The teenaged boy was beginning to fidget. His aunt, a middle-aged woman with severely
cropped white hair, gave him an encouraging smile and patted his hand. They were seated
side by side on recliners facing the display platform that was already bathed in soft
lights, ready for the show.
John Semplar sat in a nearby recliner, lightly tapping his hand with a leather
switch. He was nervous because the girls they were using had only been in training for a
few weeks. They were still unruly and impudent. But the aunt, Annabelle Steppington, was a
sister of one of Semplar’s most important business associates. They had made the trip all
the way up here to the wilds of northern British Columbia for this event, so he could not
let them be disappointed.
The room they waited in was the main lounge of a former vacation lodge that went out
of business years ago. There was enough seating for thirty people on the lounge side.
Trellises bearing abundant philodendrons divided the lounge from the dining side. In
daytime it was a beautiful, sunny room with one wall glassed to the south to overlook the
lake, the low hills and wild forest beyond. Semplar’s father had bought the property, and
the land and the lake that went with it, decades ago. Twice a year he had invited friends
up for a week of fishing and boozing. Now Semplar was using the isolated property as a
training center for girls destined for the sex slave trade.
The boy, Jim Stiles, was about eighteen. He had straight brown hair that hung over
his eyes and combed way too long in back. He was youthfully good looking, football husky,
brimming with boyish energy, and impatience.
There was a knock on the door and Linda Peterson entered, dragging behind her three
girls coffled together by a chain attached to their metal collars. The girls were naked,
and their wrists were shackled behind them. Semplar smiled when he saw the boy gazing at
the display with a shocked expression. It was clear he had not expected anything as
spectacular as this. He obviously loved it.
Linda arranged the girls on the platform in a line facing the recliners. Semplar
stood up and approached the nude display. The lighting glistened on the smooth bodies.
Every one of them was a dream girl, and together they formed a bevy that an inexperienced
boy would remember photo-perfectly for years to come.
“Let me introduce our lovelies,” Semplar said. All the girls were made up with eye
shadow and sensually painted red lips. They were heavily powdered and anointed with good
perfume. Their nipples were painted a matching color to their lips. With their wrists
shackled behind them, all their sexual charms were overtly displayed.
He grasped the long brunette hair of the first girl and turned her head from side to
side so the little audience could see the perfection of her features. “This is Shelley.”
She had green eyes and a long, slim body. She had marvelous full breasts that crowded
against each other, making a delightfully tight cleavage. He cupped one breast underneath
and bounced it. “She loves to pleasure a man with her tight, moist pussy, and she cums
quickly, don’t you, Shelley?”
“Yes, Master,” Shelley replied dutifully.
Semplar was hoping the boy would choose Shelley because she was the most docile and
the most likely to try hard to please the boy. Annabelle Steppington, in Semplar’s opinion
a tough-minded old bitch, was determined this evening to make a man of her virgin nephew.
Now Semplar took a handful of the long blond wavy tresses of the middle girl. “This
is Trixie.” Semplar had given each girl a suitable slave name. Her blue eyes regarded
Semplar with fear, but she could not conceal the pouty, obstinate set of her lips. There
was still a great deal of work to be done on this slut. She was a head shorter than
Shelley, a nice compact package. She was just a shade too flabby. Semplar was exercising
her hard to get her down a dozen pounds. She hated the enforced activity, needed constant
encouragement on her rump with the buggy whip he used when running girls around the barn
show ring. She had been a virgin until the two inexperienced operators who kidnapped her
deflowered her. She still darkly resented that episode.
Semplar would not have presented her yet, but at the moment he only had three girls
in stock and Miss Steppington had insisted the boy have a choice of three. If Jim Stiles
had been older, Semplar would have thrown Linda into the display rather than Trixie. Even
though she was still a gorgeous woman, Linda was far out of the boy’s age class.
“This is Bella,” Semplar went on. Her ebony black hair hung straight to her waist.
Before Semplar could take it in his hand, she turned her head from side to side. Her brown
eyes regarded him listlessly. She had given up on life. She obeyed him indifferently. She
knew it was her fault she was here and she had not forgiven herself. She was a gambling
addict who had gotten so far into debt that the only way her bookie could recover even a
percentage of her losses was to sell her to white slave traffickers. She was a beautiful
female. Her body was perfectly proportioned; her skin a lovely coffee-and-cream color. Her
breasts were jutting plump pillows. In every physical way she was gorgeous, but she was
devoid of spirit.
“Come up and look them over, Jim.” Semplar invited. The boy sat frozen. “They all
love to be inspected, stroked and fondled,” Semplar lied with a broad smile.
That broke the boy’s reticence. He jumped up and approached the platform with a
timid grin. He went straight to blond Trixie. He reached out and touched her left breast,
carefully, as though he expected it might burn him. He gently rubbed her nipple as though
ready to run away at the first sign of danger. Trixie should have been giving him a come
on smile, but her expression was neutral. That angered Semplar, but the boy didn’t seem to
notice. The old black magic was arousing him. Sexual currents impelled him to fondle the
breast more authoritatively. Then he moved closer to her and stroked her body, running his
hand down her side and over the delicious swell of her hip. Semplar glared at Trixie and
she hastily spread her legs to give him access to her pussy and inner thighs, which
Semplar knew were as smooth as velvet.
“If you like her, Jim, kiss her,” Semplar urged.
“May I?”
“Of course! You can do whatever you want to her. Isn’t that right, Trixie?”
“Yes, Master,” she responded flatly.
The boy took the slavegirl into his arms and pressed his lips against hers. Semplar
could see by the way Jim began to rub himself against the slave’s body that he had made
his decision.
“I’d like this one, Aunt Annabelle, the boy said looking timid and ashamed.
“She’s a good choice, Jim,” the woman encouraged him, emphasizing with her nod that
he was doing the right thing, that he should feel no shame.
“Just give me a minute to prepare her,” Semplar said. He freed Trixie from the
coffle, grabbed a handful of her blond hair hard enough to make her yelp, and marched her
into the largest of the ground floor bedrooms. He slammed the door.
Trixie knew she was in trouble and she began to tremble. She had learned the very
first day that he was strict. She watched him with wide, fear filled eyes. Semplar had to
wonder why she had been so ornery when she knew that attitude would earn her a whipping.
She tried to give him an ingratiating smile, hoping to deflect some of his anger.
“On your knees!,” he snarled. The stupid slut still couldn’t bring herself to obey
instantly. Trixie was too dumb to realize it was useless to fight a battle she could never
win. Semplar grabbed the chain between her wrists and levered her arms up. That forced her
down to her knees, her head pressed against the floor, her bare rump thrust up. He put two
hard stripes across her bum with his leather switch. She wailed and sobbed.
“You seem to have forgotten everything I taught you,” he growled. “What do you do
when a master approaches you?”
“I give him a come hither smile,” she sobbed.
“When he fondles your breasts.”
“I push myself against his hand.”
“When he plays with your pussy?”
“I make little sounds of pleasure and grind and writhe my pelvis.”
“Make the sounds.”
“Ohooo, uhmmmmm, haaaa.”
“So you know all this, so why didn’t you do it?”
She hesitated, as though trying to conjure up a compelling excuse. “I—I guess I
forgot,” she said lamely. Then she looked up at him with sincerity and resolve. “But I’ll
do it, Master. I’ll give him a really good time. I promise.” She was a great little
achiever when her bum was in peril.
“I think you need five more so you won’t forget.”
“Oh no,” she moaned. “Please, Master, I’ll do it. You don’t need to whip me.
Pleeeese.”
He didn’t want to turn over a sobbing, distraught girl to an inexperienced kid, so
Semplar relented. “You’ll stay with him all night. If he hasn’t experienced the greatest,
most memorable night of his young years, I’ll give you a thrashing that will haunt your
memory for the rest of your life. Understood, Slut?”
“Yes, Master.” She trembled. She already knew his beatings could be terrible.
“He’s never done this before, so he may need some tender guidance. You will make
sure that everything goes smoothly. And it will be up to you to give him at least two
great innings. Got it?”
“Yes, Master.”
“So we’re all set to entertain this boy, Trixie?”
“Yes, Master.” At least he had her completely cowed for the moment. “Get on the
bed,” he ordered.
This time she moved quickly. There was already a three-foot chain bolted to the
bed’s headboard. Semplar locked the free end to her collar. Then he unshackled her wrists.
“There’s a potty here if you need it,” he pointed down.
He called in the boy. As he slowly shut the bedroom door behind him, Semplar saw
Trixie, lying provocatively on the bed, one leg cocked up, giving her visitor a lascivious
smile of welcome.
“Well, I think our young man will be occupied for the rest of the night,” Semplar
told the aunt with a broad smile. He assumed she would now want to turn in herself.
Instead she looked at Semplar with an air of authority. “Ask Linda to strip,
please.”
Semplar was momentarily stunned. It had not occurred to him that this woman was that
kind.
“Of course,” he nodded, and turned to Linda.
“May I have a word with you,” Linda said, heading for the kitchen. Semplar knew what
she was going to say, but he followed her and shut the door.
“I am not going to spend the night in the bed of that woman,” Linda told him
forcefully. She was building up to one of her emotional tantrums.
He modulated his voice carefully. “Technically, Linda, you are still a slave—you’re
still wearing a collar, right? And as such you belong to Adam Steppington, the brother of
Annabelle—who may well have a partnership connection with her brother. What I’m saying is
that she may well be one of your owners. It’s my advice that you should be nice to her.”
“Damn you, John, do you know what you’re asking?” Linda shot back, pressing her lips
together angrily.
“I’m saying I think it would be prudent of you to please this woman. It’s not as
though you’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
Linda flared, but before launching a tirade of invective she suddenly changed her
mood. She gave Semplar a look of anguish that jolted his heart. This woman could still
pull his strings. “Help me, John,” she begged, blasting his sensibilities with her
compelling charms, her appealing helplessness, his memories of happier days.
He resisted. “I am helping you, Linda. If you affront this woman, that means you
affront her brother. And you know he is a petty, mean bastard. He might well send you back
to that Bangkok cat house where you performed forty—or was it fifty?—tricks a day. Do you
want to risk going back to that?” Semplar didn’t bother to tell her that Steppington, the
only one who knew exactly where Linda had been sent, bought her back because Semplar told
him Linda was the best available person to train new girls. They were pretty well starting
the business all over again after the attack of the Druids destroyed their Hudson River
club.
Tears welled in her eyes. She tugged angrily at the metal collar around her neck.
“Will I ever get rid of this thing?” she moaned.
She once had a chance to take it off, but her volatile nature made a mess of it.
Semplar didn’t think she would ever gain her freedom, but he certainly had no intention of
telling her that.
Linda shrugged. She had resigned herself. Fixing a tight smile on her face, she went
out to rejoin Annabelle Steppington. She positioned herself an arm’s distance in front of
the woman who still stood in the middle of the lounge. She pulled off her shoes and socks,
yanked up her T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. She unbuttoned her jeans and let them
fall. Now clad only in a practical bra and panties, she stepped away from the little pile
of discarded clothing. She slowly turned around in a stylish pirouette. Facing the
Steppington woman again, she slowly removed her bra and pushed down her panties. The final
gesture of abject surrender was to pull the pins out of her hair. Her lovely black tresses
cascaded in waves around her beautiful face and flowed across her shoulders and down her
back to her waist.
She stood before the woman with her legs well parted and her arms held away from her
body. It was the same stance she had made hundreds of girls assume for intimate naked
inspection.
She was a gorgeous woman. Looking at her made Semplar’s rod harden.
And from the small, satisfied smile she displayed, it was evident that Annabelle
Steppington also found the slave attractive. She cupped Linda’s breasts underneath with
her hands as though weighing them. She stroked the lovely orbs, gently squeezed them,
pushed and pulled them. She rubbed and crushed the hardening nipples. She slowly stroked
Linda’s body, her legs and thighs. She made Linda lick her index finger, then poked it
into the pussy that was already seeping a small amount of aroused lubrication. She played
with Linda’s clit, making her squirm with obvious embarrassment. It was as though she was
taunting Linda to unleash herself in volatile protest. She was also establishing her
complete authority. Linda, like any well trained slavegirl, stood meekly compliant.
Annabelle’s little smile was now triumphant. “I’m sure we’ll have a lovely time
together,” she said. She turned to Semplar. “May I borrow a leash, please?”
Semplar provided a thin leather leash that she clipped to Linda’s collar. It was an
obvious gesture to add to Linda’s demeaning situation. With a final smirk at Semplar,
Annabelle gave the leash a tug and led her nude toy away.
All this had stirred up Semplar’s carnal juices. He regarded Shelley and Bella who
were still coffled together on the platform. “I can use both you tarts tonight,” he said.
“Come on.”
The two naked girls obediently followed him.
* * *
“Oh God! Oh God!” Jim Stiles moaned. “It feels so good.” He nuzzled lovingly at
Trixie’s neck as he slowly pumped himself in and out of her moist, tight love sheath.
Trixie knew the boy ravaging her was getting close to his first girl-inspired orgasm. In
spite of resentments, she felt a bit proud that she was giving this virgin such an intense
experience. She was hugging him and writhing and humping her pelvis in time with his
thrusts. She made helpless little sounds of pleasure. She could tell he believed he was
thrilling her. He was a really nice boy. He had been gentle. He was obviously a breast man
because he had almost made her nipples sore with constant rubbing and squeezing. She had
guessed that he was embarrassed to try to penetrate her, so she had undertaken some tender
encouragement. Once he pushed himself inside her, felt the tight and moist intimacy of her
tunnel enveloping him, he forgot about breasts. As sexual playthings their attractions
faded once he experienced the steamy passion of intercourse. Trixie decided that if she
had to be raped tonight—if not this boy it would have been either Master Semplar or his
scumbag assistant, Pedro—young Jim was clearly the nicest choice. He was actually arousing
her.
A little later she felt the boy stiffening as his orgasm gathered itself. She let
herself go and wallowed in the gorgeous waves of carnal pleasure that impelled her body
to arch hard against Jim’s and set her toes wiggling. She involuntarily made a long,
dreamy sigh.
“Oh God! Oh God!” Jim cried. He crushed her body hard against him and thrust himself
as deep as he could go into her tight shaft. They locked together in mutual joy.
Young Jim Stiles, who had just learned what overwhelming pleasure a girl could
bestow on him, gratefully kissed his blond bedmate and lovingly stroked her brow. He
snuggled up to her sweaty, naked body and contentedly sought sleep.
For Trixie reality closed in and she began to wonder if she could get the spent
youth through a second inning as Semplar had ordered.
* * *
“Lick my lips, then my breasts for awhile,” Annabelle Steppington ordered as she
stretched out luxuriously, naked, on the bed. “Then work on my pussy. Tonight I want three
orgasms. Do what you have to do.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Linda said subserviently. Inwardly she groaned. She knew it was
going to be a long and arduous night.
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