Chapter 1

Peter Sinclair

 

We are amoral, Ann and I. I have to admit it. We couldn't have embarked on the course we did unless we were. Oh yes, we were desperate all right. The recession of 2010 hit us hard. We both had high-paying jobs: me as a staff psychologist to a large manufacturer on the Gold Coast of Queensland, and Ann as a medical technician, designing new gadgetry for the health industry.

We thought we were secure and had built a large house in Robina, one of the Coast's newest and most exclusive suburbs. Of course it was mortgaged but then we had no idea either of us was about to lose their job.

The house was built to our own design and included a cellar that encompassed the whole floor area of the house. This was to accommodate our hobbies and Ann's home laboratory where she worked on private jobs.

Of course when we were terminated we both went looking for other jobs but everyone was in the same boat and there were none to be had. I was considering taking on labouring when Ann found the site on the Web.

Slavery was something we had played at as part of our love-making. We both had a bent for it and delighted in alternating as master or mistress and slave but we knew straight away that this was for real. Real-life slavery well into the 21st Century. And they wanted slaves. White slaves. Girls who had been broken as free human beings and then built up again but now as obedient (but still spirited) slavegirls.

I stared at my wife. "Can we do it, Ann? I mean, actually kidnap beautiful girls and train them as slaves and then sell them to these people?"

She was a lot more certain about it than I was. "Of course we can, Peter. Our very survival depends on it. And don't look at me like that. We just have to put the morals of it right out of our minds..."

We discussed the practicalities of it and decided our house was perfect for the task. We could easily convert some of the still vacant cellar areas to slave holding and training areas and our back garden, which had a high wall around it, contained a swimming pool and was covered with three of those new shade-cloth triangles that concealed everything under them. The patio area and pool would serve admirably for an outdoor training area.

I proceeded at once to convert the cellars while Ann went to work on the gadget she said would be essential to achieve total control over our slaves. We worked hard and fast. With no real income, speed was essential. We had been staggered to discover just how much these shadowy slave buyers would pay (into a Swiss bank account we opened) for a comely, well-trained slavegirl and at night, when our day's labours were over, we discussed just how quickly we thought we would be able to train our first girl.

"I think, with the aid of my tiny implant, coupled with a perfectly vicious use of the cane and whip to their sensitive areas, it shouldn't take more than a day or so to break them down. Then we work them. Work them harder than anything we've ever put our own bodies through."

We were both fitness fanatics and one of the cellar rooms had a full complement of home gym equipment, so I knew exactly what she was talking about. I then took up the thread:

"At the same time, we bombard them with notions of their slavery and how they now exist only to serve their master. That will be my role."

"Of course," she agreed. "My little implant is going to be so small it won't need a doctor to insert it in their bodies. I will make a sort of syringe that will place it exactly where it will do the most good - right up against the internal membranes of their clits and it will be self-adhesive. Once it has locked onto the skin, it will be a permanent fixture."

"What will it do?" I asked curiously.

"Two things. First, it will be a controlling device. If she errs, it will send a horrible shock to her clit. The pain will be so bad she will be writhing on the floor in seconds. Second and perhaps even more importantly, it will be a GPS monitor so we, and later her owner, will know exactly where she is and will be able to zap her if she moves out of her permitted envelope."

I stared admiringly at my wife. "And you can pack all that into a bullet-sized pellet?"

"Easily," she smiled. "You would be surprised how small batteries and electronic circuitry can be these days. And the beauty of the battery is that it is one of those new marvels that are automatically recharged by heat. Her own body heat will keep it fully topped up at all times, even if she has to be zapped a number of times in a day."

"You say you can inject it onto her clit but inside her body?"

"That's the easiest part. Of course we will have to depilate them. From my reading of the Web, harem slaves are totally nude of hair all over their bodies: from the eyelashes down, anyway. Even male slaves are treated this way, apparently."

I stared at her again. "You mean males are kidnapped and enslaved as well as girls? What for?"

"Don't be so naïve, Peter. You know there are many men who swing both ways and according to the site, there is almost as much demand for handsome young male slaves as for girls."

"But you aren't suggesting we take them, are you? I mean..."

She grinned. "No. At least not yet. Let's stick to females at first and see how we go..."

 

As I say, we worked hard during the day, I on preparing the cellars and Ann on her tiny implant. She also went and acquired the latest in Microlysis gadgetry, a permanent depilation process that leaves the skin smooth-forever.

We were now ready to acquire our first slave, having already established ourselves with the Web site operators: shadowy dealers in Japan, China, certain parts of Africa and the Middle East. We had been assured that if we produced the goods, they would provide a ready market and the transactions would be sealed by the electronic transfer of the sum agreed for the girl's body.

We went looking on the beaches and in the fitness gyms.

Our contacts had said their girls must be young, beautiful, very fit and preferably blonde. There are literally thousands and thousands of girls on the Coast who fit this description. What we had to be careful of, though, was to find one whose disappearance would not bring about a major investigation or manhunt. Tourists were the obvious answer and, since the Gold Coast is a major destination from all states of Australia as well as other parts of the world, we thought we would have little difficulty in finding the right girl.