

Toni had suggested that she apply as a waitress if Crane turned down her
application as a blue girl.

"The day shift is crowded already," she had said.  "Clients come in for
breakfast and lunch, at all hours, so Crane keeps a bigger staff there than
he really needs.  I don't mind; it gives me a chance to smoke.  Besides, I
get to beat my jaws with the other girls.

"You should apply for the night shift," she told Sheila. "That's where
Crane's model types work.  He could use another waitress at night."

I'll ask Kelly tomorrow if there is anything to read.  I noticed a Library
off of the Main Lounge, but I don't know if blue girls are allowed in
there.  Maybe it's just for clients.

* * *

Judith opened her eyes again.

"How come you're here?" she asked.  "Here on the island.  Do you work both
places--on the ship and here, too?

"What do you mean?" Sheila responded, mystified.  "I don't work on the
ship."

Judith gave a skeptical laugh.

"Hypocrite!" she exclaimed.  "I know that you're a call girl.  Yvonne keeps
a bunch of you on the ship to service the male passengers."

"What!"  Sheila's face grew hot.  "I'm no call girl!"

Still, recalling how she'd met Judith and the Senator, she understood how
Judith might have gotten that misapprehension.

Judith knows that I was escorted by those ship's officers to her stateroom.
 After she let me in, I acted exactly like a call girl!

She was a slut that night, but it was from fear, after being abused by
those four crewmen.

Sheila blurted out, "The ship's officers are kidnappers, Judith.  They
abducted me, and they forced me to go to your cabin.  They kidnapped other
girls and women, too!"

The brunette gave a scornful laugh. "You're a riot!  What a story; how can
you imagine I'd swallow that?"

"B-But, it's the truth!" Sheila said.

"I'm not prejudiced against prostitutes, Sheila; don't be so fucking
sensitive!  I don't care about the laws in the States.  Being a whore for
money is a job.  Every country has prostitutes."

"I'm not a call girl!"  She was close to tears.

"Well," Judith coolly asked; "how do you explain your picture in Yvonne's
catalogue?"

"My picture?"  Sheila frowned.  "What are you talking about?"

"The captain's catalogue.  Prescott borrowed it from Yvonne.  I saw it on
our stateroom coffee table. It was open--I couldn't help looking at it.
Both you and the other girl were knockouts!"

"Yvonne?  What other girl?" Sheila asked, with no idea what Judith was
talking about.  Of course a client like Judith must know things that she
and the other the captive girls had no knowledge of.

Judith shrugged.  "I'll play your game.  Are you pretending that you don't
even know that Yvonne is the captain of the ship?"

"I don't!  Are you sure the picture was of me?"

Judith nodded.  "There were two photos.  One was a side view.  In the other
one, you faced the camera.  I saw your name at the bottom of the page.
Besides, the front cover of the catalogue had a list of names taped to it,
including yours."

"In the photos . . . was I nude?"

Judith nodded.  "How can you pretend that you weren't working the ship with
the other girl?  Her pictures were on the facing page.  All four photos
looked professional."

Those photographs that the SMF photographer took of me!

Judith yawned.  She lay back again and closed her eyes.

It's hopeless trying to explain everything to her.  She won't listen.

* * *

















CHAPTER 40: The Senator Explores

The Senator was in no hurry.

He opened the door to his suite and peered the length of the hallway in
each direction.  The fluorescent illumination overhead in the hallway had
been reduced to three rectangles of light, each one recessed behind a
herringbone-patterned grill.  The one in the middle of the hallway lit up
the elevator doors, while the two end rectangles illuminated the stairwell
doors.  No one but party-goers would be up this late, and the hallway was
empty.  Ellsworth exited, and he walked briskly down the carpeted corridor
toward the nearest stairwell.

He was dressed lightly, with a short-sleeved white polo shirt over tan
walking shorts; on his feet he wore tan sandals.  He had dispensed with
underclothing: Undershorts would be a particular hindrance, and few male
clients in the Academy wore any.  Female clients often wore brassieres but
never panties.

Ellsworth carried a briefcase.  At this hour it would look odd but less
revealing than a bag.  It contained everything that he might want,
including a coil of rope, a large tube of petroleum jelly, a strap that
Kelly claimed was 'a real stinger, Master!', a cat-o-nine tails, and one of
Jeff's experimental prods.

He entered the stairwell.  During the day the top stairwell was usually
oppressively hot, but at this hour it was refreshingly cool.  The basement
that housed the slaves would be downright chilly.  He grinned.

How unfortunate for them.

It would be doubly entertaining for him, to compel a female down there to
undress.  Not only would she dislike the exposure, but she'd hate the cold.


Unless their cells are heated, which I doubt.

For prominent clients like Ellsworth, Crane provided all the comforts in
the expensive fourth floor suites.  He had cut corners in the third floor
apartments, though; each of those comprised no more than a living room,
kitchen, bedroom, and a bath.  Moreover, the bedroom contained only one
double bed and its entrance had neither a doorbell nor a buzzer.  Of
course, those were for intended for less influential clients as well as for
his paid staff, including the doctor and dentist.

The cells on level B where the slaves were kept must be even less inviting.

His sandals clattered on the concrete stairs and echoed strangely in the
silence.

What a contrast with the day, when he always heard background noises,
especially the shrieks from the Discipline Room, located adjacent to the
stairwell.   He often developed an erection as the cries echoes upward and
he imagined trainers bringing birch riding whips across the naked bodies of
the females there.  During his first sojourn in the Academy, the sounds had
induced him to look in on the scene, but he seldom bothered anymore.
Usually, the room was too crowded.  One had to arrive early, and that meant
bribing a guard to inform him when a female was scheduled.

These fucking floors have such high ceilings: twenty-two stairs between
each one!  At least I'm not climbing.  I could have taken an elevator, but
I might encounter party-goers.  There's little danger of meeting anyone
here in the stairwell.

The guard was easier to corrupt than Ellsworth had anticipated.  No
consequences had developed from his first bribe.  When he proffered the
second one--five times that of the first--the boy took it with alacrity.

That had slightly disappointed him.  Five hundred had been too generous.

Generosity rankled like a pebble in his shoe.

He continued down the stairs, shrugging it off.  The amount was
insignificant..

Anyway, Lindsey will provide the money, as long as her supply holds out.

He doubted that Crane would learn of the guard's misconduct.  All that he
asked of Miguel was to make a trip to the fourth floor each evening and
slip the keys under his door.

In the morning Ellsworth would return the keys under his door.

Miguel isn't as stupid as I thought.  He hasn't asked-not once --what I
plan to do with them.

Ellsworth reached the basement.  He opened the stairwell door.

The hallway was dark:  All of the fluorescent overhead lights that
illuminated the corridor during the daytime were extinguished.  Only two
solitary incandescent bulbs, very dim ones (he guessed they were seven and
one-half watters) were lit.  These were located at opposite ends of the
long passageway.  As he held open the door he was unable to see very far
beyond it into the hall.  He couldn't even perceive the doorknobs of the
closer cells.  He peered into the hall, but all he could distinguish was
the dim light from the bulb at the far end of it.

Fuck!  Why didn't I put a flashlight in this briefcase?!

What little light that there was would have to serve.  He waited for his
eyes to adjust to the gloom.

Christ!  I hope the lights in the cells are on!

There was no assurance that they would be, and he'd been doubly stupid not
to have brought a flashlight.  It would be a problem to even locate a wall
switch.

Ellsworth moved cautiously.  He felt his way along the right hand wall.

His fingers encountered the frame of a door.  Suddenly, he saw the bright
dot of the peephole and he sighed with relief.

The cells are lighted!

He leaned forward and put his eye to the lens.  The interior was brightly
illuminated.  A girl lay asleep on a bench-like shelf against the left
wall.  She was completely naked, and shivering.

There wasn't even a sheet covering her!  She lay in a fetal position, her
feet in his direction.  Ellsworth could observe her buttocks and, between
her thighs, her labia.  Hers were framed by an oval of brown fuzz.
Ellsworth moved his head.  Opposite was another girl, this one a blonde.
She too was naked.

Ellsworth's heart raced in his chest.  He felt like a schoolboy who was
flush with pocket money, one who had arrived, unchaperoned for the first
time, at a candy store.

He checked his watch.  Three-thirty.

The cells are illuminated all night.

He proceeded to the next door.  Inside he again observed two females.  He
recalled seeing each of them at an auction the previous year.

The clients who purchased them must have returned them to Crane.  I suppose
these are for rent.

Ellsworth continued to feel along the wall, proceeding cautiously.  After
what he guessed was Cell 30, he encountered recesses.  His fingers found a
long vertical separation in the 'wall' and then, groping about, he found
buttons.

An elevator.  I'll take this when I return.

Nina and Kelly were asleep in the next cell.  Each girl lay under a
blanket, her head on a pillow.  He saw blue uniforms hanging neatly from
coat hangers against the rear wall.

There are a dozen females down here that I'll have to fuck!

But he'd never remember all of their cell numbers.  Next time he'd bring a
note pad.

Two other blue girls, Polly and Cheryl, were in the cell opposite that in
which Nina and Kelly lay.  He'd seen these two arranging chairs and
otherwise aiding Crane during the last auction.

He proceeded to the next cell.

The blonde!

To his surprise, Sheila also lay beneath a blanket like Nina and Kelly, and
her head lay on a pillow.

He was even more surprised when he observed the opposite bunk.

Judith!

The bitch is wallowing in the same luxuries as the blonde, with blankets
and pillows.  What the fuck is Crane up to?

He peered through the glass at the back wall, straining his eyes to
distinguish the clothing that hung from two hooks.  Neither garment could
be that of a trainee.  The dress above the foot of Sheila's bed looked like
a blue girl's uniform; that above the brunette's appeared to be a black
evening gown.  It could be of silk, and looked spangled with stars.

I suspected that Crane was up to something when he didn't produce Judith
during the auction.  As for the blonde, she should be in training, but
that's a blue girl uniform.

The Senator shrugged.  Crane planned to swindle him, but now that he had
discovered where the blonde was, the manager's plans were of no importance.
 However Crane planned to use Judith didn't matter, either.  He'd outwitted
the man.

Despite that fool's attempts to thwart me, I'll use both of these sluts.
I'll make the blonde serve my prick in every possible way.  When I tire of
her I'll make her serve my friends' pricks on her knees.  As for Judith,
she's what Jeff has been looking for, a female subject to test his
electrical devices on.

On the Senator's last visit to the shop, Doc Kreff had been there, having a
heated technical discussion with Jeff.

A naked female was there also, her hands bound over her head by a rope to a
ceiling hook. Ellsworth was considerably more interested in the girl than
in the boring discussion that the two men were having about electrical
devices.  The female was one of the pretty waitresses who served the
Senator in the Dining Hall.  At the moment, her legs were conveniently
separated by a spreader bar, and Ellsworth took the opportunity to explore
her cunt with his fingers.

Ellsworth was amusing himself by flicking her clitoris and, as it swelled,
observing her embarrassment, when he found himself becoming interested in
their conversation.

Doc and Jeff had been stimulating female genitals electrically.  They had
experimented on the bound girl over the previous week, during which Doc had
inserted acupuncture needles into her nipples, her labia, and her clitoris,
where they served as electrodes through which Jeff applied electrical
currents from his generator.

The most interesting effects were produced with one needle located low in
the subject's clitoris.  Any distant needle, such as one in a nipple, could
serve as the grounding electrode.   Application of electrical pulses into
the clitoral needle produced orgasms in the subject whether she attempted
to resist or not.  Surprisingly, even after the subject became exhausted
and hung limply from the ceiling rope they were able to produce the spasms
in her genitals.

 The two men discussed replacing the needles, which they deemed
unnecessary, by implantation of a miniature receiver which Jeff had
constructed.  About the size of a thick postage stamp, one of its two
hair-thin wires could be surgically connected to the nerve nexus in the
clitoris.  Doc considered the implantation to be routine and simple, but he
resisted performing it because it lacked safeguards.

"Jeff, boy.  You know the clients that Crane gets!" he said; "Damn few
would use your generator sensibly!"

He argued that the slave's owner would be tempted to increase the
generator's voltage and the duration of its use.

"Young man," he told Jeff; "Sure as snow in winter, they'll injure the
girl.  If a client complains to Crane that our device ruined a slave who is
worth over ten thousand big ones, Crane will fire us."

"Doc," Jeff argued; "let's keep experimenting.  We'll find the lowest
voltage that gives her an orgasm.  I'll fix the implant so it won't exceed
that voltage."

"That won't stop a client from leaving the generator on for a week and
forgetting about it," Doc replied.

"I'll make it cutoff after, say, two hours."

Doc laughed.

"Neither of us has any idea just how often a female can take something like
that.  How many times a day can a slave tolerate two continuous hours of
climaxing?  We'd give her a coronary, Jeff.  I'm telling you, you'll get us
fired!"

The implantation experiment was too risky, and they had returned the slave
to her cell.

* * *

Judith would be ideal for Jeff's device!

Ellsworth himself would perform the experiments.  The data would be
valuable, and as long as Judith held out, he would continue applying the
pulses.

Doc Kreff's feared that extremely powerful orgasms would have permanent
effects on the subject, but that was no impediment to Ellsworth.   Doc
thought that long term application of the pulses would either destroy or
reinforce the nerve paths that induced climax.   If the latter, virtually
any external stimulus would induce an orgasm.

Christ!  The more one whipped a slave, the more she'd climax!

It was bizarre, but a theory worth testing.

* * *

Ellsworth would provide Doc and Jeff with valuable scientific data, for a
fat fee, of course.  Doubtless, the testing would be rough on Judith, but
Ellsworth had no reason to concern himself with that.  He had hoped to gain
several thousand dollars for her sale, but Crane obviously wasn't going to
sell her.  He'd lose nothing if the experiment damaged his former attorney.


Anyway, in the interests of science, that was a risk that Ellsworth was
willing to take.

It's a pleasure not to be restricted by all of the legal constraints that
are such an impediment in the States.

Disposing of Judith here on the island was going to be more interesting
(and more lucrative) than he had anticipated.

* * *

Ellsworth withdrew his eye from the glass.  He'd just passed the elevators,
and a lot of cells remained to observe.  He groped along to the next door.

The goodies he was going to enjoy during this sojourn on the island would
make a Don Juan envious!  He would enjoy two females every night.  It was
an intoxicating thought.

With so many females available, it was a pity that he couldn't perform as
he had at fifteen.  However, there were other ways to gratify himself.

I enjoy whipping a female almost as much as fucking her in the ass.

Whenever he had difficulty developing an erection, he'd order the slave
onto her knees.  If she failed to make him come in that way, he'd whip her
tits.  It was a win-win plan. Imagining it immediately gave him a hard-on.

* * *

He reached the next cell, and Ellsworth put his eye to the glass.

Its contents made his heart race.

A gorgeous black-haired beauty lay on the left hand bunk.  She was somewhat
older than he preferred, perhaps in her upper twenties, but she had a
fantastic figure, with a narrow waist and big tits.  Even in the prone
position that she was in, her knockers looked firm and well-shaped.  Her
nipples thrust out from areolas that were hills of their own.

Every few seconds, she shivered.   Every naked girl down here was curled
into that same fetal position and most of them shivered as this brunette
did.  The cells must be as cold as the hall.   Each one lay with her head
facing the inside door (which he supposed led to a bathroom), and her
buttocks and thighs faced the hall door and the spyglass.  The position
gave him a view of each female's cunt.

Keeping his eye to the glass, Ellsworth unzipped his fly.  Lacking the
encumbrance of undershorts, his cock immediately freed itself.  He grasped
it and, without taking his gaze from the naked girl, he began masturbating.


The last two cells were empty.  The Senator moved further.  He encountered
double wooden doors, doubtless to the T.C.  Across the corridor from it, he
found the D.R.

His tour had taken longer than he had anticipated, but Ellsworth had
achieved both of his goals.  He had seen all of the slaves who were
available for abuse, and he had found Sheila and Judith.

He felt tired but horny.  He continued to masturbate with one hand while he
groped back toward the midpoint of the corridor with his other hand.  He
stopped at an occasional peephole for a few last looks.

He reached the elevator and depressed the Up button.  While he waited, he
awkwardly stuffed his cock back in his pants and zipped up his fly.

The question is, after I take Sheila and Judith, where will I keep them?
The moment that they're missed, Crane will guess that I have them.  He'll
send guards to search my quarters.

As the lift rose, Ellsworth considered how and where he could keep the two
females so that he'd be able to use and abuse them at his leisure.

By the time the lift stopped at the third floor and the doors slid open,
Ellsworth had worked out the logistics.

Right now I need to satisfy this hard-on.  I'm not about to jerk off with
Lindsey available.

* * *

Using the key that she had given him, the Senator unlocked the door and
entered her apartment. At this early hour he expected to find her in bed.

Instead, he found her in the living room, in her recliner.

He stood in the foyer, watching.

Lindsey LeBeau lay in the chair naked, her eyes closed and her legs
dangling over its arms.

Ellsworth approached, quietly, although Lindsey's moans would cover any
inadvertent sound he might make.

A naked brunette knelt on the carpet before Lindsey, her head between the
cosmetic executive's legs.  The girl was about twenty years old, with big
tits.  Ellsworth immediately recognized as another Dining Room waitress,
and she had served him many times.  Like all of the waitresses who served
evening meals, she was gorgeous.

The girl also had her eyes closed.  She was moving her tongue up and down
between Lindsey's pudenda, spreading them aside like a ship parting the
waves.

The idea of putting his mouth to a cunt revolted Ellsworth.  The mere
thought made him queasy.

Strangely however, it was the idea of he himself (or another man)
performing the act that made it so disgusting.

Watching the girl put her mouth to Lindsey's cunt was different.  It didn't
sicken him.  Watching her push aside the pink folds of glistening flesh
with the flat of her tongue soon had his cock extending the cotton of his
shorts like a tent pole.

Ellsworth unzipped his fly again.  His imprisoned rod sprang out and bobbed
twice in the air before he grabbed it and began pumping it with machine gun
rapidity.  In less than a minute, he was close to an orgasm.

Lindsey emitted a loud moan, and Ellsworth feared that she'd open her eyes.


Instead, she withdrew her dangling legs from the chair arms and squeezed
the girl's head between her thighs.  She began rubbing her genitals up and
down on the girl's face.

Ellsworth unfastened his belt and jerked open his shorts.  They fell to his
ankles and he kicked them across the carpet.  His shirttails dangling and
his fist gripping his erect penis, he crept behind the kneeling girl.  He
spread his legs and crept over her and Lindsey, step by step, until his
knees butted against the arms of the chair.

He placed his left knee on the cushion beside Lindsey, shoved it up into
her right armpit and  raised himself onto the chair, ensconcing his right
knee into the other armpit.   He straddled Lindsey's chest, his groin over
her breasts.

* * *

"What?!" Lindsey exclaimed, opening her eyes wide.

His fat hand was before her eyes, gripping his member about the shaft, and
pointing the head at her.  It was barely an inch from her face, and a
droplet beneath the oozing slit dangled and threatened to fall on her chin.

She looked up.  Ellsworth was grinning down at her.

"Open your mouth!" he demanded.

He lowered the fat head and held the slit before her lips as he continued
pumping his organ rapidly.

His moving arm shook his massive body and transmitted the tempo into her
and the chair from his knees, which probably hurt her as he pressed them
into her armpits, and from his thighs, which he squeezed against her
sides..

The fat head of his penis was about two inches from her open lips when the
slit spurted.  A streak of cream shot between them and disappeared.

His free hand reached out and grasped the back of the chair to pull him
closer.  He pressed the fat head between her lips, and his penis jerked
again.

* * *

Ellsworth milked a few last drops from the slit.  He wiped them off on
Lindsey's eyelids.

He looked behind him at the girl, and he carefully raised himself.

If the whore behind me raises her head, I don't want her to bang my balls.

Ellsworth clambered down and retrieved his shorts.  As he drew them on, out
of the corner of his eye he observed Lindsey draw up a knee.  He raised his
head just as she thrust out her foot and shoved the girl from the chair.

The girl tumbled onto the carpet.

Ellsworth watched Lindsey scramble from the chair while cupping a hand over
her mouth.  Eyes closed, she groped her way to the bathroom.  She didn't
close the door, and Ellsworth heard the sounds of retching, followed by the
flush of the toilet.

* * *

When Ellsworth awoke, he glanced at the clock.  It was still early.
Lindsey's bed was comfortable, but he couldn't go back to sleep.  His plans
for the blonde and for Judith fermented in his head.  He was reasonably
certain that, after he took them from their cell, he could keep them long
enough to use them both as long as he pleased without Crane's men finding
them.

It will be a pleasure to see your disappointment, Crane!  If your guards
disturb my furniture while they search my suite, I'll make certain that
they spend a day cleaning it.

Ellsworth rose.  Several sets of his spare clothes were in her closet, and
he slipped into white walking shorts and a multicolored Hawaiian
short-sleeved shirt and sandals.  The cosmetic executive's directory lay on
the stand next to the phone.  He opened it.  Rita and George had suite 404,
at the opposite end of the Academy, and one flight up, on the fourth floor.

He entered the living room.  Lindsey hadn't dared to risk awakening him by
sneaking a blanket from the bedroom; so  he found the two females entwined
together, naked, on the sofa.  They looked cold and uncomfortable.

He smiled and left the apartment.

* * *

















 CHAPTER 41: Crane in his Office

After the two girls left, Crane picked up his phone.  He punched in three
numbers.

"Rita?"

"Who is this?"

"Crane.  As I recall, you bought Ed Ericson, the husband of that blonde
slave, Sheila.  I want to borrow him . . . "

"What?!"  There was a brief pause and then a shrill, "No way!  Are you
telling me that some other woman wants him?  If you think I'll sell him
back to you, Crane, forget it!"

Crane held the phone away from his ear.

"Only to borrow him, Rita.  At least you could show some gratitude that I
found a male for you. You've been bugging me for over a year to get male
for you--one that's well-hung."

"It took you long enough, Crane," she said.  She seemed slightly mollified.

Will you lease him to me?"

She laughed.  "Why should I?  I'm having a ball!"

"I want him only for a day.  Sixteen hours, Rita.  I'll pay you the fee
that I charge clients for a female."  It was double what Crane charged to
rent out a male.

Rita said, derisively, "A measly five hundred, Crane?  You're a cheap
prick!"

"You won't loan him to me?"

"No way!"

"One thousand."

"Cheap, cheap.  I paid you enough for him."

Crane was irritated.  "He cost you less than the cheapest female that went
in the last auction, Rita.  How much do you want for a one day rental?"

"Half of what I paid for him.  For eight hours."  Rita laughed softly.
"Crane, you have no idea how good it feels to bust your balls!"

 "Christ, Rita!  Two and a half thousand, for only eight hours? You're
ripping me off!"

"Tough.  Take it or leave it, Crane.  Want to hear what I trained him for?"


"Not particularly.  Why only eight hours, Rita?  You have the kid."

Crane tried to recall the young man's name.  "Bill."

"To throw a party.  Mine won't be like one your men customers throw,
though, Crane.  I intend to only invite women.  You know what they'll see?"

"You tell me."

"Two gorgeous hunks, each one sucking the other's cock."

Crane responded, sarcastically, "Rita, you really picked yourself a job.
You'll never get them to do that!"

"You think I won't succeed?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, listen to this.  The kid is already trained!"

"Bullshit!"

"You know the female that I bought?  Robyn?"

Although it was a futile gesture over the telephone, Crane nodded. "She's
small, with long black hair.  A college girl."

"That's her.  Her breasts are large for her size.  I bought her for George.
 He adores big tits, Crane."

"Everyone knows that, Rita."

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"When he wants his cock sucked, he prefers Bill!"

"Jesus, Rita!"  He paused, stupefied.

What the fuck did she do to the kid?!

"Are you serious?"

"I don't joke, Crane.  He sucks George's cock."

"Jesus, Rita.  What did you do to the poor kid?"

"It was fun!  And I'll train Ed the same way!"

"Speaking of Ed, I hope you haven't worn him out."

Rita emitted a raucous laugh.

"You really want him, don't you, Crane, Baby!  How come so bad?  Have you
gone queer?"

Crane tried to control his temper.  Did he really want Sheila's husband
this much?  Rita was a bitch.  It would be pleasant to hang her by her
ankles and whip her tits.  He'd use a cat, and one that was tipped with
metal pellets.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, loudly.

"He isn't for me," Crane explained. "I'll use him to test a new blue girl.
What I want to know is, is he O.K.?  You're rough on slaves, Rita."

"Females, for the most part.  Ed is fine."

"Twenty-five hundred, then.  I'll take it off your bill."

Rita giggled.  "I knew you'd give in!"

"I want him tomorrow morning, Rita."

"Send two guards.  He's strong."

Crane hung up, exhaling a long breath.

Robbery!

Twenty-five hundred!   He didn't really have to use Ed.  Still, with
Sheila's husband and her friend both here, it gave him the opportunity for
an optimum test of the blonde's commitment.  He really wanted to see the
blonde's reaction, with her husband and her best friend involved.

Of course, that wasn't the sole reason he'd agreed to Rita's cutthroat
price for him.

The large amounts that I've gotten accustomed to handling are responsible.
A few thousand dollars doesn't impress me much anymore.

* * *

Crane picked up the phone and again punched three buttons.

"Training Center, Nina speaking!"

"Nina, I'm hiring another blue girl."

There was a pause.  Crane could hear her breathing.  He could almost guess
her thoughts.

"That's good, Master.  I hope it isn't that blonde, Sheila.  She hasn't
been trained, you know."

"Training isn't critical, Nina.  She's married, and she's seen you work in
the T.C.  She's smart.  I expect her to pick things up fast.  She and Kelly
have gone to the shed for uniforms and supplies."

"She won't be reliable, Master Crane!  She'll be too sympathetic.  Just you
wait and see-she won't discipline slaves properly."

"I disagree.  In any case, I'm testing her tomorrow."

"Here in the T.C.?"

"In my suite."

"Well, what do you want from me?" She sounded angry.

Was Kelly right?  She sounds jealous.

Crane had taken Sarah for his personal slave six or seven months ago, and
Nina had been upset about it.  He remarked on it to Kelly.

"Well, Master," Kelly said; "that doesn't surprise me.  Nina has like, a
monster crush on you.  She gets uptight when you favor any slave."

He had forgotten Kelly's statement until now, but it was probably all
Kelly's imagination.

She was a romantic, and she liked to fantasize relationships.

Nina is simply being hard-nosed.

Crane appreciated that in a blue girl, and he needed more females like her.
 In fact, this morning, Sheila had favorably surprised him by her ruthless
disciplining of Sarah.

"I want you to bring her husband up here tomorrow morning," he said.

"Rita has Ed Ericson, Master.  She'll never let you have him!"

"I've already arranged it.  Take Duke along with you."

* * *

Crane switched on his computer.  He printed out a spreadsheet, carried it
into his bathroom, and locked the door behind him.

The brunette's moans, and the sound of Sarah's vibrator came through the
other door, that into his bedroom.  The two slaves were busy, but Crane
took the precaution of locking that door also.

He lowered the toilet seat, opened the medicine cabinet, and removed all of
the bottles from the top shelf and placed them on the lid of the toilet
tank.

He reached into the open cabinet and levered the shelf up.  The hinged rear
of the cabinet swung out, exposing his steel safe, with its black and white
central dial.   He twirled the knob several times and unlatched the door.


His thirty-eight lay revolver lay in front.  He removed it and placed it
beside the bottles.  He drew out one of the two shoeboxes, and then seated
himself on the toilet lid.

Each bundle contained fifty American hundreds, held together by a rubber
band,

He glanced at his spreadsheet.  The auction of the last shipment grossed
four hundred thirty-five thousand.   Rentals since then amounted to eleven
thousand.  Crane didn't bother to remove the box that remained in the safe:
it held receipts for apartments and suites and for miscellany-meals, racks,
and so on.  Those barely covered his costs of supplies, maintaining the
building, salaries, and his largest outlay--payments to subcontractors.

He counted the bundles and the two odd bills, each a thousand.  The total
agreed roughly with that of his spreadsheet.

Sheila had brought him fifty thousand dollars.  He could afford to buy her
back from Lindsey, but it was a lot to sacrifice.

Fifty thousand is ridiculous, for a blue girl!

He had made a mistake in offering incoming female slaves that option.

Crane didn't consider reneging on his promise.  There was a good chance he
wouldn't have to buy her back.

Hiring her is a long way from certain.  It depends on whether Lindsey will
sell her back to me.  Besides, Sheila has to pass her test and then prove
herself over the week.

During the auction Lindsey had seem determined to obtain Sheila, no matter
how much she had to pay.  It seemed likely that she would refuse to sell
the blonde back to him.  If he went to Lindsey now, and she refused to
relinquish Sheila, he'd have no reason to test the blonde.

Crane wanted to test Sheila.  Even if he didn't need to determine her
commitment, he wanted to test her for his own enjoyment.  Having her friend
Wendy and her husband Ed participate in her test would make it interesting.


Considering what he had planned soon gave Crane a hard-on.

I'll simply give Sheila the test first!  If she passes, then I'll see
Lindsey.

If she didn't pass it, he would send Sheila back to the T.C.   When Duke
and Nina certified her as trained, he'd turn her over to the lesbian.

Crane's buzzer interrupted his thoughts.

He hurriedly returned the bundles to the box and the box to the safe.  By
the time he'd returned the bottles and jars to the cabinet and unlocked
both bathroom doors, the buzzer sounded twice more.

* * *

Babette felt nervous.  Even though it was inside the suite, the buzzer
sounded terribly loud.  She didn't dare be seen entering Crane's office.
She glanced up and down the hallway.  At least it was still empty.  She
raised her fist and knocked; immediately, the door opened.

Crane's eyes widened.

"Babette!" he exclaimed.   Then he lowered his voice to a whisper.  "It
doesn't matter that much to me, but you're taking a risk."

"I'm sorry I didn't call, Crane," she said; slipping into the room.  "I
couldn't use the phone.  My companion Leon is in our suite.  I imagine
you'll think it strange, having brought him here, but I don't completely
trust him."

 "Keep your voice down," he said, closing the door.

"I know we agreed to meet at night, Crane," she said; "but this is rather
urgent."

"Two of my slaves are in the bedroom.  Keep your voice down."

"Well . . . where can we talk?" She asked.

"In my living room.  Wait."

Crane went to the bedroom door and opened it only far enough to put his
head through.

Babette heard him call, "I'll be busy, Sarah.  Don't bother me for
anything!"

He returned and took her hand.  He led her through a door that was adjacent
to the wide windows on their left that overlooked the jungle.

"This room is sound-proofed," Crane said.  He closed the door and locked
it.

Babette looked about.  The room was much smaller than the one they'd left
and was square, with a thickly-piled beige rug underfoot with abstract
designs in blue and gold; she guessed it was Turkish or Persian.

An oval-topped mahogany coffee table occupied the center of the rug.  Four
dark brown deep armchairs were arranged about it, each with its own lamp
table beside it.  The only illumination was from a large window on their
left. Crane switched on a lamp.

The wall to her right held three paintings, each about two feet in height
and about one foot wide, the three close together, arranged to fashion a
triptych.  Each depicted a (different) woman, each in diaphanous attire.
The garments appeared to be ancient Greek or Roman.

"Those aren't original Muchas, are they?" she asked.

"Hardly," Crane said, smiling.  "Three original Muchas would take
everything I have."

"Aren't you tired of looking at girls and women all day?"

He shrugged.  "I like women."

She pointed to the large one on the far wall.  She had seen it before, in
Paris.  Despite Crane's lack of a university education, Crane had often
surprised her with his knowledge.

Babette had an urge to impress him, and she said,  "Isn't that 'Les
Vierges'?"

Before he could respond, she added, "I don't suppose you get many of those,
here."

Crane smiled.  "Occasionally I get one."

He indicated a chair.  "Sit down.  Would you like something to drink?"

"No."  She took the chair opposite his, the coffee table between them.

"I suppose you came for more funds?" he said.

"Another hundred thousand," she replied. "That should cover my latest
expenses, and I'll pay off the workmen."

"Any problems?"

"You mean, because of the addition?"

Babette disliked uttering the word 'dungeon'.  She supposed her antipathy
for it was because of her legal background but, whatever her motive, she
preferred to utilize euphemisms.  Aside from her personal feelings, if it
ever came to court she could say honestly that the word had never arisen.

"I import them, Crane.  When they finish, I pay them in cash, and Mike
returns them to Colombia."

"Anything else?"

"I brought the title.  Oh, and here's your passport."

She withdrew it from her briefcase and handed it across the table to him.
"You're Canadian, from Vancouver."

"If things continue as they have over the last three years," Crane said;
"by the time I need this, it won't look new."

Babette withdrew a manila folder and handed it over the table to him.
"I'll need your signature on several papers.  I highlighted where you
sign."

Crane signed them.  Then he rose.  "I'll get your money," he said, turning
toward the door.

"Before you do, Crane, I have something else that concerns you.  I didn't
want to discuss it over the phone.  It's about Lindsey.  One of your
clients is blackmailing her."

* * *



CHAPTER 42: The Senator Visits Rita & George


After reaching the fourth floor, the Senator exited into the corridor.  It
was lit slightly more than the basement, by two overhead fluorescents.  He
found suite thirteen and was about to push the buzzer when he.thought to
look at his watch.

Not yet eight.

He knocked softly.  There was no response, and he knocked again, loudly.
He heard a mumbled male voice: "Yeah?"

"It's me, George," he said.

"Who?  Talk louder, asshole!"

The Senator grinned.  That was George.  He waited.  Footsteps, then the
knob.

The door opened, part way, and his friend's head appeared in the doorway.
It was outlined by the light from within; then the door opened wider.
George gazed vacantly at the Senator, bleary-eyed.  He stifled a yawn and
squinted.  Then his eyes widened.

He exclaimed, "Senator!  It's good to see you, old boy!"

He opened the door wide.  "Why so fucking early?!"

The Senator stepped in.  George appeared older than he had over the
Christmas break.  His paunch was more noticeable, and for the first time
the Senator noticed that the thinning brown hair on George's head was
streaked with gray, and his jowls were more extended.   The deterioration
in his looks seemed noticeably more than it had been just a few months ago.


I've put on weight, but there's muscle under my flab.  I look better than
men half my age. Women still can't resist me.  Poor George resembles my
basset hound, Balderdash.  It's fortunate for him that the Academy is here.
 He doesn't need his looks anymore to fuck the coeds and high school girls
that he goes for.

His friend was dressed in a black bathrobe, loosely tied with a sash, and
wore slippers over his bare feet.

Ellsworth grasped and pumped his hand.  "Did I wake you, George?  I
apologize."

"Not quite, Senator, but it's a fucking good thing you knocked!  Wake Rita
at this hour, and she'll cut off your balls!"

The Senator replied, "I don't doubt it, George.  I regret the hour, but
I've been up all night.  I couldn't sleep and I won't, not until I make a
proposal to you-actually to both you and Rita."

We both know that Rita wears the pants in this family, but I see no need to
rub it in on my friend.

"Do you now!" George exclaimed, returning his grin.  "When my old buddy
comes to me with a proposal, it means the long green.  Well, either that,
or a good time. Since we're here on the island, I suppose it's a
party-right, Senator?"

"No titles, George, please.  Prescott, to you and your sister.  The three
of us go back too far to be formal with each other."

"You can say that again.  I remember when you first got elected to
Congress.  You were at our house a lot . . ." he smiled slyly; "to confer"
(he emphasized the word) "with Dad."

That elicited a smile from Ellsworth.

"Your father is still a big contributor, George."

His host led the way into the living room.  Ellsworth noticed several
changes in the room, including four new ceiling chains with manacles at
their ends.

Better and better.  A pair for the blonde and a pair for Judith!

He also noted two racks, a standard pillory and an aitch, each constructed
(he presumed) of light oak.  They occupied the center of the room and were
coated with so many layers of varnish that they reflected light from a
nearby table lamp.  In a corner he saw a horizontal metal bar, provided
with four handcuffs mounted in its base.  It was a convenience for either a
whipping or for easy access to a girl's two nether orifices.

A pity that none of the three is in use.

The wall-to-wall carpet was new; its color was jet black, into which red
and yellow dragons were designed, and had a pile that looked nearly two
inches thick.  It was pseudo-oriental, and Ellsworth had no doubt that it
had cost Rita several big ones, but it really did look tacky.

Rita's taste was florid.  Ellsworth had ignored such external matters when
he'd first met Rita, many years ago.  She'd been in her twenties.  In those
days, she was beautiful, voluptuous, and absolutely irresistible. As for
her shrewdness, he'd admired it even then.

Even at twenty-two, which had been her age then, Rita would do anything, as
long as a pot of gold was there. Of course, she had eventually obtained
everything-position, influence, and money.

Ellsworth thought that she would have become more conservative with age,
but the decor in the room was jarring.

It's like her taste in apparel and jewelry.

The wall pictures were Van Goghs which, in a suitable setting, would have
been attractive.  Here, they clashed bizarrely with the dragons.

He looked at the enormous nude painting of Rita that was opposite the
windows and well-illuminated by the natural light.  It had been done many
years ago.  What a knockout she'd been!  Her tits, even today, looked good.
 Now, he supposed, they were party tits, remodeled by some top-notch
plastic surgeon.

Rita and George's suite was located on the west side of the central
corridor, while the Senator's own suite was on the east side, the same as
Crane's office and rooms and, like his, overlooked the green jungle canopy.


Here in Rita's suite, the glass that took up most of the opposite wall
overlooked the sea. At this early hour of the day, the water below was
dark.  He could hardly see the waves.  During any clear evening, however,
the sunset from the window would be spectacular.

"Is Rita still asleep?" he asked, glancing at the two closed doors on their
right.  As he recalled, her bedroom was the one overlooking the water.

"Who knows?" George replied with a shrug.

"She could be up by now.  Rita plays with her new toys every morning."  He
grinned.  "And every night, too."

"Her toys?"

I hadn't thought of that.  She may not have room for the blonde and Judith.

"Her friends are green with envy," George said; "For once, Crane got what
she's been bugging him for, two real hunks..  She's having a ball,
Senator!"

"I'm not surprised, George.  As long as I can recall, she's been in Crane's
ear to get her a male with a huge tool.  Did she get her heart's desire?"

"She did with the older one.  The kid's prick is more my size, Senator, but
aside from that, he's a hunk.  Actually, they both are."  George smiled.
"You won't believe this, but Rita keeps both of them horny."

Ellsworth raised his eyebrows.  "Impossible!  As long as I can remember,
George, Rita has been insatiable."

"Not if she had reason to tease.  Rita never fucked a business prospect if
it was more in her interest to keep him horny.  You know how she levered
guys."

"These are two slaves, George.  She has no reason to keep them horny.  She
must fuck them."

George shrugged.

"She'll rides on one for a while but switches before he can come.  You know
how she is, Prescott.  She loves to bust balls."

"How does she satisfy herself?"

"Well, as I say, she switches from one to the other.  But when she comes,
it's mostly from using the kid's mouth."

"Ugh!"  The Senator grimaced, and he felt his stomach turn.  "That's sick!"

George laughed.

"I forgot how you felt about muff-diving, old friend.  I could never figure
you!

"Do you remember that time at a party at my frat?  You bet those two coeds
that they wouldn't do each other."

Ellsworth nodded.  "At that age I didn't believe they'd do such a thing.  I
put up two cee notes, offered one to each of them.  I was foolish.  What
made me really mad was that I couldn't afford to throw away two hundred
bucks."

George laughed.  "Well, you got something for your money.  Watching them
sure the fuck turned you on!"

"That was different, George.  It's the idea of my doing it that revolts me.
 Or, of any man.  Let's drop the subject."

"I don't think Rita fucks as much as she used to.  If I walk in on her
unexpected, I'm more likely to catch her playing with one than fucking
him."

"Are their cocks impressive?"

"When I saw Ed's, I was more envious than when I saw yours for the first
time."

Ellsworth didn't like to hear that.

Ellsworth was vain about his member.  He had been, ever since the age of
sixteen, when the wife of his high school football coach had, in evident
astonishment, told him, "Pressy, yours is bigger than Jack's!"

Coach Hammer had been a big man, larger all around, and at least two inches
taller than Ellsworth had been, then.  Perhaps Ellsworth's cock wasn't a
prizewinner, but it was larger than the few other erect cocks that he'd
seen.

"But not the younger one's?"

"It's average.  If we got a tape measure and compared hard-ons, I'd
estimate that his would match mine, if I were circumcised.  But the kid is
about eighteen.  Aside from his medium-sized cock, he's a hunk."

George grinned.  "As a matter of fact, when I'm in the mood for a  . . . "
he began, but his voice trailed off.

* * *

Ellsworth was about to ask him what he intended to say, but they had been
distracted by the sound of clinking china from the open kitchen doorway.

"Your sister is up," the Senator said.

"That's my slave making coffee.  Crane's staff put in a breakfast nook
since you were last here.  Rita and I don't bother to take breakfast in the
Dining Room anymore."

"Now I remember!" the Senator said; "You purchased a female in the last
auction.  I'll have more to appreciate than just the coffee."

* * *

"Prescott, if my memory serves me, you take cream and two sugars, right?"

"I'm cutting down, George.  Cream, but only one sugar."

The Senator followed him into the kitchen.  The odor of fresh coffee was
appetizing, and Ellsworth inhaled deeply, feeling his salivary glands
working.

"I make the little cunt get up a half-hour before me to start the coffee."

"Has she been through all of Crane's training?"

Ellsworth saw a petite long-haired brunette, whom he guessed was in her
late teens, placing a large platter in a cabinet.  Her back was to them,
but he could see that she had a narrow waist and a delectable ass that her
long tresses nearly touched.

"Those handcuffs make her job difficult," the Senator noted.

George nodded.  "She's clumsy, but if she spills anything, I whip her."

The table was in a booth-type alcove.  Ellsworth took the farther bench,
which allowed him to observe the girl without turning his head. The girl's
tresses, so glossy that they reflected light from the overhead fluorescent,
hung far down her back and contrasted well with the white of her gown.

Her garment was a virtually transparent nylon babydoll pajama.

She turned in their direction and, from the dark triangle in the region
that interested him, he was sure that it lacked panties.  He could see that
her breasts were large for her figure and from the way they projected, they
had to be very firm.

He thought of grabbing and squeezing them.  It was one means by which the
Senator often compelled an attractive female to comply with whatever he was
in the mood for.

The girl lowered what appeared to be a pitcher and a sugar container.  She
leaned over the counter until her back was horizontal, holding a coffee
grinder with her handcuffed hands.  Her ample breasts squashed upon the
counter.  She then straightened up, and stretched onto her tiptoes in order
to replace the grinder in the cabinet.

In that position, the raised hem gave him a complete view of creamy
buttocks.  When she bent over the counter, it provided him with a view of
rosy lips, the outer ones of which were outlined by an ellipse of down, as
jet black as her tresses.

"Robyn!" Ellsworth called.

The girl jumped, and she turned to face them.  Seeing the Senator, she
curtsied.

"Y-Yes, Master?" she said.

"I was just testing my memory for names," Ellsworth responded.  "I remember
you from the auction.  Your body is appetizing."

She colored.  "Th-Thank you, Master."

Ten or twelve feet separated the breakfast alcove from where she stood, but
the light over the sink illuminated her enough, and the Senator could see
the hue of her breasts through her thin garment.

The Senator turned to his friend.  "She's gorgeous.  I love those tits."

His cock felt like it was going to burst from the cotton of his trousers.

"Me too," George replied.  "When I'm at an auction, the female's tits are
the first things I look at.  At the last sale, that blonde-Sheila--was my
choice.  She has great tits, D cups at least."

The Senator agreed.

It should make my proposal all the more tempting to him.  My sales pitch
will be to Rita.

"I can't complain, though," George continued.  "This little cunt is tight!
Every morning Rita and I have an argument about who gets her-Rita, to train
her; or me, to fuck her."

"Your sister is training her?  Robyn is already trained, George.  I saw
Crane's staff working her over with whips a few nights ago."

"Rita's training her for a party," George responded.  "She wants Robyn to
perform with the two males."

"Rita plans a party?"

George nodded.  "I'm not sure she'll invite any men, though.  She wants to
impress the women here."

The Senator lost interest.  Whatever would impress women wouldn't impress
him.

"The girl is a good fuck?"

George smiled.  "Her cunt is almost as tight as her ass.  She's like a
cherry every time."

"How is she on the skin flute?"

"Not that great.  I really prefer getting head from . . . "  George paused
and his voice trailed off as it had earlier.  The Senator noticed but
decided not to enquire.

His sister is sucking him off.  Rita gave great head when she was young.  I
suppose she's even better now-if that's possible.

"I don't mean to say that I don't make her go down, Senator," George added.
 "But my kicks come from knowing that she hates it so much."

He laughed.  "You should see her face when I come in her mouth!"

"She just needs more practice at it," Ellsworth said.  "Yours may be the
first cock she's sucked on.  I mean, except for what she got during
training."

"She's pretty slow.  I whip her while she's blowing me.  It speeds her up."

The Senator resisted the urge to laugh.  He raised his eyebrows and assumed
a serious mien.

"That sounds awkward, George, even dangerous.  You're taking a terrible
risk, whipping her while she's got your prick between her teeth."

The Senator's eyes were on the girl, who was across the kitchen, bending
low over the sink.  She was washing something with a sponge and the sprayer
hose and seemed not to be listening to their conversation, but at that
point her face reddened.

George evidently missed his allusion, for his friend shook his head and
replied, "It's easy, Prescott."

"I use my belt.  With this waist of mine, my belt is fifty-two inches long.
 When I'm lucky, it lands right between her cheeks."

He laughed.  "I'll let you guess where the tongue lands!"

Ellsworth gave him a disapproving look and shook his head, "It's too big a
risk, my friend.  Don't whip her until she's finished you."

George frowned.  "Why?  When I show her what I'll give her if she's too
slow, she bobs her head like crazy!  You can't imagine how good that
feels!"

"It's risky.  You'll shock her into closing her jaws."

His friend looked stunned.  "Jesus!" he exclaimed.  "I never thought of
that!  As a matter of fact, sometimes she scrapes me with her teeth."

"That's common.  She has a small mouth, George."

* * *

They watched the girl for a minute or so, without speaking.

Robyn switched off the coffee maker.  She bent forward and carefully poured
its contents into a decanter with her manacled hands.

The coffee fragrance permeated the small kitchen. Ellsworth closed his eyes
and inhaled deeply.  The Colombian coffee that Crane provided to his guests
here was the most delicious that he had ever tasted.

Robyn filled two cups.

The two men watched as she gathered spoons and napkins, a small pitcher,
and a twin-handled container that probably contained sugar.  She placed
everything on a tray.  Because of her manacles, she bent low and hoisted it
high enough to carry.

She approached the two men, her upraised arms providing them with enticing
glimpses of her bobbing breasts, visible through her nearly transparent
garment.  Her bobbing breasts impacted the base of the tray as she walked,
and imparted an up-down motion to it and to her arms.

The Senator watched intently as she approached.  He hoped to see hot coffee
slop over the lip of the decanter and over the rim of the tray.  It would
be amusing to see her reaction when it scalded those gorgeous tits.

To his disappointment, she arrived unscathed.  She leaned forward and
placed the saucers with the filled cups before them, providing Ellsworth
with another view of their deep cleavage.  The babydoll nightie didn't
conceal much and, by the time she'd finished, the Senator's penis was as
hard as the marble table that she placed the items upon.

His eyes followed her buttocks as she returned to the sink.

"You said that she's tight?"

"I feel like I'm popping a cherry every time."

The Senator's thought that his organ was above the average man's size.
Nevertheless, he considered any female who could squeeze it with her cunt
to be a treasure.  A large proportion of the high school girls that Crane
imported to the island had that ability, and when the Senator was provided
with a choice, he selected females that ranged in age from fifteen to
seventeen.

He didn't know if size or muscles were responsible.  Crane's trainers
compelled girls to walk about while gripping long heavy objects to improve
the muscle tone of their vaginas.

The Senator doubted that muscle tone accounted for Robyn's ability: She was
too new.

"It's due to her small stature," the Senator said.

He saw George gazing down at his trousers.

He's probably envious that I can get a hard-on so easily.  George is
probably ten years younger than I am.  I'll bet he has trouble getting it
up.

"Feel free to use her, Prescott," his friend said.  "We came here to enjoy
ourselves."

"You're a true friend, George.  I'd like to fuck her, but first I'd like to
discuss my proposal with you."

"I understand, Senator," George said.  "But that's no reason to deprive
yourself.  She has two hands and a mouth."

Ellsworth smiled.  "Well," he said; "if you put it that way, George . . . I
don't mind combining business with pleasure."

George turned his head.  "Robyn!" he called.

The girl jumped.  She quickly placed a bowl in the rack.  She curtsied.
"Yes, Master?"

"Come here."

Robyn trotted back to the two men, breasts bouncing.  She knelt facing
them, on the ceramic tile.

The floor must be hard on her knees.  It's a pity to bruise those
attractive legs, but satisfying my cock is more important than a slut's
comfort.

"Robyn," George said; "Master Ellsworth will want to fuck you, but we have
matters to discuss, and he doesn't have time to spare.  Get under the table
and take care of him."

The Senator looked down at her.

Jesus those big tits must be firm!  That nightie hangs from them like her
nipples are hooks!

The girl blushed.  "B-But, Master . . . !"  She looked from George to the
Senator and back.  "Y-You're m-my Master!"

George reached down and gripped a handful of the girl's hair.  He held it
like a rope and slapped her face twice, very hard.

"Ow!" she cried.  Tears ran down her cheeks.  "Th-Thank you M-Master,"  she
stammered.

"If you object again . . . " George leaned down.  He grasped a breast, and
his fingers clenched.

"Ow!!" Robyn cried.  "Please stop, Master!  I'll do it!"



.


The girl disappeared under the table.  Ellsworth felt her touch his foot,
and he moved it and spread his legs.  He unzipped his fly. His already
erect organ bobbed up into the kitchen's cool air.  He gripped his rigid
cock and held it horizontally under the table.

"Here," he said, not bothering to look down.  "Suck this, while your Master
and I talk."

Across the table, George asked, "How long do you think this will take,
Senator?"

Ellsworth shrugged.  Cool fingers encircled his member.  "Maybe half an
hour, George.  But I'd like Rita's input.  Would it be too much trouble to
see if she's awake?"

His friend smiled.  "Of course not."

George leaned down.  Ellsworth heard him say, "Robyn, our discussion could
be finished in thirty minutes. Make Master Ellsworth come before then."

"Yes, Master," Ellsworth heard her soft voice answer.

George raised his head.  "Rita should be up, Senator.  Since she didn't
come out, I'll bet anything that I'll find her playing with one of her
hunks."

He stood up.  "I'll be right back, Senator."

The Senator grinned.  "Take all the time in the world, George."

The girl's mouth felt very pleasant and, as George left, Ellsworth closed
his eyes.

I can't agree with George's complaint about her.   She'll have me coming in
ten minutes!

Committee meetings in Washington should provide this service.

* * *

Ed's balls hurt.  Prior to his abduction he had been accustomed to
masturbating several times a day.  Since the first day on the island,
however, his wrists had been bound either behind his back or under his
chin, to his collar.

For days he had been unable to touch his sex organs with his hands.  During
the voyage he had masturbated just once, in the ship's head, and that had
been his sole release for the week.

Even when he showered each morning with Bill, that scumbag George was
always present, ready with his prod.  The first time George touched his
testicles with that thing had felt like getting hit with a hammer.  He had
collapsed onto the tile floor, retching.   It took more than a day before
his balls stopped hurting.

Of course, the way they hurt now differed from that.  They had to be
engorged with sperm.  He couldn't stop thinking of naked women.  Virtually
every stray thought that he had gave him a hard-on.

The bitch liked to see it hard.  Every morning when she got up, she'd walk
past him, naked and would giggle as his penis responded.  It invariably had
become hard by the time she reached the bathroom door. Whenever she entered
the room she'd come to him and take advantage of his bound hands and the
spreader bar.

She seemed to know every possible way to give him an erection.

Initially, she only used her hands but recently, she'd gotten more obscene.
 Each morning, by the time she left the room, his organ would be bobbing in
the air and the slit would be dribbling like a leaky faucet.

She avoided giving him an orgasm.  She got kicks by keeping him in a
frustrated state.

Once, she'd been overconfident, but it hadn't been much for him to gloat
about.

It had been after he'd slopped up his dinner from the bowl.  George had
wiped his face and re-mounted him, with his wrists behind his back and the
bar between his legs.  Rita came in, dressed to kill in a scarlet evening
gown and a mess of jewelry.  Another female entered with her, some bleached
blonde, but one who was more tastefully dressed.

Deirdre, that was her name!

It was obvious that both women were naked under their gowns, but Rita
flaunted hers as she always did.  She raised the hem of her dress and both
women laughed when his penis rose like a meter needle in response.

Ed recalled her words.

"This is Eddie, Deirdre.  Isn't he a hunk?"

The woman smiled.  "He's gorgeous, Rita."

"I see that Crane got you what you wanted," she said, glancing down at his
erect organ.

"It took him long enough!"  Rita responded.

She reached down and encircled his cock with her long fingers.  Ed tried
not to react, but her fingers felt cool and familiar, and it took very
little to stimulate him.  She did nothing other than enclose it in her
hand, but thrills surged up through him as she held it.  She obviously was
unaware of the effect it was having on him, and Ed feared that, whatever he
did, the Bitch would punish him.

Rita reached between his legs with her other hand.  She stroked his
testicles.  Their skin immediately became erect and drew them up.

"Isn't that risky?" the blond Deirdre asked.

Rita looked at her.  "What do you mean?"

Ed knew what the blonde meant.  He felt the onset of his orgasm, and before
Rita realized it, his penis spurted.

"Christ!" Rita exclaimed, jumping back.

She released his organ but by then,  two squirts of semen had wet the front
of her gown.

Ed obtained relief from the ejaculation, but his pleasure was short-lived.

To punish him, the Bitch removed a shoe.  She applied the heel to a part of
Ed's body where he was exquisitely sensitive.

* * *

To be continued . . .


For those interested in the MSWord version of this, please request it of
the author at m.mersereau@att.net.  Remarks or questions the Reader may
have about the story may also be sent to that email address.






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