by Paul Blades
KLITZMAN’S EMPIRE
Book Two of the Klitzman Stories
By
PAUL BLADES
Copyright©2007 Paul Blades
Dark Visions Publications
[email protected]
All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
CHAPTER ONE
HARRY’S STORY CONTINUES
I’m 37 years old, I’m on a hot list of escaped felons, a fugitive from a life term for murder one, and I’m living on an island somewhere off the coast of West Africa. I get laid at least three or four times a day from my pick of over two hundred beautiful, compliant women. I get three meals a day, or more, if I want it. There’s a great gym, a tennis court, a nine hole golf course and some fine fishing. The booze is always top shelf and the company is usually interesting, if not pleasant. So why am I complaining? Because tomorrow, if I fuck up, I could be roasting over a low burning fire wishing somebody would slit my throat.
You see, I’m living a charade. My name is Harry Wiggins. When my story began, I was an inmate in a Federal pen doing a life term for murder and racketeering. A couple of government guys came by one day and offered me a chance at the street. Bederson and Mulittieri. They were not from the FBI, they said, and that was about all I knew about them. All I had to do was join up with one of the most ruthless and powerful criminal organizations of modern times. It was an organization that had no name, but went by a simple letter, when needs be, a lowercase, cursive ‘k’. That stands for Klitzman. He’s an obese, gluttonous, greedy, amoral, vicious, insatiable demon of a man. He sits on his little African Island and runs his criminal empire like a modern day Roman emperor. All hail Klitzman!
So my name and profile was fed to Klitzman’s recruiter in the prison and, after doing a little wet job for them to prove my mettle, I was hustled out of the joint and flown here. I was supposed to get a contact from the Feds before I was sprung, but I was left high and dry. While I was in route to Klitzman’s version of the ancient isle of Capri, at a way station in the Venezuelan jungle, two female American reporters named Lois and Delia had been caught by Klitzman’s henchman, Morianos. They were snooping around. I thought it too much of a coincidence and that one of them might be my contact. Klitzman’s second in command, a mountainous African named Rukimo, conducted an initial interrogation of one of them, Lois, in my presence. Her story held up. It was the other one, Delia, I was worried about. I knew that Rukimo had very persuasive ways and if the second girl was a Fed, they would certainly force her to give me up eventually. All it would take was one slip in her meager cover story and I was fucked.
So, on my first full day as a ‘supervisor’ on the island, I was lying in bed, musing over the vagaries of fate and my own tenuous future. I had been lying awake for hours. I watched the light break through the window of my dormitory room as it grew from a grayish hue to full brightness. Since the windows were high on the wall, more functional for light than for viewing, I could not see whether any activity had commenced outside. I imagined little slave girls hustling to their morning stations, bedraggled males staggering back to their rooms.
I was not alone. The girl I had callously used and abused last night was kneeling naked at the foot of my bed, nervously awaiting my pleasure. I had fucked her every which way I could think of. Something about her frightened, vulnerable demeanor had sparked a fury inside me. I did not need poor little slave girls looking up at me, doe eyed, tottering on the edge of tears. I had my own problems.
I looked at her, kneeling there, waiting for a signal from me. She was a fine specimen of a girl. She had long black hair and ample, pointy tipped breasts. He legs were spread, revealing the treasure that lay between them. She was no more than twenty, maybe twenty one. She had been stolen from somewhere, had a life, friends, probably a lover. I didn’t know how long she had been Klitzman’s property, but I did know that she had completed Rukimo’s little boot camp for slave girls and wore the symbol of her captivity, a bright red, cursive ‘k’, branded into her right buttock. The fear of displeasing a master would be, by now, second nature to her. She could look forward to nothing else, probably for the rest of her life. She was a slave at Klitzman’s prime resort. Men paid hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to ‘vacation’ here. She was a commodity that they paid to use, an amenity of the house.
But, she was a valuable commodity who would continue to live as long as she followed the rules and pleasured earnestly and skillfully every cock that was presented to her. But me, my life could be forfeit in a most inconvenient way at the drop of a hat. I sensed that Rukimo already had his suspicions.
As I stared at the rays of soft light that peered into my room, I decided that I might as well just go with the flow. I would get all the pleasure I could, while I could still get it. If I was to be chopped up into little bits and fed to sharks, I wanted my last thoughts to be that it had been worth it. There really wasn’t any alternative. Besides, I knew I was being watched. If I hesitated about exploiting the island’s main attraction, it would only serve to heighten any suspicions they had of me. And, to top it off, having spent almost four years behind bars, I was very horny.
I ordered the girl to my bed. Last night I had learned that she had almost no English. So my order consisted of a motion with my hand. She jumped up to obey. She hopped on the bed next to me expectantly, her breasts pushed forwards in a presentation position, her legs spread apart, her hands palms up on her thighs. I let my eyes enjoy the sight of her magnificent body. Her stomach was as taut as a drum. Her thighs were firm and graceful, her hips wide, giving her torso a gentle curve. Her skin was dark, definitely Mediterranean in origin. I recalled her smooth, salty skin from last night. Possessing her freely, without thought for her pleasure or pain, had thrilled me. But now I wanted to drink of her passion, to see her roll her eyes and groan with pleasure at my behest.
I pulled her down so that she was lying flat on the bed next to me and I pushed her onto her back. Her skin was hot next to mine. I ran my hand down over her flat belly and over her thighs. She was shaking slightly, nervous as to my intentions. I leaned over her and began to kiss her face softly around her mouth, down her chin. I could smell the remnants of last night’s sweaty orgy on her. I looked into her eyes, which were a deep brown, and were widened with apprehension at my gentle caresses.
Holding her head still with my free hand, I parted her lips with the tip of my tongue. I searched out her hot companion and, covering her mouth with my lips, delved deeply within. I felt her mechanically accept her mouth’s invasion and the heat from our twirling tongues. Slowly, her reserve melted away. I lifted my lips from hers. She sighed in response and, for the first time, looked me in the eyes. Her mouth accepted mine greedily when I again lowered my lips to hers.
The girl’s whole body seemed to shift gears. I placed my hand on her breast and found her nipple to be stiff, erect. Moving my head down her body, I took a nipple in my mouth and sucked on it gently. The girl placed her hand on the back of my head, encouraging my exploration of her teat. The girl’s chest began to rise and fall with deep breaths. Slowly, while I seized the other nipple with my lips, I slid my hand down over her hip, down to her thigh. I spread her legs apart, climbing between them, and let my lips and tongue dance across her firm belly. She knew what was coming. Like a good whore, she succumbed to the passionate demands of my lips.
&nbs
p; Seizing her little pleasure bud with my mouth, I sucked on it, long and hard. It drew a passionate, almost mournful sigh from the slavegirl. Her hips began to squirm beneath me. I placed my hands under her thighs and circled them from beneath, trapping them in my grip. I slipped my hot tongue between her engorged labia and licked the length of her widening slit. The smell of her arousal was overwhelming to me. I pressed my tongue inside her, lashing at the walls of her quim. When she gasped and began to rock her hips, I withdrew, letting her arousal simmer. When I saw that her crises had abated, I renewed my oral assault.
I delicately tickled her clit with the tip of my tongue. She moaned and took my hair in her hands, pressing my head into her loins. But this was my show. I would determine when she came.
My manipulation of the slave girl’s need for pleasure continued for at least twenty minutes. I would draw my tongue slowly down the length of her hairless slit and then back again. I seized her little nubbin with my teeth and bit and tugged at the tiny, stiff appendage. I explored inside her drenched pussy deeply with my tongue. The girl was moaning with terrible need. I gained a small clue to her native tongue as she called out in it, passionately begging for release.
Lapping up her flowing discharge like it was ambrosia, I reveled in the musky aroma that rose from within her. My cock was stiff and throbbed with its own need. But I was determined to supp fully at this girl’s loins.
Finally, I could hold her back no more. I drew my tongue up the gushing, wrinkled flower that was her pussy and pressed hard against her throbbing clit. Her body began to shake and her legs twitched. She grabbed my hair ever more tightly and called out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” When she came, her whole torso convulsed. Her back arched and she pressed her heels deep into the mattress. “Oh! Ohhhhhhhh!” she cried again.
When she was done, her body lay quietly, like a pool of recumbent pleasure. But I was not finished with her. I had further need of her body, which was, after all, no longer really hers at all.
I let the girl rest for a few moments and then began to tickle her lower lips with my tongue once more. Her divide was highly sensitized from my prolonged attentions and she instinctively tried to push me away, but had no strength in her arms. She could not prevent her nascent pleasure from enflaming anew. When she began to cry and moan once more, I drew myself above her and plunged my rock hard cock deep within her swollen sex. She cried out as my thick meat filled her. I pumped my hips furiously, urging my crisis on. The bed creaked and moaned as I slammed my hips into hers. She wrapped her arms and legs around me, drawing me tightly against her body, my cock deeper and deeper into her womb. I cried out when my cock began to throb and spurt its hot load into her deep channel. She cried out too, as she felt my seed awash within her.
My forces spent, I lay almost lifeless in her arms. It took me a few moments to realize that she was crying. I lifted my head and saw the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her eyes delved deeply into mine. I felt that she was not seeing me, but rather some lover from whose arms she had been permanently rent. She touched my face with her hand and smiled, slightly, through her tears. She pushed at me, urging me off of her, muttering, “Please, please.” I rolled off of her only to have her roll over on top of me.
She began to kiss my chest, slowly, languidly. I felt her arms reach across me, caressing my arms and my sides. Lower and lower her mouth descended on my body. I felt my cock stir as I anticipated the woman’s design. Her hands rubbed across my thighs, spreading them as she encircled the bulbous head of my now stiff cock with her lips. The heat of her mouth shot through my loins. Slowly, her lips caressed the length of my manhood. I felt her hands cupping my tight sac, gently massaging the tender balls within.
It was my turn to groan and squirm beneath her oral ministrations. She swirled her tongue around my shaft as she raised and lowered her head. Pushing down, she took my cock deep within her throat, holding it there while I moaned with pleasure. I did not last as long as she. When she felt my cock begin to throb, she redoubled her efforts, fucking my cock with her mouth. I felt her moist heat encompass me as I pumped my sperm into her mouth and down her throat.
She did not release my prick until she felt it shrink to its detumescent state. I felt her kiss the very tip before sitting back. When I looked up, she was kneeling between my legs, her head bowed, her hands pressed behind her back.
As I looked at her I realized that we were very much alike. She knew that she was ultimately doomed, as I felt in my heart that I was. Just as I had decided to maximize my pleasure, so had she. If she had to spend her days fucking and sucking off cruel, heartless men, she would take what pleasure from it that she could. She was happy that I had permitted it, virtually forced it from her. All of my abuse of her the night before was forgiven, if not forgotten.
I shook off my incipient feelings of tenderness towards this slave girl. I had to think of her and her sisters as soulless beings, whose only purpose was the serving of their masters. If I did anything else, I would not survive. I needed to be as cold and hard as any of Klitzman’s henchmen. I did not know whether it was inside of me to be so, but for the sake of my survival I would have to try.
The telephone rang and it was Anthony. He had been my escort since I arrived the day before yesterday. He was all bright and chirpy on the phone.
“Breakfast time! Come on out and greet the day.”
“Okay, okay,” I responded somewhat wearily. “I’ll be out as soon as I can shower and put on my best brown robe.”
My crack about the robe was based on the fact that all ‘supervisors’ like me, were prescribed calf length, light cotton robes to wear. Guests, paying guests that is, wore blue. Security guards wore black. The girls wore nothing but their leather collars and bracelets and bright red, pointed, high heel shoes.
So I jumped out of bed and darted into the sumptuous bathroom. It had a sunken tub. The slave girl followed me in, her eyes downcast, ready to perform her duties as a body slave. But I wanted to get moving and abjured for this morning the sensual experience of being bathed by a naked, submissive, young woman. There would be other times.
I took a quick shower and left the girl kneeling by the foot of my bed chained to a ring. I walked down the curved corridor of the supervisor’s dormitory, passing other bright eyed and bushy tailed men coming the other way. I stepped out onto the veranda and saw Anthony waiting at a table for me. I strolled over, ordered coffee and a sweet roll from the slave girl and sat down.
“Have a good evening?” Anthony queried.
“The best,” I replied, and meaning it. I felt like I could conquer the world. It was finally sinking in that I was really out of the joint and back in the world, or at least one strange little part of it.
“After breakfast, Rukimo wants to see you,” Anthony continued. “I think he’s going to interrogate that other girl that came on the plane with you, what’s her name?.....Donna?... Debbie?... Delia?...Yeah, that’s it, Delia.”
I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. I realized that my supposition that Rukimo was harboring doubts as to my loyalty was probably right on. Otherwise, why would he want me at the interrogation? He undoubtedly wanted to watch me to see if I sweated. And, if the girl did out me, then he could deal with me right there and then, down in his little dungeon.
My sweet roll seemed a little less appetizing to me now. But I had to put on a good face for Anthony too. I tried to tough it out. “Yeah, Delia,” I responded laconically. “I wonder if she’s as hot as her girlfriend was,” I said, trying to sound jaunty. I had had the opportunity to join in when Lois had been ‘interviewed’ following her arrival on the island. At Rukimo’s invitation I had partaken of her flesh. “But why does he want me there?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Anthony replied. “Maybe he just wants you to learn some technique. Anyway, there’ll probably be a fuck in it for you. I hear he’s had her worked over pretty good since yesterday.”
And she’s probably ready to crack at the slightes
t urging, I thought. I decided to enjoy my breakfast as if it were my last meal. When the girl came with my sweet roll I told her that I had changed my mind, that I wanted three eggs over, medium, bacon, crispy, but not well done, home fries, whole wheat toast, orange juice and another cup of coffee. Anthony looked up at me.
“You in training?” he asked. His question reminded me that I had been challenged to go a few rounds by Thorndike, one of the other supervisors, a foreboding looking fellow, tall and well-muscled. After I had accepted, Anthony told me that Thorndike was pretty good in the ring. My experience at boxing was virtually nil, being limited to three punch bar fights usually won by the guy with the most friends or who had grabbed the biggest beer bottle. So if the girl Delia, didn’t dime me out, and I survived my morning interlude in Rukimo’s lair, I could look forwards to being taken apart in the boxing ring by Raging Bull. I caught the slave girl who had taken my order before she went back into the kitchen. “Make sure there’s five slices of bacon,” I told her. No sense holding back.
As I consumed my potential last meal, I took the time to enjoy the scenery. The soft morning light made more luxurious the curvaceous and enticing forms of the many naked women who served as waitresses in this open air cafeteria. Our waitress was a tall, thin girl with long, silken blonde hair. Her long, graceful legs were emphasized by the four inch red pumps that she wore. Her breasts were petit, but firm and round. The slit between her legs was framed by her trimmed blond bush. I made a note to myself to seek her out later, if there was a later, and see how it felt to have those long legs wrapped around my back.
I had noted since my arrival that there was some variety in how the slave girls were permitted to wear their pubic hair, if at all. Some, like the Mediterranean whore that I had fucked that morning, had their sexes completely shaved, presenting two naked and dainty lips to the world. Others, like the waitress here, had their bushes trimmed so that just a little line of hair surrounded their slit. And yet others wore only a tiny beard of hair over their sexes, as if in proof of the natural state of the color of the hair that adorned their heads. I wondered who made these decisions and the psychological effect on the slave girls of not being able to control even this most intimate detail of their bodies.
