Bright lights illuminated the black T-shaped whipping post in a harsh glare. The
light seeped into other parts of the barn to reveal three naked girls kneeling on the
straw strewn floor like an audience. Each girl was secured in place by a chain from her
collar to a central floor shackle. The girls watched a tall, lithe woman remove her smock
and stand statuesque and nude near the post. The lights reflected on the graceful curves
of the woman’s body, highlighted the well formed breasts, and shimmered on the long,
sinuous waves of her black hair. Like the girls, the woman wore a slave’s collar. She was
also adorned with rings on her ears, on her clit and pussy lips. There were small rings
embedded in her nipples. These were connected by a fine chain with a connector ring in the
center for a leash. The light glistened on her tears.
Another naked slave girl gently pushed the woman to the post and shackled her wrists
above her head to the ends of the horizontal bar. She knotted the hair aside. Now could be
seen faint welts on the woman’s smooth back from previous whippings.
Watching all this in the shadows near the cells, John Semplar now came forward. In his
hand he held a 4-foot sjambok whip. He turned to another man who was crouched behind a
camcorder on a tripod.
“Pedro?”
“Ready,” Pedro reported.
Semplar snapped the whip and the other man set the camera into whirring activity.
Semplar then turned to the woman chained to the whipping post. “You have been a good
slave slut this week, Linda, a model of obedience and surprisingly ardent when pleasuring
your Master. This week I’m reducing your punishment to eight strokes. The slave responded
to this leniency with a sob of relief and a slump of her shoulders.
The whip hissed as it cut through the air and smacked like a pistol shot against the
smooth pink flesh just below the shoulder blades. The victim howled. A ruby red horizontal
line blossomed across the stricken flesh. The whip was fashioned of finely braided
kangaroo leather. It was a lethal instrument of punishment.
Swish thwack. The woman poured out a shrill moan. Her body convulsed. A second welt
appeared.
Hiss whack. A scream of anguish. The body writhed.
Swish smack. A shriek of sheer misery followed by a flood of sobs and contortions.
The body was now adorned with four perfectly horizontal pink, red and blue welts an inch
apart. Semplar paused the punishment to allow the wretched woman to collect herself.
The final four whiplashes were delivered with undiminished vigor. They left Linda
exhausted, hanging from her shackles, weakly bawling. The last four stripes were blooming
on the orbs of her ass and her tender upper thighs.
Kitty, the other naked slave, speaking words of encouragement, unshackled Linda and
helped her to a position on her hands and knees. She helped her crawl towards the
camcorder. Linda brought her tear-stained face, a picture of woe and misery, within the
camera’s focus.
“M—m—my L—l—lord,” she stammered, “once again I say how sorry I am for what I did to
you, and I hope you will now feel I have been punished enough. My Lord, have mercy on your
slave, pleeeeeese.” She sobbed and collapsed.
This time Semplar did not add his plea for leniency. He knew, at least for now, this
whipping was Linda’s last.
While the slave Kitty was helping Linda to the main house, Semplar approached the three
girls. They looked up at him fearfully. Hovering nearby was the scowling figure of Maria,
Pedro’s sister. Hanging from her wrist was a brown leather implement that looked like a
large fly swatter. She was feared because she had a talent for finding fault with lazy,
stupid slave sluts. The punishment was stinging slaps of the swatter to nipples and bums.
John Semplar, holding the whip coiled in his hand, smiled down at his lovely prisoners.
Soon there would be three more girls, then all six would be flown out in a batch to the
training school on a Caribbean island. “Who wants to pleasure me today?” No one
volunteered. It didn’t matter because Semplar had already made his selection. She had
arrived a few weeks ago, picked up hitchhiking alone near Seaside on the Oregon coast. She
was a naïve 19-year-old with terrified blue eyes, shoulder length honey hair, and a
stunning pair of big, bouncing breasts. Semplar had named her Bella. He unfastened the
chain from her collar and taking her arm, firmly conducted her to the largest of two
curtained alcoves on the far side of the barn. Meanwhile Pedro made his selection and
Maria moved in to loom over the third girl.
“That leaves you to finish scrubbing the lounge floor”, she told the lovely Latin girl.
“And today I don’t want to hear any whining about a strained back and aching knees.” She
punctuated her statement with a loud smack somewhere on the girl’s body. There was a yelp
and a sob.
Bella stood submissively near the bed, waiting for instructions while Semplar began to
remove his clothes.
“On the bed on your back,” he told her.
He gazed appreciatively at the young, naked girl, her shapely legs spread wide, her hair
spread over the pillow, waiting obediently to pleasure him. She began desperately
stimulating herself to produce lubrication. Semplar crawled between her legs, laid his
weight on her supple body, and pushed himself into her pleasantly tight sheath. She turned
her face away, but he made her look up at him. He ravaged her sensual lips, fondled a
plump breast and tweaked and stretched its firming nipple. Then he began to leisurely pump
his rod in and out of her body. Bella’s responses were definitely not fueled by lust nor
pleasure.
Afterwards he lay beside the girl and regarded her critically. “You don’t know anything
about sex, do you?”
“I was a virgin until those scumbags kidnapped me,” She made a sobbing sound.
“And you get no pleasure from it?”
“Are women supposed to feel pleasure?”
Semplar rolled off the bed and strode to the shelves at the back of the alcove. He
brought back a large dildo. Bella watched him with an expression of apprehension. She had
learned, painfully, never to ask and never protest. She waited submissively to see what
would happen.
As soon as Semplar began to push the implement into her pussy, she started to make
sounds of alarm and squirmed away. A stinging slap on the side of her rump restored her to
meek acceptance. She sat up on her elbows to watch what he was doing to her.
When Semplar had pushed the dildo to the hilt into the girl, he switched it on. Her eyes
widened. For several minutes she stared at the whirring thing vibrating inside her. Then
she began to bite her lips and undulate her hips. Her expression became introspective. Her
evident pleasure strengthened and, reluctantly, she began to churn her legs and make
little gasping sounds. “Oh God! Oh God!” she moaned. Now her body writhed and both her
hands rubbed her breasts. For several minutes she humped and squirmed and her legs
thrashed, all the while gasping and huffing. She shuddered, her body arched. She squeezed
shut her eyes and her mouth gapped in a prolonged, silent scream of bliss. For a dozen
heartbeats she was frozen in her tableau of ecstasy.
She sobbed as her body relaxed. It was a mild orgasm. She lay on the bed, resting
and thinking about it.
“Did you enjoy that?” he asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” She made a sobbing sound.
“Alright, back to your cell,” Semplar ordered.
She obediently rose from the bed and, seemingly a bit disoriented, stumbled out of the
alcove. At the same time Pedro and his girl were emerging. She was crying. Pedro grinned
at Semplar. “She doesn’t like to be bum fucked.”
When Semplar returned to the main house, Kitty had just finished putting salve on
Linda’s welts. Linda’s eyes were still swollen and red from crying.
He stroked her cheek. “You’re going to have at least a week without a whipping,” he told
her.
It made her apprehensive. “Why? What happened?”
“We’re going to New York tomorrow.”
“Is…is Gray going to be there?”
He smiled. “Larger than life, I fear.”
“Oh God. Oh God,” she moaned. “He’s going to kill me! He’s going to break the deal!”
“No he’s not. Trust me, Linda.”
“I know him!” She became agitated. “I know him, John!. He’s going to kill me!” She
started to cry. “After all the whippings…”
He knew he couldn’t assure her when she got emotional. “Put her to bed,” Semplar told
Kitty.
* * *
Nansci Domokos lived in an isolated rented cottage in the foothills of Bermuda, just her
and her longtime friend, Sandra. Both of them had been sex slaves on the Caribbean island
of Andalusia until they managed to escape. Nansci spent the first year writing a book
about her life as a sex slave, and the second year waiting on publishers who slowly mulled
over the book and finally sent it back with a generic printed rejection slip. But now she
had a letter from a publisher in New York who wanted to see her! He had sent her travel
money and made a reservation at one of the city’s better hotels.
“I can’t believe it!” Sandra enthused, giving Nansci a huge hug. Sandra was a head
taller than Nansci. She was a gorgeous girl with full breasts jutting against her white
T-shirt, and slim shapely legs almost all revealed by a miniscule pair of weathered
shorts. Her long hair was brunette, her eyes were an intelligent green. Her skin was a
pleasing hue of creamy coffee. As a sex slave she had been highly successful. After three
years of this sordid existence, she had become contemptuous of the lusts and appetites of
all men.
Nansci was a strikingly lovely girl with long, wavy chestnut hair that fell to her
waist, sultry brown eyes and sensuous lips. She had never accepted her status of slavery,
although for fear of whippings and other punishments she had gone through the motions of
ardent sex skillfully enough to become quite popular.
When this pair of beauties went to the nearest market, their young bodies attracted
the town’s randy men, who looked on them with expressions of longing. But the girls
ignored the males. On the few occasions when they felt they needed the comfort of sex,
they pleasured each other with techniques whipped into them by harsh mistresses.
All that was a few years behind them. And now, it seemed, Nansci was to become a
published author.
“We’re going to New York to meet a Mr. Adam Steppington of Steppington Publishers, Inc.”
she told Sandra, just barely able to contain her excitement
With a cry of delight Sandra hugged her friend again.
“Thank God he sent us two tickets, and made a reservation at a New York hotel. We don’t
have enough money left to get there,” she laughed self-consciously.
Nansci had been the leader of four girls who escaped from the Grand Hotel Pleasure
Palace to the free republic of Barbanda on the far side of the island. This community had
always been a safe haven for escaped slaves, but they changed their policy and the girls
found themselves once again subjected to sexual slavery.
Eventually they were freed with some monetary compensation. They all fled to Bermuda
where Nansci began her book. Adrienne’s whereabouts were unknown. Shortly afterwards Debi
and Inga departed for destinations the girls decided it would be prudent to keep secret.
* * *
They met at the office of Steppington Publishers, Linda and Semplar, Al Gray and his two
burly henchmen--who stood apart in the conference room--and the host, Adam Steppington.
“It was sheer good luck that one of my editors showed me the book,” Steppington told
them. “You can imagine how shocked I was to see this expose—really well written—about the
Pleasure Palace. You know, I might have used that girl on a few times I was there. Anyway,
I felt this was a book that had to be stopped—and the author muffled permanently.”
“You were quite right, Adam,” Al Gray growled. He was an Oriental gentleman with a
perfect American accent. Semplar knew he was ruthless. “This girl could blow the top off
our best business center. She is the key to getting the other whores back. That’s why I’ve
brought you here, Linda. I know you’re the best at dealing with these sluts. I want you to
take charge of our author and break her. Break her,” he grated, glaring at Linda who faced
him, her face white with fear. “You find out where her friends are hiding, and make her
crawl across the room to my feet and lick my balls. You do that, Linda, and we can
consider your debt paid.”
“No more whipping, Al?”
He gave her a tight smile. “No more whipping, Linda.”
“And I’ll be free to go if I want to?” Linda was pressing her luck, Semplar felt with
unease.
“Free to go—but I hope you’ll stay,” Gray confirmed.
“So what’s the plan?” Semplar asked.
“The girl and her friend are coming here in an hour.” Steppington said briskly. “I will
give her some publisher’s talk, then introduce the famous author John Semplar, and invite
you all for a weekend at my country club on the upper Hudson River.”
Semplar smiled. He knew the place. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
Gray turned to Linda. “As soon as we get her there, you can start to work on her.
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