In standing proximate, for many moments 128 gawks in timid silence. Then she finally glances at the actress’s naked companion. African America, even features projecting a rugged handsomeness, his front side is as impressively shaped and muscled as his back. But more impressive is a long, thick male appendage. Jutting forth from a shaven hairless pubes, it heavily swings between powerful thighs, the uncircumcised tip just about grazing his knee caps. The woman smiles in noting 128’s roving eyes.
“You must by now have had enough cock here at Nusquam, 128. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know Ma’am. Months I suppose.”
“And your role here? With breasts like these I would think you’d be in the milking parlor,” the woman’s free hand brazenly reaching forth to tweak right nipple then left.
The tantalizing touch brings a frisson of delight, the half dollar sized nipples crinkling in humble response.
“See what the forced chastity does for them, Shannon. Such sensitivity. Her pups, as big as they are, seem to sit up and beg for attention.”
128 feels a chill. Despite the heat of the tropics, goose bumps form, her sense of submission and being put on display initiating the curious loop of the masochist... humiliation leading to arousal leading to more humiliation.
“Not the milking parlor, Ma’am. I’m assigned for now to the stables, grooming for Miss Penny... and her steed 88.”
“Yes, grooming and fluffing him quite nicely I am sure. Some of the girls like their steeds to be erect when working them, Shannon. It’s quite entertaining for women of a certain ilk. Tried my hand at it a while ago. Just have little aptitude for the sjambok. It’s laborious stroking naked buttocks to get a reluctant steed into a lather... and that’s the only way to enjoy them... work ‘em hard, run ‘em fast.”
The woman releases the huge brown hand. The man knows to fold his arms behind his back and part his feet, the enormous manhood swinging even more freely. It is a pose intended to both expose and tantalize.
“I’m Florence Gale. You may have recognized me.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“And this is my stud, Shannon. Also known as the Cannon. Shannon the Cannon. And I am sure by now that your straying eyes have apprised you of the source of his appellation...”
A shy 128 nods... his manhood a cannon indeed.
“Is Penny working her steed now?”
“No Ma’am. She returned to New York. Back in a couple of weeks.”
“Good. Then you have some time. Can you cook... serve?”
“Somewhat. I have not been formally trained.”
“That will do. We eat simply and Shannon likes large tits. And you no doubt are a good fluffer, your otherwise hideous looks aside. I don’t do oral, at least giving, and that seems to be the best catalyst for Shannon... and his cannon. I’m going to have you assigned to my cabin... until Miss Penny returns. We’ll find a subjugant to take care of her steed in the meanwhile.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Servitude arranged, 128 reports to the unassuming cinder block building, marked number 7. She is grateful to be relieved of nightly stays in the dorm, communally being fed, bathed and bedded, if sleeping upright on a low stool... anus impaled... can be so described. Yet she is apprehensive.
What will be expected of her? If Miss Florence Gale cares not to use the sjambok, what is it she does? Why is she a member of Nusquam?
In referencing the milking parlor, there is no doubt the ravishing woman has visited.... a facility to date unseen by 128. Is that her thing... the lactation scene?.. so termed by Miss Penny.
128 knocks on a heavy wooden door. It opens and she is greeted by Shannon. And her roving eyes again rove, for the cannon appears prepared to fire. The largest penis 128 has seen stands straight upwards, thickly engorged, the purple tip unsheathed, glistening and pressing his stomach well above his navel.
“Come in 128,” the voice deep and masculine.
The muscled form steps to the side and 128 enters, glancing to see abundant moisture about his lips and chin. Decorum suggests she divert her inquisitive look, noting that the interior of building 7 is surprisingly well decorated. There is tasteful furniture, the comfort inviting. In seeing Miss Florence Gale, 128 politely focuses, truncating her examination. The incredible beauty rests somewhat supine, slumped in a large lounge chair with a well iced drink in hand. A bent right leg is draped over one arm. Sans undergarments, a short, flimsy diaphanous silk skirt barely veils her mons.
She smiles sheepishly, drawing down her leg to assume a more ladylike pose.
“Welcome 128 to my jungle abode. It’s unpretentious... unglamourous. But that’s why I’m here, leaving those things behind in Hollywood.”
Once again a crooked finger beckons. 128 tiptoes forth, hands on head, the desired humbleness a protocol for moving about in the presence of a Nusquam member. She pauses, standing before the gifted woman of talent and beauty. Even in such a casual setting her presence radiates, bringing a glow to the room.
“You may lick my feet.”
128 instantly falls to her knees and bows, the words known to be a command. She also knows to widely part her knees, her labia yawning, feeling the room air within her sex, sensing Shannon offering a lustful visual examination.
“I have certain... well... proclivities... as you can imagine with every member of Nusquam. Being a public figure, I cannot even shop or eat in a restaurant without gaining notice. So you can imagine the tabloid stories and photos if my modest peccadillos were to be engaged in public.”
With her words, Shannon the Cannon strolls to her right side, parting his feet, hands again slipping behind his back. Erection slightly wavering, a blemishless hand extends, palming and lifting the low freely hanging testicles. The gesture reminds of an owner petting her cat.
“I like cock. Lots of cock. Big black cock. There are not too many places in the world where I can engage in my... preferences,” the hand rising, two fingers extending to gently smooth up and down the underside of an erection rapidly renewing.
“Shannon is a stud... a professional gigolo. Renowned... expensive... and obedient to a woman’s desires. Isn’t that right Shannon?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“6,000 dollars per day, 128. I like to think of it as 500 dollars per inch,” the comment coming with a light effeminate laugh. “But I can afford it. I earn well. My acting remains in demand and I have the talent to fill many roles beyond that of mere air headed glamour girl.”
As 128 licks, extending her altered and trained tongue, by rote she looks up, adhering to the protocol of humbly looking into the eyes of those she pleasures. Miss Florence’s fingers graze so teasingly, bringing the self controlled Shannon to slightly shudder with the distant joy.
“Yes, curious, is it not? I can have any man in the world. Yet I choose to pay.”
The fingers move upwards to the penis tip, circling where 128 has learned to tantalize the steel encased penis of steed 88. Shannon moans but he moves not.
“I want it how I want it. I’ll pay and play... under my auspices... my rules. I want it hard, hot and deep. And I want it under me. Your role, 128, besides preparing a meal or two, will be to keep Shannon... and his cannon... presentable for me. That means shaving, grooming and fluffing. There are times when I just like to look without toying. And I want him presentable... that means stiff... a tummy thumper.”
With that, the two fingers move to the top of the amazing stiffness then slowly pull to press downwards. Shannon grimaces but despite the awkward and uncomfortable angle he moves not, protests not. When Miss Florence snatches away her hand to release, the erection snaps upwards, thumping the taut stomach muscles like a slamming trap door. A giggle erupts, a little girl playing with a favorite doll.
“And you’ll have clean up duties as well, of course. I’ve found that girls like you enjoy the taste of sperm. If not, you’ll come to savor his seed. There will certainly be enough of it.”
Chapter Thirty
-Three
128 kneels on all fours. She has been caged. The enclosure low, she cannot stand and with wrist and ankle bands secured to the bars, such is assured. A short chain clipping to her neck collar to the bars below also assures she must keep her head down. And with space limited, her back is arched, mandating her buttocks be perched high, her branding prominent.
“I’ve always been intrigued with the permanency of Nusquam’s indoctrination,” Miss Florence muses, her right hand slipping through the bars, fingers smoothing over the engorged flesh of the bright red letter ‘N’. “I suppose it’s possible to shuck your steel bands, grow back your hair. But the tattooed number on your forehead, and the branding... highlighted by the dye introduced to your open wounds... make it impossible to leave this place behind... mentally... emotionally. You’ll always be thinking... aware of Nusquam and the masochistic joys of serving here... no matter where in the world you find yourself.”
The words bring remorseful introspection. It is true. Though escape is most likely impossible, to what life and existence would 128 flee? She is penniless, homely... and forever marked as the property of others. Will she ever fully adapt? Accept her indenture?
128 hears the rattle of ice, Miss Florence standing behind enjoying a cool drink, no doubt gazing at the supine form of Shannon the Cannon, lying on a narrow padded platform. Before being summarily caged, 128 licked his scrotum, sucking with tender aggression. She then engulfed as much of his mammoth erection as possible, a swirling tongue bringing the rock hard stiffness Miss Florence demands. Deemed appropriately fluffed, a snap of fingers and a gesturing hand sent her to the cage.
Now both women admire, a tranquil bullstud Shannon awaiting patiently, subordinating himself, his penis and his talents for a daily $6,000. He is well disciplined, 128 thinks to herself. Most men she has known bring themselves to climax under their own auspices. Not this docile professional. The cannon is ready to fire, but it will do so at the behest of the ravishing and talented Miss Florence Gale... and no one else.
There comes the clink of glassware as Miss Florence places her empty drink on the top of the cage. She finally steps forth, bringing herself into the vision of 128. The sight brings a gasp of air, her nakedness sublime. As opposed to 128, the woman is proportioned to perfection, nothing oversized... as with the breasts of the caged subjugant... and certainly nothing undersized, feminine curves abounding. A trimmed mons attracts, bright pink inner labia peeking past plump fleshiness to invite. A clitoral hood welcomes attention, a pearl of delight resting beneath. Is 128 salivating?
Miss Florence strides, no evidence of eagerness, casually straddling the platform and Shannon beneath, appearing to be mounting a horse. It is a well practiced move, graceful, almost ballet like... classical but for the nudity and the twelve standing inches of black cock awaiting her.
She kneels between the parted bronze thighs of firm muscle. A left hand reaches down, palming testicles the size of peaches. Such are moist, the remnants of 128’s oral efforts remaining. As a thumb glides about, sensing a woman’s power over the vaunted male organs, two fingers of the right hand smooth up and down a shaft of granite. There comes a girlish giggle, a smile from Shannon the Cannon. He offers himself, not moving in response. He knows to acquiesce.
Once again the fingers move to the penis tip and slowly draw downward. Shannon grunts yet otherwise stirs not. In releasing, there comes another thump, the erection snapping back to greet the flesh of a perfectly flat abdomen.
Miss Florence smiles, a ready cannon excelling in her test.
“I’ll tell you when,” Miss Florence admonishes, a finger tapping the nose to underscore her reminder.
And with that, she shuffles forth and parts her thighs, feet slipping to the sides right and left, 128 amazed as a hand aligns the giant erection and she lowers herself, exhaling quietly yet forcefully with the exhilaration of smooth firm penetration. Incredibly, the love nest of Hollywood’s most beauteous and renowned actress hungrily swallows without effort, the long thick black shaft slowly but steadily disappearing from view.
Contrasting unsurpassed looks and sophistication, the raven hair flings about, firm breasts roll, the hips rock, her body bucks. In riding her bullstud, the woman becomes a wanton whore. Yet, just as with the subjugants of the jungle enclave, knowledge of her predilection is never to escape Nusquam.
Chapter Thirt- Four
Kelly Devers smiles inwardly, observing intently as the shaking hand of Mike ‘Muskrat’ Mansfield grasps his beer glass. A layer of suds understandably sloshes over the side well before his lips can partake. He ignores the sloppiness, quaffs heavily and gulps to clear his throat.
“So Wendy says I should come to this bar. Meet someone with an idea,” the quivering voice belying the man’s relative youth.
“I understand you’d like to go to an out of the way place. Where a guy can... not be found,” Kelly’s soft words not to be overheard.
“Yes, I have problem,” the reply coming with the turn of the head, cautiously surveying the bar for undesired listeners.
Kelly nods her head... pleasantly. Though never to fully divulge the daunting life facing the subjugants of Nusquam, she needs to inveigle. The largess obtained with the rendering of heiress Patricia LaMange has offered a new life... and incentive. She has found that the freedom to pick and choose masochistic clients for her singular after care specialty is relaxing. And that money offers many alternatives to working.
Thus she has decided to focus more on commissions, the Director of Nusquam both appreciative of those desiring to live out a life in servitude and generous with those who find and recruit.
“Sunny and warm... I hope,” Muskrat Mike prompting for more information
Kelly nods again, her look becoming more serious.
“It won’t be a vacation, Muskrat. But it is an alternative to what you’re facing. I read in the papers it’s many years.”
The man nods, brow knitting with the subject matter.
“When I pled guilty, my lawyer Wendy Valence and the prosecutor had a deal. The judge countered it. Said I was too much of a career criminal for a mere two year sentence in minimum security. So he gave me the maximum sentence... fifteen years... and in maximum security. Federal time isn’t too bad. But fifteen is a long, long time. And in maximum there’s the... you know... the thing that guys do when they’re too long away from their ladies.”
Homophobia, just as Kelly has been made aware. She knows to play it, that Wendy so informed.
“Long time to have to watch yourself in the showers,” Kelly smiles in agreement.
“Any of that at this place?”
“Yes, but it’s more or less consensual. And for you I think they’ll find quiet lodgings. You may even get some pussy, Mike. Possibly a lot.”
The crass words bring a sly smile, Mike the Muskrat for the first time seeming relaxed.
“I would hope. Wendy said it will cost me... everything I’ve got. That’s a lot of money, Kelly. I’d like to think I’ll be... you know... safe... and ah... made happy.”
“Oh, you’ll be well cared for, I assure you.”
“How will this happen? What can you tell me?”
Kelly reaches to her bag for a tape measure, sensing a deal is to be struck.
“Not much to tell. Just give me a spare key to your apartment and leave everything in plain sight. An extraction team will quietly enter. Don’t resist... don’t fight... they’re all martial arts trained so if for some reason you change your mind, it will be futile for you. They’ll prepare you for the flight and you’ll awaken in your new home.”
“Never to be found? The Marshals are good.”
“Never to be found,” Kelly assures, suppressing the urge to add... ‘and never to escape’.
“Comfortingly. There are things to do there? Don’t want to be bored.”
“You’ll have some tasks to perform. It’s a communal life. Everyone is obliged to help in some manner.”
“Though We
ndy’s firm took a bucket load, there’s enough to live on for years. But what if it runs out?”
“Yes I can imagine it’s substantial, Muskrat. With your long career of fraud, deception, stock manipulation, Ponzi schemes... it must have added up. But once you’re tucked away, there’s no need to worry about funds. It’s a onetime payment. Thereafter, all you need will be provided.”
Muskrat Mansfield smiles... with a disgusting sense of pride, envisioning a retirement so unjustly earned.
“Yeah. For every charged crime, there were a dozen they didn’t know about. It all piled up over the years, the dough. Not like I could keep it in the bank.”
“Cash?”
“Some. But mainly gold bars. Bullion. Compact, easily hidden, not traceable. But it has become little heavy over the years.”
‘Bless Wendy,’ Kelly thinks but cannot say. Otherwise known as Wendy the Whip, ostensibly for her slashing court room style, as a member of Nusquam her sobriquet is more appropriately applied, an unrelenting sadist. She slipped Kelly the word. Her client is due to surrender himself for a long prison sentence... and his homophobia has brought cold feet. For obvious reasons Wendy cares not to know the details of this meeting, not to know of the alternative Muskrat Mike has decided upon. All that happened was a brief text message... not even from Wendy’s phone... suggesting Kelly should meet someone... a prospect for ‘a trip south’ was the coded phrase.
“Just need some simple measurements,” Kelly cautiously peering about from the dark booth of the seedy bar.
“What for?”
“Ah... for things to wear. Once you disappear it’s not like you’ll be able to shop.”
“Yeah. Makes sense,”
The con artist... so easily conned, Kelly thinks to herself as she begins measuring... wrists... biceps... neck... feigning to pick a napkin from the floor for a quick ankle and thigh measurement.
Should she tell him? She is so tempted to join the extraction team and detail the drudgery of life at Nusquam as the sociopathic embezzler and thief is restrained... wrapped and boxed for a flight from Teterboro.
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