by Paul Blades
The man’s lust had been driven almost beyond tolerance by his exercise in cruelty. He tossed the bottle aside and jumped up on the bed. He placed his feet on either side of the girl’s and, grabbing her hips, pulled her ass up towards him. Daphne screamed in pain as his thumbs pressed down against her raw flesh. The man angled her posterior just right, so that the tip of his thick, hard cock was poised at the entrance to her bowels. And then, without fanfare, he pushed right in.
Daphne felt a whole new species of pain as the dry cock tore at the tender membranes of the ring surrounding her rear hole. She screeched in agony. The aperture was small and Slaughter had to push hard to get past it. But his strength won out and his rigid pole soon slid deep into her.
Slaughter bent his neck back and groaned with pleasure as he felt the murky, wet heat of Daphne’s interior. He pushed until he was all the way in, his thighs slapping up against the still burning skin on Daphne’s rear. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she moaned piteously as the fire there was restored to its original intensity. “Ooooooooo! Ohhhhhhhhh! Ooooooooooooo!” she screamed each time the man collided against her. The man’s thick member tortured her split and torn anal ring. Madly, the man thrust into her again and again. The soft mattress bounced up and down as her body was forced into it repeatedly. Suddenly, he gave a loud shout and held himself fast against her burning back tissues. His body jerked and shook as he came, his hands gripping her hips fiercely. And then he was done. He gave a long, deep sigh of satisfaction.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JANA GETS HER STORY
On the other end of the resort, a svelte, sophisticated, hip, well known rock reporter was being turned into a whore.
When the van door slammed shut, Jana felt like her fate had been sealed. The interior was completely dark. She had no idea where she was. She was bound, gagged and naked. Whoever this guy Creeper really was, she was completely under his power.
The young girls who were locked in the van with her sniveled and whined in the ink black darkness as the van rolled inexorably towards their unknown destination. It wasn’t just the fact of her imprisonment that made Jana shake with trepidation; it was the scale of whatever was going on around here. Twelve beautiful young girls had been kidnapped and, according to her sources, many, many more in cities all across Europe. It was on an almost unimaginable scale. The appearance of the huge black man who had conducted the brief, preliminary assessment of the girls, and who, she guessed, was African, filled her with dread. He looked coarse and cruel. The casual way that the uniformed black men had handled her and the girls she had arrived with, obviously members of some kind of paramilitary organization, denoted a sophistication of planning and intent that stupefied her. But what were they going to do with her?
She closed her eyes to hold back her own tears as the van rumbled along. Her torso swayed as the van negotiated unknown curves and jostled as the vehicle lurched over bumps and divots in the road. She gnawed at the annoying, stifling leather in her mouth. She could feel the warm skin of the thigh of the young woman sitting to her right. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, the van slowed and stopped. There were deep masculine African sounding voices. The rear door to the van opened and two uniformed men, capped and dressed in the same manner as the men who had come onto the plane, looked inside. One of them pointed his finger at each one of the dismal prisoners as if counting them and then, satisfied, closed the door again. Twelve females kidnapped, twelve females delivered, she thought. The van started up again.
It stopped again a few minutes later. The double doors flew open and two large black men dressed in calf length black robes and holding some kind of baton in their hands started yelling at the women. There was a loud ‘click’ and she felt the bonds that had held the belt that had been fastened around her waist to her secure to the van’s side behind her back spring loose. Timidly, she eased herself out. One of the men grabbed her arm and pulled her the rest of the way rudely. They were in some kind of underground garage. A third guard motioned for her to advance in his direction.
He was standing by a steel doorway that led into the building. Jana looked quickly around to see if there were any other options. Of course, her ankles were still confined by the short chain and running off was not a realistic possibility. But something inside her told her that once she entered that door, something bad was going to happen to her. She was not a person to give up a struggle easily. One of the guards touched her right rear cheek with his baton and an excruciating jolt of electricity shot into her. She gave a shout of pain and jumped away. The chain between her feet restricted her instinctive attempt to dodge the source of pain and she tottered over onto the hard cement, landing on and bruising her left shoulder. The girls who had been advancing behind her screamed and cried into their gags at the display of callous cruelty and began to hustle frantically towards the forbidding door, shuffling their bound, bare feet on the rough cement. The guard stood over the fallen reporter and stuck her again with the wand, this time on her breast. Another fierce charge poured into her flesh and her body writhed and curled in pain. “Up! Up!” he yelled at her.
Sobbing and wailing, Jana struggled to her feet, a difficult task with her hands bound behind her back and the chains between her legs. By the time she arose, the last of the girls was entering the building and she scurried dutifully to catch up. The line of naked, young women, their wrists still bound behind their heads, hurried clumsily, taking the tiny steps that their confining chains allowed, down a long, narrow, garishly lit, whitewashed cinderblock hallway. Another steel door had been opened at the other end. The room they entered was about 10’ wide and 30’long and brightly lit by bare florescent tubes. There were two long steel poles hanging from the ceiling on either side about eight feet from the floor. The walls matched that of the hallway and the floor was covered with a rough brown carpet. The ceiling was high, about 12’, and was unfinished, showing the underside of the subfloor of the room above them. Large pipes and electrical conduits ran along it.
When the lead girl reached the far side of the room, the back of her collar was fixed to a chain hanging down from one of the steel poles by one of the black robed African guards. The line of frightened females stopped while all the girls were similarly hooked up, one at a time, on both sides of the room. Clips were fastened to the middle of the chain between their legs and fastened to a ring in the floor. When they got to Jana, the guard released her arms from behind her back and connected her wrists to the hook in the back of her collar. The man’s hands were like steel clamps on her arms as he handled her. He had an air of entitlement and assurance that defeated any impulse Jana might have had to resist him. She felt the chain leading to the pole above her connected to the same ring. The chain was somehow pulled taut, lifting her neck, so that she was standing on the balls of her feet.
Jana looked into the fierce, jet black face of the guard who was chaining her off. He had a short, untidy, black beard that covered the whole of the bottom half of his face. His brow was thick and foreboding. He had to lean against her naked body to affix the chain to her collar and her bare breasts brushed against his black robe. When he stepped back, he flashed a leering smile at her and reached out and took possession of her nipples. They were hard with her fear and he stroked them gently and then pulled them outwards slowly until her breasts were extended. The man’s eyes seemed to reflect some kind of glee at Jana’s predicament. His arms were strong and he was broad shouldered. He stood a good foot taller than her and she knew that any physical match between them would be won by him hands down. In fact all of the guards seemed to have been selected for their fearsome aspect and their large muscular bodies. Of course, give them a shave, put them in a suit in a corporate boardroom and you have something else entirely. But the sinister attire and the stark surroundings gave them an intense, menacing aspect.
After making sure that all of the females were properly secured, the guards left the room. The slamming of the heavy, steel door sounded like a prison sentence. The
girls had given out muffled whines and moans as they had been manhandled, but now, after the echo of the door’s closure had faded, the room went deadly silent.
Due to the tautness of the chain connecting her to the steel pole above, Jana could not move her bare feet more than an inch or so in any direction without putting an immediate, constraining pressure on her neck. She looked across at the girl mounted in front of her on the other side of the room. She was a delectably figured girl with soft round breasts and a hard stomach that tapered down sweetly to the crux of her narrow, youthful thighs. She had short, dirty blond hair that was belied by the dark brown growth that surrounded her sex and the dark roots near her scalp. Her bush was neatly trimmed, a small rectangle of hair over her narrow slit and maybe a 1” wide strip on either side. It was the perfect size and shape for hiding under a bikini. Her body exhibited the tell tale signs of her sessions under the sun and there were small triangles of pale flesh over her large breasts surrounding her nipples and her lower belly, and extending like a little white ribbon over her hips. The girl’s eyes were wide with fear and unhappiness. The large ball that had been stuffed in her mouth made her cheeks bulge and her lips pout. Her hair was mussed and tangly from her confinement. Her upraised arms presented her comely breasts proudly.
The girl looked back at Jana forlornly. Jana wondered who she was and where she came from, how long she had been a prisoner. The Day-Glo Dreams concert tour had hit six British cities in fifteen days. If she had been kidnapped at the first one, she would have been a prisoner for over two weeks. Where had she been kept and under what conditions? What was going to be her fate, or, for that matter, of that of any of them? Clearly, while her own kidnapping had been a matter of protecting this criminal enterprise, these girls had all been selected for their beauty. The maltreatment she had already suffered and Creeper’s threats to her presaged a definite sexual purpose.
It seemed to Jana that the girl’s eyes were looking towards hers in an effort to divine the answers to the same questions. It was what must be going through all of their minds. A couple of the girls had started crying again and its effect was contagious, filling the previously silent room with the sniffling and moans of several of the young women. Suddenly, after what seemed to be an hour or more, the steel door swung open again. Jana’s legs and feet were sore from the task of balancing her weight on the front portions of her feet. The boredom of standing so securely bound with no distractions except for the helpless, unhappy eyes of the young women nearest her had made the time drag along tediously. But now that something was apparently going to happen, Jana wondered fearfully whether she would shortly be sorry that the interlude of relative peacefulness was at an end.
Jana leaned forwards as far as she could to peer towards the other end of the room to see who had come in. There were three people. One was one of the broad shouldered, black robed guards. The second was a shorter, more slender, African man dressed in white shoes, long, creased, white pants and a brilliantly white short sleeved t-shirt. Following him was a wide hipped, large breasted black skinned woman. She was tall, about 5’8” and had broad shoulders. She was bedecked in what looked like a nurse’s uniform, down to the little cap on her head. She was pushing along a little cart with several shelves and a number of small cardboard boxes on it.
The trio stopped at the first girl on the line, on the same side that Jana was on. She could tell that they were doing something, but could not tell what. She saw one of the boxes pulled open and the murmuring of the girl they were attending. The people worked wordlessly until she heard the woman speak in a melodic, friendly voice. “Pee into the cup, please,” she said.
When the group reached the third or fourth girl, Jan heard a plaintive, high pitched Midlands accent ask timidly, “Please, what’s going to happen to us?” The voice was immediately followed with a loud ‘crack!’ reminiscent of the sound that the guard’s wand had made when Jana was assaulted outside the van. A loud, wailing cry rang out in the narrow room, echoing off of the stone walls. It was shortly stifled. The message to all of the captured females was clear, “No talking!”
Jana was able to watch as the girl to her left, a tall, full breasted girl with long black hair, was serviced. The t-shirted man opened a plastic envelope and pulled out a sheet with several labels on it and a 2” long, thin metal tag. It looked to Jana like it had some numbers on it and a UPC code. The man secured it to the girl’s collar with a silver, metal tool. The tall, obese African woman opened a box and placed the small labels on several glass test tubes, a lidded, plastic cup and a bag containing what looked like swabs. The guard unhooked the girl’s right arm from her collar and held it out straight in front of her. The black skinned woman placed a tube around the upper arm, restricting the circulation and, after waiting a few moments for the vein in the crux of the girl’s elbow to fatten, inserted a small needle. The girl gave a little ‘ooo!’ and jumped as the needle went in. The nurse attached a test tube to the needle, released a clamp and blood quickly filled the narrow glass instrument.
In the meantime, the slender man had released the girl’s other arm from the back of her neck. He pressed her index finger onto a black ink pad and then pressed the finger onto a box on the sheet of paper from which he and the nurse had pulled the little tags. When finished, he returned the wrist to its original position.
The point of the whole thing was to insure that only fine, healthy girls were processed into the Kliztman diaspora. It would not due to sell off females who had to be returned for health issues or who were carriers of sexually transmitted diseases. The metal tags that had been affixed to their collars and the fingerprint would serve as their identification from now on. A swipe of an infrared wand would record their comings and goings, their number their only true identity. There was no need to record their names. No one cared what their names were, who they were or what kinds of lives they had come from. They were now items of commerce, instruments of pleasure, chattels. Their value would depend entirely on the attractiveness of their appearance and on how well they fucked.
The nurse, having filled the tubes, placed a small bandage on the puncture wound and the girl’s free right arm was immobilized once more by the tall guard. Her ball gag was removed from between her thick, trembling lips. Tears were coursing down the pretty young girl’s face. The t-shirted man took her jaw in his hand, pressing in on her cheeks. Her mouth opened obediently and he looked carefully inside, checking for sores or obviously deteriorated teeth. He held it open while the nurse held out a color coded swab and took a saliva sample, which she placed in a small plastic bag. The nurse produced a digital camera from the cart and, standing back, took pictures of the girl’s unhappy face, her breasts, her loins. While the guard returned the large black ball to the girl’s forlorn mouth, the slender man pushed open her thighs. The woman took a differently colored swab and took a sample from between the girl’s sex lips. She put the swab in another bag and sealing it placed it in the box.
After the girl was instructed to pee into the cup, the slender man took out a clipboard and, carefully examining the girl’s body, made some notes. She had a mole on the upper part of her right breast and a small scar on her left knee. A small roll of baby fat still resided on her 19 year old hips. The guard forced her to turn around, curling her ankle chain around the ring that held it, and the smaller man examined her back, her rump and the back of her legs. The nurse took several more pictures and placed the camera back on the cart. Putting down the clipboard, the slender male assistant spread the helpless girl’s rear cheeks while the nurse inserted a swab into the girl’s anal opening.
Next was Jana’s turn. She submitted meekly while her body was sampled and inspected. The silence and efficiency with which the people worked made her feel more like a thing than a person. Having drawn the proper conclusion at the results of the totally reasonable but impermissible question of the young girl a little while ago, she remained silent, although a thousand questions raced through her mind. Having pe
ed an hour or so before, she was afraid what the guard would do to her should she be unable to produce a sample, but when the time came, she released a pale yellowish stream into the cup on command.
The slender man took especial note of the tattoo on her belly. She had gotten it when she was seventeen. She had been in love then and had been inspired to record the fact with a permanent mark. Since then, most of her lovers - there had been, she had to admit, more than a few - had delighted in the revelation of the colorful design. But in the last year or so, she had grown to be weary of seeing it every time she looked into the mirror. She had looked into having it removed, but the process seemed too painful and prolonged. Now, she regretted it fiercely as she was sure that it would draw special attention and cruel comment from the men that Creeper told her she was destined to service. A wave of misery raced through her. This was all so unreal. Could it actually be happening?
After the guard removed her gag, the nurse took the small digital camera from the cart and photographed her. She hit the zoom button and pointed it at her loins, making a special record of the tattoo. Jana wanted to shy away or turn her back so that her florid design and the enticing label, “Love”, could not be recorded. But she thought of the terrible weapon that the guard carried and she remained, unhappily, still. After the picture taking and a swab of her mouth, her gag was reinstalled.