by Paul Blades
Rukimo's arm reared back and swung forward. A loud ‘crack!’ sliced through the room. Inge jolted to attention as if she had been struck by lightning. She paused a second and then screamed, a screeching, piercing scream. Andre's turn was next and another loud ‘crack!’ filled the room followed by another scream, just a little bit louder than before.
The long, thin whips which Rukimo and Andre were using left long red welts each time they landed on the poor girl’s back and the back of her legs. Ilse watched, horrified. Her tears started again as she heard her sister begging and pleading for mercy.
“Please stop! Pleeeeeease!” Inge screeched, dancing and prancing in her chains. Her toes barely touched the ground and so she didn’t have much leverage to move her body around. “Pleeeeeease!” she called out in agony. “I'll do anything you want! I'll obey, I'll do anything, please stop, please!” The lashes were beginning to mark her back like a series of hash marks. “Crack!...Crack!... Crack!” The whips were applied slowly and methodically to the wailing girl’s flesh. Ilse looked on in disbelief. It was a sight that I was sure that she didn’t see in finishing school.
After giving Inge ten lashes from behind, Andre and Rukimo took a little break. Inge was sobbing and crying at her chains while Ilse cried silently and stared helplessly at her forlorn sister. Klitzman was still holding Ilse’s pussy in his hand, his eyes bulging out at Inge. This was Klitzman’s meat. Like some deviant vampire, he fed off of the pain and anguish of beautiful, young women. It was getting me hot too.
After about a minute, Rukimo returned to Inge, tapping the riding crop on his left hand. Inge's sobbing grew deeper as she tried to pull herself away. It was useless. Rukimo swung his arm back and brought it down across Inge's breasts. “Crack!” A long welt rose up immediately. Andre then joined in with a blow across Inge's belly. “Crack!” Inge recommenced her screaming and dancing as the blows fell around her body, from her knees to her breasts. “Crack!” Each kiss of the whip brought a new cavalcade of tears and anguished cries from the girl. She was begging now in Swedish, her mind reverting to her native tongue, unable to process the need to speak in a common language. Finally, after about ten minutes, it was over.
Andre sat down in his chair as Rukimo put the whips back in the cabinet. Inge was swaying back and forth, leaning on her chains, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body was crisscrossed with the products of the determined efforts of the two large black men. Rukimo quickly replaced the gag and hood. Her crying became muffled. Klitzman brought Ilse to her feet, tears streaming down her face. “Now,” he asked the unhappy girl, “don't you think that my friends deserve a little relaxation after all that hard work?” The trembling girl was unable to answer. Klitzman led Ilse over to where Andre sat. “Kneel!” he ordered.
Ilse knelt down in front of Andre. Klitzman pulled his chair closer. He sat in it at the girl’s side. His hand reached out and caressed one of her beauteous breasts. He leaned over so that his mouth was near her ear. “Now you will suck my friend Andre’s cock,” he instructed her. “Then Rukimo, myself and Harry are going to fuck you.”
Ilse gave a loud sob. She looked over to where Inge was dangling, still moaning from her abuse. The lesson had been clear enough.
The pretty Swedish girl leaned forward between Andre's knees, her hands locked behind her, obviously too scared to protest Klitzman’s churlish order. Andre pulled open his robe exposing his cock. He grabbed Ilse by the hair and pulled her down to his lap. Ilse's mouth opened obediently and Andre slid his cock inside.
But for Inge’s low moans, all was silence in the room as Andre rode Ilse's head up and down on his cock. Inge’s moans, faint in the background, were just loud enough to give Ilse the encouragement she needed to comply with Klitzman’s order. Andre's head was thrown back, his eyes half closed, a thin smile across his lips. “I think she's going to be very good at this,” Klitzman said, his eyes riveted on the young woman’s bulging mouth as it filled with Andre’s thick, black cock. “It looks like she's found her calling,” he said merrily.
I rose and went to the other end of the room to get my cognac. My cock was hard as a rock, pounding hard beneath my robe. Andre was groaning and pushing Ilse’s head down firmly on his hard pole. He was fucking his cock with Ilse’s face. I saw his body tense and heard him grunt loudly and rhythmically as he launched his spunk into Ilse’s mouth. Ilse began to whine as her mouth absorbed the big, black African’s lust.
Andre finished off his orgasm and then released Ilse’s teary head. Rukimo took the girl by the arm and led her back to the ottoman and laid down on it on her back. He forced her graceful, long legs apart, revealing her dilated pussy.
“Come on Harry, Ilse's waiting for you,” Klitzman called to me. I was to be her first slave fuck. I knew that this moment would stand clear in the suffering girl’s mind as long as she lived. And I was going to do it. It’s not that I didn’t want her body. My balls were aching with delayed passion. It was just the remnants of my scruples peeking through. But what difference did it really make? In a month or two, she would have been fucked over a hundred times and would surrender her pussy to anyone who asked. And if I didn’t fuck her, there would certainly be eyebrows raised. It was either fuck her or commit suicide. No contest.
I walked over to the girl and opened my robe. I could see the look of fear and dismay on her face as I leaned over and covered her body with mine. Her legs remained spread apart obediently. I felt down for my cock and glided it gently to her sex. It was wet, wet with fear, passion, I don't know. I do know that it was hot and tight. We had been toying with these girls for about an hour now and I was primed. I rocked my hips back and forth, sliding my cock slowly in and out of her steamy slit. She began to pick up some of the rhythm as I leaned over and began to bite her neck lightly. Her breasts were crushed against my chest, her arms fastened underneath her. Whatever qualms I had about being the first to plumb the depths of this desirable young woman’s flesh had passed. I was getting hotter and hotter. I could hear the blond girl’s breath getting deeper and deeper as I ravaged her hot tunnel. She closed her mouth and whined as her own heat began to grow.
I was determined to make her come, and I held myself back with all of my determination. I took hold of her plump, red lips with mine and delved my hungry tongue into her mouth. Her passion was upon her and she returned my lust, circling my tongue with hers. She started to utter little moans as her crisis approached. I felt her pussy grip my cock tightly and her body begin to writhe beneath mine. Our lips parted and she cried out, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” as she came. Her crisis triggered my own release as I jetted my fluids deep within her. I exploded in a flash of passion and fever. As my spasm diminished, I looked at the newly enslaved girl. She was breathing heavy, her eyes closed, tears streaming down her face.
As soon as I got up, Rukimo picked the girl up by her collar and flipped her onto her stomach. Opening his robe, he grabbed his cock and pushed it through the ring which surrounded the girl's rear entrance. Ilse screamed in pain as he forced his way in, deeply, all the way to the hilt. Once in, Rukimo stroked slowly back and forth as Ilse moaned in pain. Klitzman stood watching, grabbing his brandy snifter tightly, sipping his cognac slowly but steadily. Rukimo’s big, black body dwarfed the girl’s and his coal colored skin made Ilse’s pale flesh seem almost wan. The girl sobbed and moaned as the slavemaster probed her bowels with his heavy prick. Her hands twisted and writhed in her bonds in helpless frustration.
The huge African finished rather quickly and then it was Klitzman's turn. He drew the girl to her knees, her forehead on the ottoman and slid into her crevasse from behind. Klitzman was clearly in no hurry as he slowly rocked back and forth in Ilse's sheath, his big belly battering against her buttocks. Ilse was still moaning, part from the pain of Rukimo's little trick, partly from the effect of the constant rubbing of Klitzman’s fat cock across her pleasure bud. She was a passionate girl, proof of the axiom that still water runs deep. But it was good that she could find some pleasur
e even in the forced use of her body. She might as well get to like it; she'd be doing nothing else for quite a while.
Finally Klitzman finished with the girl, pounding his cock into her as he growled out his orgasm. Withdrawing from the sopping pussy, he closed his gold striped, bright red robe and spoke to Rukimo. “Take them down to the training cells. Have them marked in the morning. I think that they will make a good matched pair, but they'll have to be brought along carefully. Leave them together for tonight. Gag them, but leave their hoods off for now.”
Rukimo nodded to Klitzman and motioned to Andre to give him a hand. Ilse was still bent over, kneeling on the ottoman, her moaning lower now. Andre and Rukimo freed the listless Inge from her chain. She was a great deal less rambunctious than a little while ago and it didn't take much to have her kneeling next to her sister, leather bracelets and a collar applied to her body. Andre fastened her hands behind her back. She was still hooded. Rukimo then pulled Ilse to her feet and shoved a gag into her mouth. A hood was placed over her head and chains fixed to the ring on her and Inge's collars. Rukimo pulled Inge to her feet. “Come by tomorrow, Harry,” he said. “We'll play with these little darlings a while.”
“Yeah, O.K.,” I said. Tomorrow. Another day in this strange, cruel fantasyland.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BED THAT BRENDA MADE
Days later, sitting at Klitzman’s long dining table, I glanced around at my fellow diners. On my right was a Harvard type all dressed up in his go to dinner clothes. Sharp dresser, sharp talker. He was prattling on to Klitzman about some fab real estate deal he was pulling off by squeezing out the tenants of this prewar tenement on the West Side of Manhattan and how each apartment was going to be remade and sold as a million dollar co-op. Across from me was sitting his beautiful, if snotty, girlfriend, looking as if she was about to fall out of her chair from boredom. Her dress offered a tantalizing view of her breasts, shaped much like the cantaloupes which were sitting on the table awaiting our pleasure. I liked her style, if not her disposition. No one was going to give any crap to this broad.
It was two weeks after I had seen Inge and Ilse’s introduction to slavery. Life had gone on pretty routinely. The one good thing was that I had finally seen Lois, my enslaved contact. She was working as a waitress at one of the outdoor cafes. I didn’t want to make my contact with her too obvious, so I decided to wait a little while before pulling her tag and bringing her home for the night.
All the waitresses and other enslaved women not on special assignment wore a red tag on their collars with their slave number on it. If you wanted to claim them for the evening, you pulled the tag. At the end of the shift, all slave girls who lacked a red tag were sent to a holding area near the center of the main resort area and chained there until claimed. All I had to do was to pull Lois’s tag and I could bring her back to my cottage. I was sure that I could figure a way to talk to her out of earshot of Mary and Carol. I didn’t want to burden them with my secret.
Earlier that day Klitzman had called me and ‘invited’ me to have dinner that evening with him. “And dress for dinner,” he said. “I’m having some special clothes sent over.”
I asked him, “What's the joke, you making a Fred Astaire movie or something?”
“No, Harry,” he replied, laughing, “just a little treat. Let’s say that I want to familiarize you with another aspect of my operation. Now that I've put you on my personal staff, I want you to have a fuller understanding of how things work. We'll have some guests who will provide some of the entertainment. See you at eight.”
At 8:05 I had entered the Governor's Suite, as Klitzman liked to call it and was escorted to the dining area by one of Klitzman’s native servants. He was wearing a white serving jacket. “Stylish,” I thought. He led me to a large double doored entranceway, opened the doors and stood back to let me pass. The room was a large one with one wall covered in glass which framed a stunning view of the gardens. They were splashed with colored lights, giving off the effect of a grounded rainbow over the central fountain and the surrounding shrubbery. Klitzman really knew how to do it in style.
In the middle of the room was a sunken area filled by a long overstuffed couch and several matching chairs. Sitting on the couch and drinking champagne were Harvard and his girlfriend. Klitzman was standing at the other end of the room talking on the telephone. He was wearing a large tan summer suit with a gold colored tie. The tie had a red, cursive ‘k’ embroidered into it. When he saw me he rang off the telephone and casually waddled towards the center of the room. I wondered where they ever found enough fabric to make him a whole suit.
“Harry, so good of you to come. I've been telling Jack and Brenda all about you and your little escapades. They've never met a real mobster before. Tell them how you like our little resort.”
“Well,” I said, “it sure beats Sing Sing.” They laughed.
Well it didn't take me too long to get filled in on their story. The two were on an African vacation when Harvard got the bright idea to visit Klitzman's island. An impulse, he said, based on a tip from a friend. The friend had told him to give old Klitzman a call when he was there. “Pal,” I thought to myself, “if you've got friends like that, you don't need enemies.” Anyone who led a friend into Klitzman's grasp wasn't doing him any favors. I wondered what was up.
The girl spent most of her time complaining about the weather, the plane ride from the mainland, the room they had been given, everything. I thought to myself that if she only knew how this place was run she'd be glad to be put up at a leper colony.
Dinner was an exquisite affair. Of course, I expected as much; Klitzman never stinted himself. A style all his own, that's what he had. He did most of the talking during dinner, telling Ken and Barbie how beautiful the island was and how he was going to show them all of its charms the next day. I almost choked on my vichyssoise. He directed most of his attention to the girl, but that was only natural since she was quite a delight to look at, even on this island full of delights.
The waitresses were from Klitzman’s little collection of slave girls that he kept for his private amusement. They had been dressed in smooth, silk, bright red sarongs that accentuated their curvaceous hips and pulled tightly against their ample breasts. I saw Barbie looking oddly at their collars and bracelets. If she was offended by these obvious signs of servitude, she didn’t say anything.
When dinner ended, Andre, Klitzman’s badass butler and bodyguard, supervised the clearing of the table. Klitzman invited us all to sit in the salon off of the garden where I had first come in. We all strolled into the next room and when we got there Klitzman made it a point to sit the girl in the chair facing the garden. “Sit here,” he said, “the view is the best on the island.”
The girl acquiesced and the three of us sat on chairs facing her. Harvard was in the middle. Klitzman poured us all a cognac. I settled in. “Here it comes ,” I thought.
“Well, I hope you enjoyed your meal,” Klitzman said to the girl, “because we are now going to have a little chat which I promise you will find most interesting. I know you have found my little island quite a bore, but I would hazard to guess that that impression will shortly be displaced by a more interesting one.” The fat man took a long swig from his cognac. “You see,” he continued, “your coming here with Jack tonight is no accident or whim. In fact, Jack knew you were coming here even before you left the States. Didn't you, Jack?”
“That's right” Jack said.
The girl looked at Jack, startled. “Yes, in fact, your presence here is one of great significance and moment, at least to you,” the big man told her. As Klitzman spoke I saw Andre slip back into the room. Things were not looking up for Brenda.
“It seems that you have been, let us say, displeasing to Jack here,” Klitzman continued.
“What?” the girl said, affronted by Klitzman’s accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Brenda,” Jack said somberly, “I know about you and J
ohnny.”
The girl, for an instant, was taken aback. But she recovered quickly. “I don't know what you mean.” she said.
“Yes you do, you know exactly what I mean. You and that asshole bartender, behind my back, all these months. Don't bother to deny it, I had you followed.”
“In fact, my dear,” Klitzman was speaking, “you were followed by a fellow who does odd jobs for me from time to time. He followed you to the Cheshire Hotel on 93rd street a few weeks ago where you and this fellow Johnny had quite a time together. If you look on the table next to you, you will find an envelope with some interesting pictures of you and this young man taken in the hotel room you shared.”
The woman looked down at the manila 9 x 12 envelope sitting on the table next to her. I could see that she was nervous now. Hesitatingly, she picked up the envelope and opened it. She stared at the photos in disbelief. “How …I mean, what…,” she stuttered. “Where did you get these?” she said as she shuffled the one behind the other, taking a wide eyed glance at each.
“I'm afraid that's my business, my girl,” Klitzman said. “But they are authentic, aren't they?”
Brenda looked up at her boyfriend. “Oh, Jack, I'm, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I mean, oh dear, I, I don't know what to say.”
“Don't say anything Brenda,” Jack replied angrily. “That will make things a lot easier.” Jack's voice was hard, bitter. I began to realize what was up.
“Well, I don't have to sit here and listen to this,” Brenda retorted. “I'm sorry Jack, I’m sorry, but I love Johnny and well, that's all there is. Besides, what's the point of all this? What's the meaning of bringing this up now?” I noted a hint of nervousness in her voice.
