by Paul Blades
Joanna felt the vibration of car doors being opened, the tell-tale dip of the car’s frame as the men got in, two faint ‘thumps’ as the car doors were closed. The engine roared to life. With a sudden jerk, the car began to move. Agonizing despair cut through the bound and naked girl as she realized that no one knew where she was, that she wouldn’t be missed for three days.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Joanna had no idea where she was. She wasn’t really sure how many days it had been since she had been seized by those cruel men in that isolated country cabin back in Illinois. She had spent all of the time confined and blinded. After her four hour journey in the trunk of the Mercedes, she had been forced into a small wooden crate and transported by plane. There had been a two or three day layover where she had been stored, hooded and gagged, in a small steel cage. Then there had been another long flight in her crate. She had no idea where the men had taken her. All she knew was that wherever she was, it was a long way from home, that she was in the possession of cruel and heartless men.
After she had been removed from her wooden crate, Joanna had been led to a shower where, after her hood as removed, she was washed and allowed to use the toilet. When she had tearfully turned to one of the big, black men to ask for information as to her future, she had been slapped viciously. When cleaned, a hood had been placed over her head and a thick, leather gag forced into her mouth. Her hands were bound behind her with a leather thong.
Joanna was led along a long corridor and into a small room. Her hands were untied behind her only to be reaffixed in front. She felt them being attached to a chain and then her arms were pulled over her head until she was standing on her toes.
She was left there a long time. The bound and naked girl feared to speculate as to what would happen next to her. She knew in her heart that she had been kidnapped for some sexual purpose. There was really no other explanation for the way the men had examined her in the cabin when she was betrayed by her erstwhile boyfriend and lover, Jimmy. There was no other explanation for the fact that she had been kept naked and bound, unknown hands fondling her flesh. And there had been other women too. She wondered where they had been taken. But most of all, Joanna cried and bemoaned her cruel fate. It was almost surreal, beyond her imagining.
The hooded girl heard the door to the room open. Large, strong hands removed her gag and then her hood. When the hood was pulled free, she was looking upwards into the eyes of a large black man. His face was cruel, his eyes hard. He was wearing a knee length reddish brown robe. Joanna quailed at the sight of him. He said nothing to her. He stepped over to the wall and pulled down a long, leather lash.
The poor girl realized that she was about to be whipped. She felt her voice whining in her throat. Her lips trembled in fear. She had been slapped for speaking and so she dared not beg for mercy. Her whole body seemed to tense up. Her mouth became dry. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, in a little dance of fear.
The man placed his free hand on Joanna’s taut breast and squeezed the nipple, pulling it out from her body. The young girl had always been proud of her ample mounds and had many times sighed with passion when they had been stroked by her boyfriends. Jimmy had made her moan with lust as he sucked on the tips while firmly massaging their bulk. But to have this man so freely and casually touch them was mortifying. She had no ability to resist, but somehow she was shamed by her acquiescence. When the black man twisted the other nipple sharply, Joanna gave out a little cry.
The black man walked around her silently a few times. He rubbed his hand on her rear, teased her stomach. Joanna was practically dying with fearsome apprehension at her seemingly inevitable whipping. Every moment that it was delayed was a moment in hell. Finally, her nerves frayed unbearably, unable to withstand the building tension, Joanna started to piteously beg that she be spared.
‘Oh, please, mister, please don’t whip me, please!” she said, tears flowing freely from her eyes. “I haven’t done anything! I’ll do whatever you say, pleeeeeeeease!” she moaned in desperation. When the man stopped moving behind her, Joanna knew that the whip was about to fall. But she was still unprepared for the exquisite, burning pain she felt as the first lash tore across her pale white skin.
“Awwwwwwwwwgh!” the young girl screamed, the pain unbearable. “Please! Please! Don’t do this, please!” she screamed.
The first lash had landed across her back. The second one struck around her hip, the tip kissing the tender flesh of her lower belly. “Ohhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh! That hurts! Please don’t do it, please!” Joanna yelled. A red ring had appeared around her waist. The third blow struck the frantic young woman across her breasts. She cried out in tearful agony, “Ahhhhhhhhhh! Oh, God, please stop, please!”
The big black man continued to circle the naked young woman, lashing out at her every few seconds. The girl’s screams diminished as all of her energy was drawn from her, only to be replaced by mournful moans and piteous sobs. When the last bite of the lash found her tortured skin, she was hanging, virtually lifeless, in her chains. The African replaced the whip on the wall.
CHAPTER NINE
HARRY MEETS A NEW SLAVE
I spent the next couple of weeks after my ‘rescue’ of Lois just bouncing around. I had my duties in the lounge, I had plenty of time to exercise, and plenty of time to worry. I had not seen Lois since the day she had confessed to me that she was Bederson’s ‘man’, so to speak. I dare not go looking for her. That would be suspicious, that is if anyone suspected me. What a mess I was in. I didn’t know if I was coming or going.
I got a call from Rukimo one morning to go see him around 11. I was passed through the security door without much ado. I took the elevator down and knocked on Rukimo’s office door. The lock buzzed and I entered.
A frail, young girl was down on her knees before Rukimo. Her arms were tied behind her with a narrow leather thong, pulling her slight shoulders back and thrusting forward her round and pale breasts. Her long, straight, black hair fell down past her shoulders providing a dark frame for her breasts which swayed gently as she shivered in fear. She was completely naked and I could see the bright red stripes evidencing the kiss of the lash across her shoulders, her thighs and her front. Her head was bent, hiding her face behind her hair, but I could hear her sobbing softly.
“Ah, Harry, look what we have here. Fresh from the world, a little tidbit to amuse us.” He pointed to a chair across from him. I took it.
“A lovely young lady, no?”
“I’m afraid I can’t really answer that question, since I can’t see her face,” I replied.
“Well, I’ll fix that. Slave,” his voice bellowed, “lift your head.” The girl quickly lifted her head up causing her hair to fall away from her face. I could see the traces of her tears on her cheeks. Her features were delicate with high, almost sculptured cheekbones, a long, thin nose, narrow lips that trembled, lips as red as the welts that covered her body.
Rukimo moved closer to the girl and sat on a leather ottoman next to her. “Turn, my lovely, so Harry can get a good look at you.” He turned the girl by her shoulders so that she was facing me, she shifting her knees as Rukimo twisted her upper body. Rukimo was now behind her as she faced me. The girl was indeed young, perhaps a little over nineteen. Her breasts were not large, but were full and seemed large when compared to her slender frame. Her arms were thin but ell toned, her thighs slightly thick. There was still a small amount of baby fat around her hips, fat that would be gone shortly, I was sure, as the girl was trained and molded to suit the tastes of those whom she would serve. She was pale, which highlighted the crisscrossed stripes of red that descended from her breasts to her thighs.
“What’s her name?” I asked, as I appreciated her charms.
“She calls herself Joanna,” Rukimo answered. “But I think her name is ‘slave’.”
How had she gotten here? I asked myself, enjoying the display of her lithe, young body. What unfortunate corner did she turn, what perfidi
ous stranger did she befriend? Was she stolen from her home, captured among the small army of stuffed animals she had gathered together during her girlhood? Did she take a drink from a stranger at a party, have her car forced off of the road, go jogging in some desolate part of town? Where did they all come from, I wondered.
“Well, Harry, what do you think now?” Rukimo asked as he pulled the girl’s hair back over her shoulders past her ears, his black hands in sharp contrast to her almost chalk-like skin.
“A lovely image,” I replied.
“Yes,” Rukimo answered distractedly. “She’s from one of Thorndike’s batches, just came in today. I picked her out for some special treatment.” He was stroking the girl’s head softly with one hand as he held her hair tightly behind her head with the other. The girl’s face was a picture of misery. She had obviously been crying since her eyes were red rimmed and swollen. I could imagine what she had suffered under Rukimo’s experienced use of a whip.
“You know, Harry,” Rukimo continued in his deep, melodious African lilt, “right before you is the best explanation for why I love my work here. I mean, this girl, so young and fragile, I could never enjoy a body like hers so freely on the outside. The softness of her skin, the firmness of her flesh, these things would be totally beyond my grasp. She wouldn’t even have let me in the same room with her if she had met me out in the world. Would you have little slave?” The pretty girl grimaced as he shook her head slightly like she was his puppet. Her fine, red striped breasts trembled and swayed as a result of the motion.
“But now, she has no choice,” he continued. “She is mine to use as I see fit. There’s not a single aspect of her being that I cannot touch.”
As if in emphasis, Rukimo moved his left hand along the girl’s face, under her chin and squeezed her cheeks together. The girl’s eyes widened and she moaned in pain. “Isn’t that true, my little one. Every inch of your body is free to my touch, my desires.” He moved his fingers across her lips as he pulled her head back further. She gave a little chirp of a whine.
“Open your mouth” he commanded. The girl parted her narrow, delicate lips slightly. Rukimo thrust his two longest fingers into her mouth, spreading her lips wider. “Suck on these,” he ordered. The girl’s lips obediently pursed around Rukimo’s fingers as he moved them back and forth in her mouth. Her eyes widened and the tears begun anew. She struggled in Rukimo’s grasp, but he held her firmly.
“I mean, Harry, where else could I enjoy the touch of such tender skin, such firm, round breasts.” Rukimo now slid his other arm around the girl’s front and began to caress her right breast. His hand was large enough to cover the breast in its entirety and he closed over it, squeezing it, gently at first, then harder. I could see the pain register in the girl’s face as did her desperation. She knew that her only hope was to bear the pain long enough for it to end. To move away, to struggle or to stop her mouth’s ministrations to Rukimo’s fingers would only cause more pain, more punishment.
“Now, this breast for instance,” Rukimo said, loosening his grip and sliding his hand underneath her smooth, round breast, lifting it slightly, “its warmth, its softness is mine whenever I desire it. It no longer belongs to this girl who would horde it, hide it away from my eyes, put it beyond my touch. It is not hers, it is mine, yours, ours. If we wish to separate it from this body, stuff it, mount it on a shelf, there is no power or law in the world that can stop us.” I realized now that he was speaking for the girl’s benefit as well as mine. He was sitting directly behind the girl with his left arm over her shoulder, his fingers gliding back and forth in her mouth, his right arm around her side and up to her breast.
Rukimo drew his fingers from the girl’s mouth and dropped his hand towards her belly and the rich black triangle which sat at the joining of her thighs. “Spread your legs” he ordered. The girl complied readily. I could tell that her little dance with the lash had been instructive. Rukimo passed his hand over the dark mound of hair and reaching under, pushed his fingers into the girl’s crevasse, slowly, but firmly. The girl squirmed slightly as Rukimo forced his way in, aided to some small extent by the moistness which she had placed on his fingers. She closed her eyes tightly, her mouth twisted, recording the pain and, no doubt, humiliation, she was feeling.
His right hand still cupping the girl’s breast, Rukimo began to move his fingers, now black on the black of the girl’s pubic hair, back and forth. His right hand slid across her chest to her left breast, pulling her body more tightly against his, causing her to lean back. “Spread your legs wider,” he told her, “and open your eyes.” The girl obeyed, moving her thighs apart and opening her red rimmed eyes, looking at me dolefully. Rukimo withdrew his left hand momentarily from the girl’s front only to reach up and into her pussy from behind. I could see his hand emanating from between the girl’s legs and push inside, this time with ease. “You see Harry, she is now ready.”
“And eager?” I asked.
“That will come in time Harry,” Rukimo laughed, “In a very short time. But now, let’s finish off this little morsel, eh?”
Rukimo reached behind the girl and undid his robe, letting his thick, black cock spring out. He pulled the girl to her feet, spun her around until she was facing him and then, placing his knees between hers, pulled her onto his lap. He guided her expertly onto his cock. The girl gasped slightly and then cried out as he drove her down onto his prick. “Now, my pretty little slave girl, you will place your feet on the floor and fuck me, slowly, like you mean it.”
The girl did just that. Slowly, she lifted herself up and down over Rukimo’s cock, her arms pinioned behind her, her hair falling down around her face. Each time she lowered herself onto his tool, she gave a little squeal. Rukimo placed his hands on her waist and guided her motion as he devoured her breasts with his lips. He must have bit her nipple as she cried out sharply. Rukimo then placed his mouth over hers, grabbing her hair behind her head with his hand, his other hand on her ass, guiding her up and down, back and forth. The pretty, young girl’s hands writhed behind her back as she was overwhelmed by the black giant’s assault. She pulled against the leather thong that entrapped them, the ends of her long dainty fingers showing the remnants of the bright red polish she had applied there when she was still a free woman, probably no more than a few days ago.
Rukimo suddenly stiffened, cried out. His hand clenched the girl’s hips tightly, pressing her body down hard on his tool, shoving it deeply inside her. I heard her moan. The sight of Rukimo fucking this luscious, young woman was firing my own lusts. He arched his back and jammed his loins into hers, gave a loud grunt and then relaxed. The girl stopped her motion and drooped her head on Rukimo’s shoulder. Her skin was flushed, her breathing heavy.
After a moment or two of rest, Rukimo drew the girl off of him and stood up, refastening his robe. The girl stood before him, shaking, sobbing silently. She looked at me forlornly, as if for help. My thoughts were beyond her help as my blood had begun to boil from the tableau I had just witnessed. That and the fact that in order to preserve my very life I had to remain in character. I must confess, it was not hard at times like these.
I grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her towards me. “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked.
“Not at all, my good man, enjoy,” Rukimo said in his deep, lilting African accent. “Stay here. I have to go downstairs for a while. Join me when you are finished. And bring her along; I have to get her set up for her training.”
As Rukimo left, I guided the girl over to the divan which stood near the wall and pushed her backwards onto it. She looked up at me, her attractive but dismayed face expectant of more abuse. I intruded myself between her legs and freed my needy meat from beneath my robe. Leaning over her recumbent form, I grabbed my stiff cock and pressed it against the moist entrance to her womb. She moaned in despair as my cock slid easily in. Her pussy was hot and tight, her thighs soft. I lifted her legs into the air as I lay between them, pushing her knees up to her breas
ts. She issued little cries, one after the other, each time I pounded my excited loins against hers. She was helpless, violated, crushed literally by my body and figuratively by her unconsented to possession.
Rukimo was right, there was nothing like the touch and warmth of a young, firm, female body, the softness and smoothness, the fragrance of youth. Her hot, moist sheath delighted my stiff pole as it ran its relentless course within her. I raised my head to look at the newly enslaved young woman. Her eyes reflected shock and surprise as her body responded to the plowing of her tight furrow. Her face grimaced as her hips, governed by passion and instinct, jammed against mine. Suddenly, her eyes rolled back and her body bucked in orgasmic release. I could feel her cavern grab my prick tightly at each of her spasms. The explosion of her lust triggered my own. As I came, I moaned loudly, my body shivering with pleasure.
I rested briefly on top of the girl, her legs still in the air, trapped in my arms, her knees crushed against her chest. I could feel her body rise and fall as she breathed heavily, mixed in with a quiet sobbing. All at once I felt the urge to punish this girl, punish her for the very guilt I now felt for having abused her. I resented her for making me desire her, for causing me to be inflamed beyond the point of control. I rose and pulled her to her feet by her hair.
“Kneel slave,” I hissed as I pulled her off of the divan. She reacted quickly, falling to her knees, bending her head forward, arching her back so that her forehead almost touched the floor.
“Oh please, oh please don’t hurt me!” she called out piteously, her vision directed at the floor in front of her, as if she was afraid to perceive the evil intent in my face. “Please mister, please I’m begging you!” she pleaded. “I couldn’t stand it again! I’ll do anything that you want!” She started sobbing uncontrollably. Suddenly, my anger dissipated. I realized what this girl had probably already suffered and what lay ahead of her. I knew that nothing I could do now would change her fate, but, then again, I didn’t have to worsen it.
