EXTRACT FOR
The New Society
(Gugino)

Chapter I

	The Policia glanced at his watch. It was 21:10; it had been dark now for three hours. 

	"Cholera!" He cursed. "Seven hours to go," he reminded himself.

	Encouraged by a light autumn breeze, a train of dead oak leaves and discarded rubbish swirled across Pilduski Street and under a parked car as he turned left to continue his patrol of the run down residential district. 

	Down the street behind him, a heavy set, middle aged woman stepped out onto the porch of a tenement and quietly watched his iridescent yellow reflective vest disappear around the next corner. Producing a mobile from her apron pocket, she pressed speed dial and listened. The other party picked up, there was silence and then she spoke.

	"Dobra." She replaced the phone and melted back into the doorway. 

	A minute later a late model black limo appeared from around the corner and pulled up alongside two parked cars outside the ramshackle building; three figures emerged from the vestibule.	

	It was too dark to see details but the three figures, two apparently escorting the center figure, the tallest of the three, stayed close; once under the lamp post there was a flash of a young girl's face and shoulder length hair as they piled into the rear of the vehicle.

	There was no sense of urgency, no tension, and the girl didn't appear to be being forced or restrained in any way. At least not that anyone would see. However, once in the limo, behind the safety of the tinted windows as the car leisurely pulled away from the curb, the two men calmly went to work.

	With a single tear running down her cheek, the girl just sat motionless, arms at her sides, staring straight ahead and allowing the men to go to work on her body.

	Her over-sized coat was already opened ,and after removing her 4 inch heels and dropping them in a black cloth bag they loosened her waist band and slid her skirt down her thighs and over her nylon sheathed feet, leaving her to sit in her beige pantyhose. The coat easily slipped back over her narrow shoulders and the white cotton blouse was already unbuttoned. Not wasting time on the straps, they sliced off the wine colored lace bra with a razor sharp stiletto and followed on straight away with the waist bands of the cheap pantyhose and plain white panties. 

	The heat wasn't on in the limo and the chill of the night air was reflected not only by her fully erect pink nipples, but by the goose bumps covering the perfect skin of her slender arms, shapely thighs and delicate breasts. As a reflex against the cold she involuntarily folded her arms across her small but pert breasts, drew her knees in, and slid her bare feet into the seat base and up off the floor. The guy on her left opened a small crumpled brown paper bag and passed a thin purple satin skirt with a draw string on it, which was tangled up with a black satin garter belt, to his partner. 

	"Tete vers l'arriere, Bitch!" As she complied, holding her head back for better access, he went to work gathering the shivering girl's long, chestnut hair into a tight pony tail; its natural curliness added dramatically to the tail's flair.



	By the time he finished with the hair his partner had the garter belt strapped on around her slender waist and was yanking the skirt over her feet and ankles. The other one produced a pair of cheap sheer nude stockings with seams and passed one to his mate. With the mid-thigh skirt cinched tightly around the waist and over the garter belt, they each roughly grabbed an ankle, held her long legs out straight and to the sides, and slapped her on the feet. Out of reflex she knew to point her toes, and they slipped the stockings over the feet and up the quivering legs. The stockings were clipped off at the top of the thighs front and back and each grabbed her under the armpits, gave a yank while lifting, and the emotionally drained girl was again sitting erect. Her shivering was worsening and they had to pry her lanky arms away from her chest to slip on the sleeveless black leather vest and do it up. As soon as they released them her arms shot back to her chest and she bent forward.

	Ten minutes after taking off the car emerged from the abject poverty of the dilapidated slum area on the north side of Krakow and entered the vibrant city center where numerous clumps of tourists wandered the avenues among the half lit steeples of the tall ornate churches and rows of closed shops in search of more food and booze and other places to spend their money. 

	Morgane LeMond, a French university student, wanted to get away for a week during her first semester break and was given a discount ticket to Krakow by an ex she was still on good terms with - at least up until seven weeks ago. The beautiful 22 year old with the light brown eyes and streaked brown hair had been in Riems studying international diplomacy. She was bright, intelligent, and even at 5 foot ten inches very beautiful in the girl-next-door kind of way, but with one bad habit. 

	The potential runway model liked E.

	It took all of ten minutes her first night out in the city club district to be noticed by everything with a penis, and even by some without. Back in Paris she was big on the rave scene and knew the game. 

	But that was in Paris. 

	She met some people and they seemed safe. A moderate mix of young men and women, well dressed, educated and apparently gainfully employed. They met up two or three times; ate, drank and partied; and when she inquired about their work they were quite open and she came to understand the reason there was always plenty of free E.

	Hard drugs were frowned upon by the local authorities, but soft drugs were 'tolerated' as an alternative to the out-of-control drinking problem. Tolerated so long as there wasn't any trouble, which there never was. The local crime bosses had an agreement with the cops, who turned a blind eye while they 'corrected' any 'mistakes' made by overly ambitious would-be-dealers. When the subject of income came up Morgane was visibly impressed, but found it hard to believe there was that much money in small time dealing. One of them, Thomaz, made an offer. He had a delivery near the hostel where she was staying. 8,000 zloty to drop off a load, 1,000 tabs in a plastic food bag. No waiting around, no money to collect, just hand off and leave. He would meet her later and pay up.

	Later that night she showed up on the dark corner near the park, handed off the bag to the guy in the black limo and met Thomaz an hour later to collect over 2000 Euros. 'Morgane the big girl did good', she congratulated herself. Until the next night when the same men in the same limo grabbed her while she was walking to the club to celebrate and buy drinks for the gang. She still had the money on her, which they took, along with everything else in her purse; worse yet, they still had the Polish breath mints she had sold them. And they weren't interested in her money back guarantee offer.

	 Now, nearly two months later, she was being taken to 'do a show' as they called it, the last obligation of her debt before she would be allowed to return to France. 

	Morgane had no idea what would happen next or exactly what was going on; based on her experiences over the last weeks it wouldn't be pleasant, but it would finally be the end. She sensed they were getting nervous about an international investigation but she spoke no Polish and her captor's French was limited to 'oui', 'non' and a sentence which had come to make her sick to her stomach, 'Faites-le! Faites-le maintenant!', 'Do it! Do it now!'

	By now she had become conditioned to their tactics and so it was a pretty safe bet she was being taken to another wealthy 'client' or small group of clients for a private session. She had been used for sex up to ten times a day, both straight and lesbian, and even once had been taken to work on two gay guys while they worked on each other as if she wasn't even there. She had also been forced into making a dozen porn films of all varieties, and that was not counting the times they taped her while she was being used by strangers. They had taken a load of photographs, she lost count of how many; then they got the idea to organize some prepared shoots, two dozen in all, the shortest of which was over four hours. Naturally there were all kinds of costumes, make-up, and gizmos; sometimes she was lightly drugged, sometimes motivated with an electric cattle prod to her genitals and feet. For some reason they liked her feet.

	"Five minutes," the driver announced and the one on the right nodded. 

	By the time they had squeezed the black patent leather toe shoes onto her already aching feet the limo had escaped the subdued vibrancy of the city, drifted back out into the suburbs and entered the deserted streets of a small town. They finished lacing the shoes just as the car pulled around back of an old brick building and into a narrow alleyway.

	Her senses dulled by the cold and the residual blood levels of whatever drug they had fed her, aggravated by her inability to walk properly in the ballet boots, meant she had to be nearly carried as they guided her out of the car, through the alleyway, up the short flight of concrete stairs and in through the narrow back door with the bare light above it. There was a very old, gray haired man reading a beat up paperback on a stool just inside. Scurrying on her toes, the two men holding her under the arms took her through a bare brick passageway, down a hall and through a door to a room that looked like a converted walk-in closet. As one guided her through the door, following her in, the other stood guard outside. 

	There was just enough room for the low stool and old phone table; the large rectangular wall mirror hanging above the table was dirty and cracked in several places. The man was careful to lift Morgane's flimsy skirt before he allowed her to sit, but the bare flesh of her buttocks was numb from the cold so it didn't affect her already confused mind. He set both hands on the nervous girl's shoulders and turned her to face him with her back to the mirror. Then he went to the drawer in the table. He returned to her with a pair of stainless steel shackles and a set of linkless handcuffs. He draped the shackles around her like a necklace and wrenched her bare arms behind her back, eliciting a squeal when he snapped the cuffs over the tops of her biceps. He knelt and applied the shackles to her leather covered ankles, snapping the cuffs tightly around the tops of the toe shoes. Then he eased her compliant body back against the table's edge and unbuttoned the leather vest from the belly up, throwing back the flaps to expose her small but perfectly shaped breasts. From his jacket pocket he produced a hand made iron ring gag and easily strapped it behind her teeth and around her soft face.

	The pugnacious man again knelt, spreading her knees and sliding his hand up her cold thigh under the thin skirt. He snaked his thick finger through her fleshy vaginal hood and located the soft pink bud, causing the young the female to draw in a deep breath on contact. Thanks to the force feeding of pills every three or four hours throughout the day her body's response was almost instant, and a thin layer of sweat quickly covered her entire semi-nude body as her light brown blue eyes glazed over and rolled up into the back of her head. Her nipples slowly arose again from her perfectly round areolas to full erection, but when he began to twirl and milk her young clit Morgane's vaginal canal became instantly moist. Inserting first one finger then two deep into her, he pumped slowly at first and then more quickly while continuing to thumb her clit. A large string of viscous drool began to ooze past the thick ring gag wedged between her perfect white teeth; it drizzled down her breast bone between her increasingly heaving breasts. The trainer gag was strapped tightly enough around her contorted face that the flesh of her flushed cheeks just above and below the leather straps remained white. He leaned forward and alternately licked her nipples, sucking forcefully on the breasts.

	In no time he felt the young vaginal walls begin to mildly spasm. He continued his massaging and pumping at a quickened pace until the unwilling sex-slave bent forward at the hip, thrusting forcefully as she teetered on the edge of an explosive orgasm. She attempted to form words but only emitted short spurts of French tainted babble.

	Just as she doubled over in the first of her pre-orgasm convulsions, and with a sense of timing originating from years of training and conditioning women to be compliant sex objects, he withdrew his hand and slapped Morgane hard across her beautiful face two or three times to bring her down. Sweat and drool sprayed across the wall and mirror and, no longer flushed from arousal, her formerly milky-white features turned a dark crimson red from the slapping.

	Immediately after the abbreviated beating he held the back of her head and raised his middle finger to her soft pink lips; she clumsily suckled it through her ring gag. Pulling his finger slowly back, her lapping tongue followed and he guided her around to face the mirror, her ankle chain lightly rattling across the floor boards.

	"Get Iryna!" he yelled through the door, and there were footsteps as the guard left. A minute later there were footsteps again and the door opened. An elderly woman, obviously a former beauty and still quite slender, shuffled in carrying a small make-up kit. The man stepped aside; she set the kit on the table and then held Morgan's dazed head straight facing the mirror, studying her features. Tracing the high cheek bones with the back of her little finger she asked something in Polish; the man grunted an answer and she set to work.

	After completely cleansing the girl's sweat coated face she applied the appropriate foundation, blended it, and applied some blush. She spent a good deal of time on the eyes, carefully applying the liner, shadow, and mascara. A liberal coat of pink lip gloss finished off the job. She reached behind Morgane's back and fondled her hands, examining the fingers and nails. Again there was a question and the man shook his head no. He handed the woman a few crumpled notes as she gathered her things and left.

	He abruptly twisted Morgane's body back 180 degrees and his hand went back to her pussy. She was still damp but started to secrete again in less than a minute; now squatting inches from her stunningly beautiful face, the thug found himself getting hard. Only interested in getting her back closer to the edge, he didn't push it this time but stopped as soon as she started to pant like a dog. 

	He reached over while still slowly stroking and cracked opened the door. 

	"Tell Viktor the slut is ready." He wiped his fingers on her exposed tongue and buttoned the bottom three buttons on her vest, leaving her breasts partially exposed. Another man in a suit came in; they lifted her by her cuffed arms and led her shuffling out the door and back down the hall, her ankle chain slapping the floor as they moved.

	It wasn't until Morgane was brought cuffed and hobbled to the place where they stopped and held her up that she realized where they were, and worse, what was happening. 

	There was a man in a tuxedo out on a stage, curtains and ropes hung in front and to the right; as he stopped speaking there was sporadic laughter followed by a tumultuous round of applause from an audience! And she was being held in the wings. The drugs had now pretty much worn off and along with a slight headache things were more clear now. It dawned on her that she was the next act and the realization caused her crippled arms to wave and flail like chicken wings in an insignificant act of protest. They easily restrained her as she watched the man leave the stage and walk towards them, while from the opposite wing two stage hands commenced setting up something that looked like standard pipe scaffolding. He spoke to the men holding her and both answered. One of the men let go of her arm and went to a dark corner, returning immediately with a wicked looking contraption. 

	The four foot pipe had a steel ring welded to one end which was clamped and locked around her neck; a slightly larger one welded at mid-length was locked around her bare waist. After adjusting the rings so they stretched her to stand perfectly erect, they clamped her wrists, palms out, to the lower end which was now even with her buttocks; then they removed her arm cuffs. The MC had returned to the stage and the hands were finishing up when they attached a long leash to her neck ring. While the MC made some introduction, one guy stood behind holding her up and the other yanked on her leash, coaxing Morgane out on stage. 

	The house lights began to slowly dim, the pot bellied guy in the tux kept talking, something about France, university and Riems, and Morgane's helpless body was brought into position. The pipe rack was a large, tall box and she was made to hobble into the center of it, where an overhead chain was clipped off to the rear of her neck ring. The leash was removed and she was left to half dangle, half balance on the very tips of her toe shoes while her rigid body swayed in the ever brightening spot light which now dominated the stage.

	Tux man exited the stage and she was left to sway for long humiliating minutes; through the bright light she could discern the silhouettes of two film cameras, one on either side just off the stage.

	Eventually two very large, muscular men appeared on stage to a ripple of applause. She realized the audience knew something she didn't and she began to sweat even more. The steel posture bar held her perfectly upright and rigid, so the terrified girl had to wait until the men entered her peripheral vision before she could see her assigned torturers. 

	They were stripped to the waist, wore full-faced, black leather hoods, and had large equipment belts dripping with instruments. The outlines of two very stiff and very large erections under their black leotards were impossible to miss and Morgane had no choice but to accept that at some point in the evening she would visit old territory.

	They smelled awful as they came close and took their time removing the posture bar; then they repositioned her in front of the box, hung by wide spread wrists. The legs followed and now she was spread eagle, feet off the floor by several inches and all limbs stretched to her limit. Curiously they removed her ring gag and didn't replace it but dragged the racked out girl, pipe structure and all, forward on the stage closer to the audience. The heat under the spot light became instantly more uncomfortable and as she peered down the pale faces of the first four or five rows were terrifyingly clear.

	The vest had Velcro break away shoulders and the garment was torn from her torso and tossed into the audience. Like adolescents at their first pop concert the men scrambled for it and a fight broke out. 

      The hooded men continued their performance. 

      They stepped to the sides and when Morgane saw one unclip a wicked looking carriage whip from his belt and unfurl it, she could hold back no more. She barely got the 'NO!' out when the lash bit into her right hip and with what little slack they had left her she bucked forward in a shallow arch and bit her lip to keep from screaming. The second hit in nearly the same exact spot; a drop of blood trickled from her lip and she felt the skirt slide down over her thighs and off her left leg. Now on stage completely bare save for her toe shoes, and spread wide in front of God knows how many strangers, young Morgane was humiliated beyond pain - a situation which would not linger.

	In quick succession the lash bit into first her right and then her left nipple. She went blind with agony as white noise filled her head and she let go with a shrill scream as her bladder released. While her straw colored urine splashed on the stage the second man joined in, his whip assaulting her left thigh starting at the hollow of the knee and expertly working its way up to her already bruised hip. For a time they alternately worked on the hysterical girl's tautly stretched calves, thighs and hips, before moving to her belly and lower back. Twenty minutes later the lashing subsided and Morgane found it hard to focus. They called for an assistant from the audience and had to fight back the volunteers but finally choose a female member. She was escorted around to the stage stairs and brought up. Through severely blurred vision Morgane watched, her head bobbing off her chest, as one of the men handed the forty-something woman a device and meted out instructions. The well dressed middle aged female approached the panting girl and smiled as she removed a long white glove. Tracing the girl's parched mouth with the tip of her index finger she leaned forward and slowly ran her tongue over Morgan's full lips, coating them with her saliva before kissing her long and hard with a liberal amount of tongue. Slightly aroused, the French girl responded to the act as she felt the woman fondling her labia and then applying something to her clit. 

	The sensation was immediate. It was as if she was being electronically masturbated and despite the excruciating lingering pain of the lashes she once again became wet and slowly began to pant. The woman's fingers found their way inside her and the French girl's mouth evolved a mind of its own as it shot, wide open tongue extended, to the woman's inviting lips. She was deaf to the wild applause and seconds later had to be pried off the woman's face; the volunteer took a bow and returned to her seat.

	A second, shorter rack had been dragged on stage and, clit vibrator still attached, a panting and well aroused Morgane was taken down and draped ass up over the sawhorse-like cross bar before being dragged back to center stage. Securing her bent over the cross pipe, arms and legs spread wide, the man at her rear was the first to enter her which he did slowly and with deliberation. The camera stage right moved in for a close-up as he buried his cock to the hilt then partially withdrew the well coated member. 

	The last thing she remembered was the purple head of a second over-sized cock pressing at her lips. 

	Slow, rhythmic lashes bit at her heavily arched bare back and the world became blurred and began to spin.

	Somewhere around two hours into her ordeal the young French beauty lost consciousness.