Slaver's Dozen (The Klitzman Stories)

by Paul Blades

  The girls were led to the left of the stage where a doorway led into a long hall which followed the semi-circular path of the wall behind the stage. The wall opposite was made of glass and the girls could see into the rooms as they passed. The first room, on their left, was an infirmary, a necessity in a place where women were daily subjected to all forms of physical abuse. The next room, and larger by far than the infirmary, was a huge dormitory. There was row after row of cot-like beds lined up ten across. Each bed was bolted to the floor and had confinements at each corner. Several women could be seen sleeping, large, black eye masks on their faces, bound hand and foot to the cot. The girls were to learn that the lights never went out in any of the slave areas, including the dorm. Therefore, in order to sleep, the women’s eyes needed to be shaded. This served well to increase the sense of isolation of the slave, locked into a solitary world of darkness while, ironically, in the midst of a room full of other slaves.

  There were no dressers or footlockers. Slaves owned no property. All that was needed by way of hygiene or bodily decoration could be obtained in the large common bathroom.

  After being hustled past the dormitory, the girls made another left down a long hallway. They shuffled past, on their left, what was obviously a training room. Several clusters of slave girls were distributed around the room, each learning to master a particular skill important to their new roles. Here the girls would learn the proper way to bathe a man, how to use their pussy muscles to great effect, several different oral techniques and the etiquette of waiting on tables, among other things. Since slaves were never permitted to touch their own bodies in other than incidental ways, except when necessity demanded it, the women were taught the rudimentary techniques of bathing and applying makeup and hair styling on others.

  On their right was a large room divided into private cubicles. This was the dormitory for the senior slave staff: women who had edged past their peak of beauty, but who were useful in training and supervising the younger slave girls. They were afforded some privacy as befitted their status. They also had the right to bring slave girls back to their rooms and demand their sexual services. From time to time, the supervisory staff would be reshuffled, with some being shipped off to the outside brothels and new supervisors moving in. They also served those guests of the resort whose sensibilities and tastes demanded an older, more sophisticated sexual partner.

  At the end of the hallway was the administrative center of the Slave Center. Here naked women worked keeping track of the use of comestibles in the cafeteria, the exercise regimen and dietary program of particular slaves. The computer kept track of slave assignments, slaves who were off duty and slaves incapacitated for one reason or another. In spite of being considered as little more than bovine chattel, it was recognized that even a slave needed some time occasionally to rest and recuperate, that they needed something to look forward to. This was accomplished by a seven day on, one day off schedule. The schedule not written in stone, however, and the demands of the guests came first. If for some reason a girl was demanded on what would be her day off, it was unfortunate for her. If there was an unusual influx of guests, or a large contingent of slaves who were physically unavailable for one reason or another, days off were cancelled and all available slaves were drafted for service. Even the service slaves took their turns ‘upstairs’ achieving only a brief respite from exploitation through the use of their administrative skills.

  Once inside the administrative area, the girls were led through a doorway to the left. This area belonged to the slave mistress. At this time, the slave mistress was a woman known only by the name of Madam Dupre. She was about thirty five years of age and a strikingly handsome woman. She was tall and slim and carried herself with an elegant air. But her heart was made of stone and she ruled her roost with the harshness of a concentration camp capo. No slave dared challenge the word of Madam Dupre, whose talent at torture was unsurpassed.

  The girls were led into the anteroom of Madam Dupre’s quarters. Their coffle was unleashed and their hands unbound. After their gags had been removed, they were ordered to stand silently, their legs apart, their hands behind their heads, elbows up. The large, black guard who had led them there left without further ado.

  The room was finely decorated with broad red and gold striped wallpaper, plush cushioned chairs with polished teak armrests and legs. The rug was a deep golden yellow, soft and comfortable on the girls’ naked feet. There were no windows, since they were underground, but the walls contained exquisite prints of languid, sultry females, draped immodestly with only the most minimal of attire, if at all. A slave girl sat at a desk behind which stood a large oaken door. She had a telephone on the desk and was busy typing something into a computer. She paid the waiting slave girls no mind. She, like all of the females in the slave area, was naked.

  After about three quarters of an hour, the telephone on the secretary’s desk buzzed. She picked up the phone and answered, “Yes, mistress?” It was apparently an intercom. “Yes, mistress,” she said. And again, “Yes, mistress, they’re here….Yes, mistress, right away.”

  The secretary rose from her perch and signaled the awaiting slave girls to follow her. They were all tired and thirsty, their arms ached from their enforced position, but none dared say a word. The magnitude of the operation, its apparent machine like organization, made deviance from orders unthinkable.

  Kit led the way past the oaken door that had been opened by the secretary. The girls entered a large office. A large couch and several easy chairs sat along the walls, and several ottomans were strewn around the room. The room was decorated all in blue, with a deep blue rug and light, pastel blue wallpaper. On the right side of the room was a small area where the rug had been cut back to reveal the hardwood floor beneath. A thick wooden beam stuck out from the wall about seven feet from the floor. A chain dangled from the beam with clips on its end. A small umbrella stand nearby contained an assortment of whips.

  On the far end of the large room was a heavy, oaken desk. It was covered with neatly stacked papers, a telephone and some paperweights. Behind the desk sat the dark skinned, foreboding, but beautiful, Madam Dupre. She was dressed in a loosely fitting, black silk blouse, with a deep ‘v’ neck. The sides of her braless breasts peaked out, and her nipples pressed prominently against the soft, thin material. She wore a heavy golden chain around he neck that reached to the beginning of the swelling of her breasts. On its end dangled a pendant, a cursive, red ‘k’ on a black background, surrounded by a circle of gold. The girls all noticed it and recognized its significance right away.

  Dupre finished reading a memo and then placed the white paper aside. The girls were all lined up, right to left in front of the desk, several feet away. The secretary had pointed out a line taped on top of the rug and instructed the girls to place their toes on it.

  The girls were seized with apprehension. It was clear that this woman was in supervisory authority of all of the many women who they had seen and many more whom they had not. They had noticed the whipping station on the side of the room and knew that it was not for show. The six naked and fearful girls stood as still as possible, each not wanting to attract the special attention of this severe looking woman.

  The woman rose from her chair and circled round the desk. On her way, she picked up a thick, heavy riding crop that had been lying on her desk. The girls could she that she was wearing long, black, pleated pants and jet black high heels. She wore a large signet ring on the index finger of her left hand, containing a monogram identical to the one on her necklace. Her face was somewhat long and aquiline, in the classic Roman style.

  She turned her clear, steely grey eyes on her new charges. She took her time examining the six naked young women minutely. She pressed on breasts, explored the slits between their thighs, opened their mouths, pinched their bellies. When she stepped behind them, she required each one to lean over. She tested the firmness of their thighs and buttocks. When she was satisfied, she had the girls resume
their standing positions and came back in front of the trembling young women, sitting on her desk, patting the palm of her hand absent mindedly with the riding crop.

  “My name is Madam Dupre,” she said, in a deep sensuous voice. “You are female slaves belonging to the ‘k’ organization. You are all wearing the mark of your slavery and ownership on your buttocks. As slaves, you may expect that your lives will be harsh and brutal.” Mary suppressed a whine at the woman’s description of her future life. It confirmed her worse fears.

  “You have experienced already a sampling of the pain and suffering that can be visited upon you should you fail in your duties,” the woman continued. She measured each word carefully, speaking slowly and deliberately so that each word would be comprehended. It was a deliberate speech, one that she had delivered many times to new slave girls.

  “Starting today, you will begin your final training to qualify as serving slaves in the large resort that you saw upstairs as you were led to this facility. You will perfect your sexual techniques, acquire luxurious deportment and be taught other skills necessary for your new roles.”

  Dupre paused to allow the news she had provided to sink in. It was having its intended effect. Several of the girls were crying, tears rolling down their faces. The rest projected looks of utter despair. Lana, the Hispanic beauty, was especially crushed. She had promised herself to a boy who had immigrated to the US from Mexico. They had spent the last few weeks before her departure in making hot, intensive love with each other. He had begged her not to go. She argued with him, told him that they needed the money if they were going to be together. She had promised that they would be married when she returned, practically guaranteeing him American citizenship and a future.

  “You’ll be able to go to school, Manuelo, get a trade,” she had told him. “We can buy a house, be somebody.”

  Lana had grown up on the edges of Spanish Harlem in New York. Her parents barely spoke English, preferring to remain within the confines of their Hispanic neighborhood, watching the Spanish language shows on T.V., reading Hispanic papers. Her father was a janitor in one of the Upper East Side apartment towers, where he saw the “Americanos” living like kings. He could barely provide for his family and spent most nights sitting in front of the television drinking cheap beer. Her mother worked at a laundry a few blocks away from their tenement apartment. She seemed always tired and worn down by the world. This modeling assignment was to be Lana’s big chance to earn some prestige, to take first herself, and then her family, out of the clutches of near poverty that they lived in. And to marry Manuelo, whose tender hands and soft lips drove her to heaven when they fucked.

  But now, here she was, condemned to a harsher life than either of her parents had ever experienced; a lifetime away, it seemed, from her lover. Now, she felt that she had been soiled, sucking and fucking the pricks of the fierce black giants, begging and screaming for surcease when whipped, promising tearfully to give herself to them and perform any scurrilous service they demanded.

  Karen still had not given up hope of freedom, although her presence in this subterranean hive made that prospect all the slimmer. No one could escape from within this huge underground bunker, that she knew. But maybe outside. “There must be boats,” she thought. It was an island, after all. And there had to be some legitimate authority somewhere, some agency or government that would abhor this island of depravity enough to extinguish it. There had to be!

  But right now, Karen and Lana, and all the rest were concentrating on the instructions of their new mistress, their supervisor, the agent of the mysterious organization that owned them. One missed rule, one unheard instruction could mean a world of pain.

  Dupre continued. “You have learned your slave mantras. You would do well to keep them ever present in your mind. No act demanded of you will be too outrageous to perform; no trial meted out to you will be too painful to endure. You will be whipped, and worse, that goes without saying. But let me tell you this, a woman’s wrath is ten times that of a man’s. Woe betide you if you should ever incur mine.”

  The buzzer rang on her telephone. She reached back to answer it. “Yes,” she said after listening to her secretary’s message. “Show her in.”

  The door opened behind the six forlorn women. They heard the soft footsteps of high heels on the rug behind them. A naked woman approached Dupre. She was about 26 or 27 years old. She had long, braided blond hair. She wore no collar and no leather bracelets. She wore only a thick, black, leather belt around her midriff. Attached to it were a small, black baton and a many tassled whip. At its center, over the buckle, was the feared and hated crest of the ‘k’ organization.

  “Reporting as you desired, madam,” the woman said. Her voice was clipped and hard. She ignored the six naked young women standing on her left.

  “These are the new slaves for you to train. I want you to whip them all severely tonight to mark their arrival. You make take one for your use, if you like. Tomorrow I want them on a tight regimen of training and exercise. Let’s get those last ounces of baby fat from them and tone up those limbs.”

  “Yes, madam,” the well muscled woman replied.

  “All except that one,” Dupre said pointing with the riding crop towards Rene. “I’ll deal with her.”

  “Yes, madam,” the blonde woman answered. And to the nervous young slave girls she said, “Turn to the right and then follow me.”

  Karen, Mary, Lana, Kit and Sheila passed from the room in a column, their stomachs churning with fear. They were to be beaten “severely”. They all rued their upcoming ordeal.

  While the five anxious, dispirited and frightened young women were marching out, Dupre was watching Rene intently. She had read the training materials on her, the background. She was a muff diver, a rug muncher. She liked it on top. She was hot headed and strong of will. “Well,” Dupre thought to herself, “we’ll see.”

  But Rene had already been truly broken. Day after day of almost incessant punishment and abuse had taken their toll. She craved obedience and desired only someone to obey. But she sensed a cruel taskmaster in the woman who was eying her exposed flesh with so much lust. Dupre let her stand there in silence for a few minutes.

  “Kneel,” Dupre suddenly commanded the frightened and miserable young girl. Rene knew that she had been singled out for a reason. Was she still paying for her stupid attempt at escape?

  Dupre was still leaning against the desk. Rene saw her hand go to her waist and then draw down the front zipper of the pants. The pants were designed so that the zipper ran farther than just necessary for removal. The zipper descended deep within the mistress’s thighs. When the buttons holding the waist together were loosened, she was able to reveal her black, bushy sex in all its glory.

  “Come here and lick my cunt, slave,” Dupre ordered.

  Rene unhesitatingly walked between Dupre’s outstretched legs on her knees. Her hands were still behind her head. She leaned her head forward and ran her tongue along the length of Madam Dupre’s hairy slit. Dupre’s thighs were firm and strong and she closed them around Rene’s head, locking her face into her pussy.

  “Suck on my cunt, angel” she teased the girl. “Make it nice and wet.”

  Rene was having trouble breathing with her face and nose mashed into Dupre’s pussy. It was wet and pungent and, in spite of herself, Rene began to become excited as she breathed the musky aroma. She pressed her tongue inside the older woman as far as it would go, and lapped up and down inside, scraping the roof with her tongue, looking to excite that special spot.

  “Mmmmmm,” Dupre said, her breath becoming heavy with lust. “You are a good cuntlicking bitch, slave girl. Keep it up.”

  Dupre leaned further back on her desk, supported by her hands behind her and spread her legs widely again. “Tickle my clit with your tongue, slut,” she told her.

  The slave girl obeyed, taking the stiff point of her tongue and flicking it against the little nub at the apex of the slave mistress’s sex.

/>   “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” Dupre exclaimed. “Very good! Keep going, don’t stop!” Dupre wriggled her hips on the desk and thrust them forwards to meet Rene’s active tongue. “Ohhhhhhhhh!” she moaned again. “Take it in your mouth,” she commanded, her voice rising to a crescendo. “Suck on it! Suck on it!” she yelled.

  Rene obeyed her mistress’s command. She sucked in the small soldier and tugged on it gently, sucking it while tantalizing its tip with her tongue. Madam Dupre leaned forward and grabbed Rene’s head with her hands, jamming it into her flowing pouch. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” she cried out as her orgasm tore through her like lightening. At each convulsive spasm, she pushed hard on the head between her thighs, mashing it against her sex. She kept Rene’s head imprisoned between her thighs until her orgasm had run its course. She released Rene’s head then and ordered her to, “lick up all my juices. I don’t want to soil my slacks.”

  Rene lapped up all of the mistress’s discharge that she could. She felt her head pushed away once more. Her hands were still interlocked behind her head. She had not been ordered to release them.

  “Oh, Rene,” the sated slave mistress sighed, “you are quite a capable cunt licker. I think I’ll keep you around for a little while.”

  Rene’s eyes lit up. She would be spared the rapes and abuse of the upper world, the world of men. She smiled at her mistress to express her joy and her thanks.

  “Get up, Rene,” Dupre said, zipping up and fastening her slacks. “I want to express my thanks for your good service. Come with me.” She waived Rene towards her. Near the back of the room was a heavy oaken door. Dupre unlocked it with a key that dangled on a chain from her waist. She opened the door and beckoned Rene to walk through.

  Rene did not know what to expect. Certainly the kind and grateful sounding tones of the mistress’ voice was encouraging. But when she crossed the threshold, her heart sank. The room was lined with small cages, various well used whipping posts, a strange contraption that looked as if it were from the Middle Ages, and a four by eight steel table with rings mounted strategically around its sides. Two of the cages held women, their heads hooded. The cages were so small that Rene could see their skin poking out between the bars.