Someone Elses Daughter

by Jack Norman

  The guests she entertained were usually well-known and sometimes glamorous, and at other times they were downright sinister but, without fail, these little parties always ended up with Sara and any other girl present getting heavily dominated and thoroughly fucked. Often, guests would bring their own sluts too, and Sara was never sure which girl belonged to Borzov and which didn’t, so it was hard for her to assess the size of the oligarch’s stable of bitches maintained. After the parties, Sara was always returned to the darkness of her metal box in the basement. Plenty of others came for her oral services, and Georgy, Leo and Sasha often came to fuck her too, but she had no social intercourse with the other girls. This night, though, proved to be somewhat different.

  Sara’s arms were beginning to ache when Leo came for her, an hour or more after Sasha had left. Leo he ordered her from the small, claustrophobic room and out into the basement, her hands still atop her head. To her surprise a dozen or more naked young women were already assembled there with five trainers, and Sasha was leading yet another woman through the forest of concrete pillars towards them. All of the bitches had their hands on their heads and, although they were silent, there seemed to be an almost palpable frisson of excitement amongst them. So these are Borzov’s bitches, ready to party! Yay! Sara felt a familiar tingle of warm anticipation in her belly.

  The chill in the open basement after her warm cell prickled at her skin and made her painted nipples even more prominent. She glanced at the other nude girls. Their bodies had been powdered and painted too. She suppressed a gasp as she recognised the beautiful woman with long, wavy, shoulder-length, midnight hair whom Sasha had led across the basement. She was a famous TV news anchor in the USA, where she was probably instantly recognisable to most of the population. Lucy Letwell was slightly older than the others with a rather thicker waist, and her natural breasts were perhaps on the small side, but she was very beautiful with a well-rounded bottom. Sara raised her eyebrows with interest. So some of Borzov’s bitches are allowed to come and go, and what could be better for a career than the powerful patronage of an oligarch. Now though, Lucy stood naked with her fingers laced atop her head like everyone else. There was evidently a price to pay for such patronage. Still more naked women arrived to join the group. Sara counted eighteen, including herself. None of them spoke.

  The elevator door hissed and Georgy Nikitin walked out into the basement. He glanced at the women and then at Sasha. “They are all here?”

  “Maddy missed her flight because she’s filming.”

  Georgy’s face creased in a frown. “The Boss won’t like that. She’ll get her ass whipped, for sure. Borzov expects his bitches to come when he snaps his fingers. Okay, get their asses up there. The guests are already gathering.”

  There were too many of them to fit in the elevator car at the same time, so the women were split into two groups. Sara was in the second lot, supervised by Leo, and she waited with them for the lift to return. Can’t we lower our hands? My arms are killing me. Perhaps the other girls felt the same way, but nobody asked, and like Sara they kept their fingers laced together on top of their heads. Furthermore, they remained like that when the lift returned and on the ride up to the penthouse.

  As the door slide aside, Sara and some of the others gasped. The entire top floor had been converted into a luxurious banqueting suite. She had never seen it looking so opulent. Tables were laid out with snowy-white cloths, silver chargers, sparkling glasses and gleaming cutlery. For decoration, marble statues, more pornographic than erotic, had been installed throughout the room, and there was a larger number of empty rectangular white marble plinths, like sarcophagi, each four feet high and topped with padding covered in sumptuous red velvet that matched the faux antique dining chairs. The rectangular roof support pillars had been concealed inside marble columns. The plinths, statues, and pillars were festooned with black chains. Clearly, neither imagination nor expense had been spared.

  Sara was amazed by the number of people who were there and there was a multilingual babble of light conversaversation. Only a few people spared a glance to the bevy of naked women who were ushered a few paces into the room under discipline. This was hardly surprising, for there were slaves to be seen everywhere, some nude except for chains and collars and slicks of oil, a few were wearing leather or rope harnesses, and others wore all manner of exotic erotic costumes.

  The slaves’ owners were rather less exotic. Most of the men wore tuxedos of one kind or another, but there were a few Arabs in the room wearing flowing white robes. Across the floor, Dom, the European politician, stood sipping champagne and chatting animatedly to an aging royal. A triple-ended chain rested lightly in the fingers of Dom’s hand, two ends leading to collars on the necks of two black girls who both wore leopard skin loin cloths and gold bangles on their wrists, and gold rings on their long, protuberant nipples. Sara recognised the girl Zanzibar, but the other black girl was virtually identical, except for a frizz of woolly hair. The third length of chain led to the diamond-studded collar of a sleek Asian leopard cat which sat quietly at Dominique’s feet along with the black twins.

  Waiters glided through the throng, dispensing champagne and fine wines. Three Arabs stood chatting together, their naked chattels behind them - two women and a young male with a diamond ring through his foreskin - kneeling with ramrod straight backs, knees widely spaced, chins raised, looking steadfastly ahead. Every nation seemed to be represented. There were several black men, most of them suave and sophisticated, but a few who were younger and more street hip, dressed like pimps, and a couple of them in tribal gear. A dark-skinned Asian man in a Nehru jacket was quietly talking to an autocratic and assured woman white woman - obviously a dominatrix. There were other women too, some young, others more matronly, but all displaying effortless authority. They mingled with easy aplomb, trailing their own playthings behind them. Until then, Sara hadn’t realised that so many of the world’s great and mighty played the same game as Borzov. There must have been a hundred or more of them, and God knows how many slaves.

  Viktor Borzov was by the elevator doors on the other side of the room, welcoming his guests as they arrived. He was unattended by slaves, but Georgy Nikitin was alert nearby, and a group of vanilla aides stood ready to usher the incoming guests into the room.

  “This way,” Leo said, leading the group of naked women through the throng of guests in a meandering line, weaving in and out of chatting groups. Sara gave a start when a hand unexpectedly pinched the inside of her thigh from behind, brushing the peach of her sex. She turned to see a handsome man of her own age smiling at her. He looked vaguely familiar, but she had only time to give him a weak smile before the following girl pushed her breasts in her back, urging her forward. Sasha was waiting with the other gaggle of bitches in the centre of the room.

  “What’s the plan?” Leo asked Sasha.

  “How do I know?”

  It seemed that neither of the youths knew what to do with them, so the Bitches were left to stand with hands atop their heads while enquiries were made. Sara stood directly behind Lucy Letwell, looking down curiously at her ample apple-like arse. She was quite certain that many people had recognised Lucy because she had seen their glances as they were led across the room, but the woman remained calm and detached, a statuesque nude, hands atop her head, staring glassily into the near distance with chin held high, as if abstracting herself from her surroundings, or perhaps from her identity as ‘the lovely Lucy Letwell’. Somehow, it made Sara feel more anonymous and her own nudity seemed less relevant. Yet she was aware of people appraising the group, casting sideways glances at the naked bitches, and more than once she smiled artfully before averting her eyes as she found herself candidly appraised. It’s delicious. What a hoot.

  When Sasha returned, he was accompanied by a somewhat breathless, bespectacled woman who wore a bizarre fluffy outfit of red and black feathers, like an overgrown and miscoloured Easter chick, and her hair had been died to match. “The set designe
r,” Sasha told Leo with a shrug.

  The woman glanced at the clip-board she carried and then at the women. “So these are Borzov’s bitches?” she said, almost in wonder. “I’m expecting nineteen...”

  “We’re one short. She’s late.”

  “Oh my God!” The woman clasped a hand theatrically to her forehead, as if disaster had struck. “There will be an empty plinth.”

  “Shit happens,” Sasha said, winking at Leo.

  “Well, it can’t be helped. Follow me.”

  The bizarrely-dressed woman led the line to a nearby statue, situated almost in the centre of the room. It towered above them: a large statue of a hideously grinning satyr, half-man and half-goat, with a hugely erect phallus and an obscenely protruding pointed tongue; one of its arms was bent at chest height with the palm of its hand upraised, while the other hand was cupped about a foot away from its body.

  “Voila! The centre-piece,” the woman said, showing the clip-board to Leo. “There’s lubricant up there somewhere.”

  Leo glanced at the board and nodded, and he then pushed Lucy Letwell forward. The proud woman walked without resistance. Sasha stood beside the plinth, slightly stooped, with his hands cupped. Sara watched, fascinated, as Lucy lifted her knee and used Sasha’s cupped hands to climb onto the plinth beside the statue. Leo leapt up beside her and reached to take a tube of lubricant and squeeze some onto his hands. Glancing down with an artful look at Sasha, he massaged the length of the stone penis, using both hands. Sara’s smiled as she heard Sasha’s sharp intake of breath. But she Sara inhaled deeply too, feeling the fluttering in her belly. She smelled the aroma of female arousal and she realised uncomfortably that it could well be from her own body. With bated breath, she watched Leo manoeuvre Lucy into position.

  Lucy Letwell did not protest or complain as she faced the hideous statue, her hand clinging to its neck for support. She was made to place her thigh on the satyr’s outstretched hand. When Leo lifted her bodily and lowered her upon the thrusting organ, her buttocks lay in the palm of the monster’s other hand. Lucy moaned audibly as the greased cock stretched her sex. Then Leo leapt to the ground, leaving the Lucy helplessly impaled on the monstrous organ, with one leg hoisted at the height of her trembling breasts. Then Lucy grunted, a sound of surprise, Sara thought, and the set designer woman chortled. Sara looked up in awe at the impaled woman, who now had her eyes closed and her lips set in loose, lascivious half-smile. The famous Lucy Letwell made an impressive erotic centre piece, Sara had to admit. The famous bitch was obviously displayed there as a testament to Borzov’s power and status.

  “Quickly now,” the set-designer was saying, and they were led to the next statue, some fifteen feet away.

  At this next station, a clearly-frightened blonde girl was confronted by another fiendishly grinning satyr with its arms projecting forward. Leo turned the girl and backed her towards the statue, pushing her beneath the outstretched hands, forcing her to bend sharply at the waist and presenting her buttocks to the massively erect stone phallus. When Leo pushed the girl onto the penis and it impaled her cunt, she looked down, her eyes first opened wide and then clenched tightly shut as she was chained in position.

  “Next,” the set-designer called urgently, already at the next plinth.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Sara was looking down from a plinth near one side of the room, squirming against a giant phallus that vibrated like an angry wasp inside her. That had surprised her, for she hadn’t realised that the cocks on the statues merely simulated the appearance of stone. As soon as she had been chained in position on the massive dildo, it had started to vibrate, changing speed seemingly at random, and it was already driving her crazy. The stone satyr that she straddled was bent backwards, supporting itself on one arm with the other hand raised to the fore, and she faced away from its fiendish face with her hands on its knees and her breasts hanging beneath her. Leo had snapped a clover clamp onto her left nipple, and the clamp was hooked to a ring embedded in the palm of the statue’s hand. This produced the effect that the satyr was clutching Jade’s left breast. She had never worn a clover clamp before but quickly found that its grip tightened irreversibly on her throbbing nubbin when she pulled against it. So she had to keep her chest still when she used the strength of her arms to push her hips up on the length of the penis as far as she could, reducing the pressure of its wide base. Then, she gave a small squeal and settled back as the organ within her began to vibrate, sending a startling tingle through her loins. The vibrations increased with each movement. She knew that the guests below, when they were seated to eat, would clearly see the cock entering her ripe vagina.

  The vibrating cock was inexhaustible, of course. Sara lost count of the number of orgasms she endured as a sumptuous banquet was served to the sophisticated guests below. She was stationed reasonably close to the top table, where Viktor Borzov sat with his most prestigious guests. Disconcertingly, the handsome man who had earlier pinched her inner thigh was seated directly adjacent to her. He kept glancing up and smiling as she writhed on the throbbing cock and tried to ignore the throbbing in her left nipple. She was past caring about the humiliation by that time, but had a damnable feeling that she recognised him from somewhere. Then again, she had that same feeling about many of the people in the room, including some of the other girls set upon plinths as erotic ornaments. From her position, Sara had a clear view of Lucy Letwell, at the centre of the room on a plinth markedly higher than the rest, suffering along with the rest of them, and she could see Borzov at the top table with his specially honoured guests.

  Thus, Sara had a good view when, after an hour or so, there was something of a commotion as a Georgy Nikitin dragged a young woman to stand in front of Borzov. Sara blinked as she recognised the young woman. Without a doubt, she was familiar... an actress. Sara couldn’t name her, but she had definitely seen her perform in mainstream films. The young woman wore a fashionable frock but her hair was in a loose, untidy bun and she certainly wasn’t dressed for a banquet.

  “I got here as soon as I could,” the young woman began in an American accent. “They were shooting and...”

  The man sitting next to Borzov pulled a face. “Maddy Maxwell. She’s one of your bitches?”

  That’s her. Rising star of TV and cinema…Maddy Maxwell!

  “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “I see you have yet to teach her not to speak until spoken to, Viktor,” the man said, taking a sip of brandy from a large balloon glass. “In some places, they’d cut out her tongue for that. It would end her acting career, of course.”

  The place had gone quiet and everyone was watching.

  “It seems she’s not learned to be punctual either,” another man said. “Tardiness in a slave shows disrespect to the master and his guests, in my opinion.”

  It seemed that the guests were enjoying Borzov’s discomfort. Perhaps it was a rare chance to take the big man down a notch. However, she could see that Borzov was tight-lipped and displeased. Dom sat silently nearby, but the smile playing on his lips betrayed his amusement.

  “Remove your clothes, Maddy,” Borzov ordered.

  Georgy stepped back as Maddy immediately stripped. It didn’t take long. When she hoisted the dress over her head, she was stark naked. Maddy Maxwell evidently travelled light.

  “Dom, may I borrow your twins?”

  Dom gave a small nod of his head and the two black girls crawled from under the table towards Maddy, tossing their leopard skin loincloths aside. Sara had personal experience of Zanzibar’s skills, of course, and she wasn’t surprised when the girl’s black hands clutched at the pale globes of Maddy’s bottom, holding her steady as her tongue rasped along her cunt. Zanzibar’s Afro-haired sister moved behind Maddy like a predatory feline. She rose to her feet, and reached round to cup the perfect pink uptilted breasts. Maddy groaned. At that moment the dildo inside Sara began to vibrate at hellish speed, sending a continuous trickling tremor through her sex. She closed her eyes
as she endured the thrilling throbbing in her loins. Maddy groaned again. The vibrator took Sara to yet another fluttering climax and continued to tremble for a while before it ceased abruptly. When she looked across at Maddy again, the girl was leaning back against the black twin, her legs widely splayed so that Zanzibar, crouched between her legs, could get full access to her quim. It was all reminiscent of when Sara herself had been similarly held by Sasha as Zanzibar wrought black magic on her cunt. It didn’t seem to be much of a punishment.

  It was only when Borzov raised his hand to signal to the twins, attracting Sara’s glance, that she noticed that the guests at the top table had pushed their chairs back three or four feet. She heard the Boss’s snapped order. Instantly, the girl closed her arms around Maddy’s ribs and Zanzibar grabbed her ankles, and they effortlessly dumped her face down on the table, sending crockery and bottles flying and leaving her arse hanging over the edge, with her breasts and torso atop half-eaten portions of dessert. Zanzibar leapt up on the table, and sat with her thighs draped over Maddy’s shoulders as she grabbed her arms and tucked her feet under the wriggling torso. She released an arm for a moment to wrench at Maddy’s blonde hair, pulling the bun loose and forcing the girl’s face into the gaping black pussy. Maddy was effectively pinned face-down on the table. Borzov beckoned to Zanzibar’s sister and handed her a whip. The black girl smiled as she stepped back and swung the leather experimentally, causing it to crack loudly. Maddy’s body jerked, even though the leather hadn’t yet touched her, and a few people laughed.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” an American voice said quietly.

  Sara looked down, startled, and saw the handsome man who had been eying her throughout the evening. He was leaning against the plinth and his hand was casually reaching up to tweak the nipple of her right breast, pinching it, and causing it to throb almost as much as her other, clamped teat.