Undercover Slave Girl

by Argus

  “There are lots of girls who'd meet those requirements.”

  “In New Jersey?”

  She shrugged. “And anyway, just because he thinks I'm hot, and maybe wants to have sex with me, I don't see how that gets me to Ireland.”

  “O'Neil has the occasional one-night stand, but he's fearful of diseases, so he prefers to have regular access to the same person.”

  “So let him get a girlfriend.”

  “He has one, actually two. But that's not what he's really after at the moment. O'Neil has a particular interest in domination and submission.”

  She looked at him in confusion.

  “He's into whips and chains,” he said.

  Hannah's eyes widened “Forget it!”

  “Hear me out. You've come all this way.”

  She glared at him.

  “He's had what he calls slave girls before. He doesn't keep them for more than a couple of months, and none have ever been harmed. He guarantees them that whatever he does will leave no marks, no scars, no burns, nothing broken, etc. Generally, he's more into the domination than the punishment. He goes more for spankings, strappings, tying girls up, and making them crawl. That sort of thing. He's not a real sadist, is what I'm saying. Your British schoolboys who used to be caned probably took as much painful punishment as one of O'Neil's slaves is likely to endure.”

  “So you want me to seduce him, become his sex slave, and then spy on him for you,” she said, feeling a sense of astonishment mixed with numbed despair.

  “Essentially.”

  “And what if I can't seduce him?”

  “It won't take any effort, I assure you. You're exactly his type. Even the shape of the face and the green eyes match.”

  “And suppose he doesn't want to take me back to Ireland?”

  “Then we'll pay you, say, fifty thousand dollars for your trouble.”

  “And if he finds out I'm spying on him?”

  “Don't let him.”

  “Oh right!”

  “You've surely met Latin men like him before. As far as he's concerned, the average female mind doesn't function on any level but that of fashion, clothes, hairstyles and Hollywood movie stars. He's predisposed to think you're nothing but a sex-toy, and once you become one that's all he'll think about you. He won't have any suspicions. Do you suspect your dog or cat is trying to betray you? His thinking is not that far from that. In fact, he often has his slaves act like dogs and cats.”

  She stared at him in disbelief.

  “It's part of that role playing, dominance and submission game thing. No doubt you could read up on it.”

  “It all sounds absurd! Why are you willing to pay half a million for it?”

  “It's an investment. If we can find out where the money is going we can seize it and make hundreds of millions. Maybe billions.”

  “It sounds extremely dangerous!”

  “It's not. Trust me.”

  “Trust you?! I don't know anything about you!”

  “Okay. True enough. I'm with the US government, and we've been in touch with your government. That's where we got the information on you.”

  “This all sounds ridiculous. And how do I even know you'll follow through afterward?”

  He nodded. “We'll deposit the money in your bank account in advance.”

  She blinked. “You're very trusting all of a sudden.”

  “Not especially. If you screw off and don't follow through we and your government will ensure you fail to profit from the experience. If, on the other hand, you do what we want, we'll have a word with our friends over there, and ensure that your Inland Revenue ignore that half million dollar deposit so you don't have to worry about paying taxes on it.”

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “We can even grease the way if you want to return to the navy.”

  “And all I have to do is become a sex slave,” she said sarcastically.

  “It's admittedly a strange proposition, and if the media ever found out... well, that's one of the reasons why I don't identify myself or my agency. If there were other options we'd be taking them. But we've tried and failed. O'Neil is sly and wary, but women are his weakness.”

  “This is the most ludicrous, outrageous proposition I've ever seen or heard about in my entire life!” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed with a faint smile.

  He sat back against the edge of a table and considered her for a moment.

  “Someone over in London interviewed an old boyfriend of yours.”

  “What? Who? Why?”

  “He described a time when he tied you to the bed, and said he thought you were going to go out of your mind with excitement. He said he had to tape your mouth shut so your screams of pleasure didn't bring the police.”

  Her face colored and she glared at him. “Whoever he was he was making things up!”

  “I don't think so. He was talking under the influence of a certain drug which encourages open dialogue.”

  “My sex life is none of your bloody – !”

  “Oh shut up,” he growled. “Let me make it perfectly clear that I know all about you, Foster. I know that you're a risk taker. It says so in your military file. I know you love sex, maybe even kinky sex. I know you're not some shy little British flower based on your being a stripper. This job is the salvation of your hopes to preserve your family estate. On what grounds would you turn it down? Because you don't want to fuck some strange man? Because you don't want to be tied up or spanked? We know it wouldn't be the first time.”

  “You need the money,” he said. “That's all there is to it.

  * * *

  Hannah's eyes were somewhat red as she arrived back at the hotel. It had been another sleepless night during which she had paced back and forth in her small, cheap apartment, trying to figure out what to do. Her mind had veered wildly back and forth between absolute rejection and the helpless acknowledgment that she had no real choice.

  This morning she'd checked her bank account and found the money all there, just as Smith – and she was sure that wasn't his real name – had promised. That meant this was an absolutely serious offer and not just some pervert wanting to get his hands on her body.

  And to demonstrate just how much he knew about her, the man had called this morning right after she'd logged off from her account. He'd known she'd checked, and told her to be there by two that afternoon.

  Her military career had had little real contact with the Intelligence types, but this entire operation struck her as the sort of thing they would be involved in. Of course, in this case, if 'Smith' was to be believed, their interest was in getting their hands on drug money, perhaps hundreds of millions of it. That suggested it was a civilian police operation, only civilian police generally wouldn't consider this sort of thing. It was far too outrageous.

  Of course, if it wasn't too outrageous if they were intelligence operatives who wanted the money for their own purpose. You could destabilize a lot of small countries for the kind of money they were talking about. And in the end, she really didn't have a lot of choice. She reminded herself she had seriously considered prostituting herself, becoming a call girl. Aside from getting spanked or caned (which a part of her thought she probably deserved if she was going to do something this stupid and sluttish) this was no worse, morally speaking.

  Her family would disown her and her friends abandon her if they had a clue she would do something like this, but that wasn't much different than if they discovered she'd been stripping for the past three weeks.

  She knocked at the door, firmly, giving every impression of confidence and certainty, despite her churning stomach and pounding heart. He opened it, nodded and stepped back, and she entered.

  “The purpose of this little visit,” he said, is to prepare you for what you are to experience.”

  She eyed him distrustfully. “Does that mean I'm going to have to play your sex slave?” she asked suspiciously.

>   He smiled a little mockingly. “If it makes you feel any better, Miss Foster, I'm gay. I have no interest in your body at all.”

  Hannah frowned doubtfully. Of course, it would explain his demeanor the other day at the club.

  “I was purposefully selected for this case because I am gay, and thus would be unlikely to … take advantage of the situation. In addition, in the event of any inquiries from other parties, the fact I'm guy would be seen as further evidence nothing improper took place.”

  “And I can believe as much of that as I choose to,” she said sarcastically.

  He shrugged. “Believe it or not. You've seen the money is real.”

  The hotel suite had been changed since she'd last been here, but only insofar as the low round table in front of the sofa had been moved away to create a larger cleared space. There was a blanket and a briefcase on the sofa, but nothing else in sight.

  “First, I want you to remove your clothing. I don't mean do a strip tease or anything like it. Just take off your clothes.”

  She scowled at him suspiciously again, but then felt herself give a mental shrug. She had already stripped for him and given him a lap dance, and he hadn't shown much interest at the time.

  She unbuttoned her blouse, eying him closely. He stood back, not turning his eyes, simply watching her. There didn't seem to be much anticipation in his eyes, though. She stripped quickly, casually, and without embarrassment. She was inured to embarrassment by now, at least for simple nudity. She'd performed in front of hundreds of men, after all, for three weeks.

  There was a briefcase sitting on the sofa, and he opened it, then removed a small device.

  “I'm going to give you a shot of Depo-subQ Provera ,” he said. “Turn around.”

  “What's that?” she demanded.

  “Birth control. It's a hormone which will protect you for three months.”

  “Wait a second. What if I'm allergic to it?”

  “You're not. We checked your medical history.”

  She scowled but obeyed, and felt a pressure on her shoulder. Bracing herself, she bent forward a little, then gasped in pain at the sting in the side of her buttock.

  He put the thing back into the briefcase as she started to straighten.

  “Don't move. I have another injection.”

  “What's this for?”

  “It's a tiny locator.”

  “Won't it be detected when these people do their sweeps for microphones?”

  “No. It doesn't broadcast unless we tell it to. It will be a tiny inert object half an inch long and not much thicker than a human hair.”

  She bit her lip and then bent forward. He pressed the thing against her outer thigh and she gasped at another sharp pain.

  “Now, for more unusual preparations,” he said, as she straightened and turned.

  He threw back the blanket and her eyes widened at the collection of leather on the sofa.

  “Just to find out if you panic,” he said. “We're going to give you a brief introduction to the experience of being a sex slave.” He raised his eyes to her. “No sex will be involved,” he said somewhat primly.

  “What a relief,” she said sarcastically.

  He showed her a pair of leather restraints, then had her put them on herself. Then came the collar. He had her look at herself in a mirror, and Hannah stared in a kind of disbelief at sight of herself. The thought she might actually become someone's sex slave, if only temporarily, and wear this sort of gear was frightening, and bizarre.

  And yet, oddly enough, the sight of herself in the bedroom mirror also struck her as deeply erotic in a strange sort of way. Smith had not been wrong about her response to the little bondage play Gary and she had been involved in. It had kind of scared her, in fact, being so aroused and so helpless. She had refused to do it again.

  Now she felt her heart beating a little faster as she stared at herself, the black collar around her throat, the ring thick and shining. She went back into the other room, flushed with a dual sense of embarrassment and awareness of her own sexual image and helplessness.

  Smith nodded at her, then took her arm and turned her.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  Swallowing, she drew her hands back and allowed the restraints to be clipped together.

  She turned back as he reached for something else, a ball gag, she saw, eyes widening.

  “Do I really need – ?”

  “Yes,” he said shortly.

  He pressed the ball against her mouth and she reluctantly opened it, wide. He slowly worked the ball into her mouth until it filled her oral cavity, then drew the strap behind her head, combing her hair out from underneath before buckling it behind her.

  Hannah felt her pulse move faster, aware of how utterly helpless she now was. She couldn't even scream for help!

  “You can expect O'Neil to act upon his dominance theme in two ways in particular,” he said. “The main one is to dehumanize. For whatever reason, he likes to treat you, and tries to get you to think of yourself, as something other than human, something less than human. He uses verbal domination, and both physical and emotional discomfort to do this. The verbal domination consists of deliberate use of insults and crudities. He'll call you slut, for example: whore, animal, dog, etc. etc.

  He snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor.

  “On your knees, slut,” he ordered.

  She'd heard the word before many times, of course, since it was a favorite pejorative for women, but never before when she was naked and shackled! It seemed to have a different context now, and she felt a tightness in her chest and a fluttering in her stomach. But she obeyed, kneeling in front of him.

  “That's not how you kneel, slave. Sit on your heels, and spread your knees as wide as possible. Keep your back straight, your chest pushed out, and look to the right of my head, just as you would in the military.”

  She obeyed, the fluttering growing worse, despite him stating he was gay. She felt embarrassed, but the embarrassment twisted itself around inside her into a sort of dark sexual awareness.

  He threw back the blanket, and she felt a twisting in her stomach that was more anxiety than heat as he picked up a long, thin leather cane of sorts.

  “This is a riding crop,” he said. “It's essentially a cane with a leather cover designed to lessen the damage to the skin. That's not because O'Neil is kind hearted. He just doesn't like to see his pretty little toys all black and blue and cut up.”

  He squatted in front of her.

  “What did I say about where to put your eyes, slut?” he snapped.

  She flushed angrily, but jerked her eyes off the crop and up over his shoulder.

  That only lasted a moment, though, and she gasped and flinched back as she felt the crop sliding up between her legs.

  “Back into position, whore,” he growled.

  Her eyes glared daggers at him, but she obeyed, telling herself he was just showing her what she was in for.

  She flinched again as she felt the soft, smooth leather sliding up between her thighs, felt it pushing up against the soft lips of her sex. The edge of the crop pushed up between them, and Smith angled the crop down so that the lower end pressed up against her clitoris as he slid the thing slowly back and forth.

  “You will remember to obey orders, slave,” he said. “Or you will be punished.”

  She felt a change in the touch as he let the thin leather tip of the crop, which essentially held a flat bit of leather much like a postage stamp, slid back and forth over her clitoris. The sensation was... intense, but she held herself still and unmoving, though the flush moved down from her face to her chest.

  He drew his hand up and back, and her eyes were drawn to the crop as he slid it up across her breasts. Then the thin tip slapped down across one nipple and she gasped in pain.

  “Nasty little sex slave,” he said, slapping the tip down again.

  Hannah flinched at the stinging,
but her face burned hotter at the attention to her nipples. They were both rigidly erect, and there was nothing she could do about that.

  She flinched again as he brought the tip down onto her sore nipple, then again as he did the same to her other nipple.

  Then he drew up and back.

  “On your face, animal,” he growled.

  Hannah squirmed down and grunted as she fell onto one shoulder, then rolled onto her belly.

  “Raise that ass into the air, dog,” he said.

  She drew her knees in and raised her bottom high, then gasped as the crop snapped down across her buttocks.

  “Knees together, slave.”

  She obeyed, and gasped at another, sharper blow.

  “Legs apart, well apart.”

  She shifted her knees wider, then wider still at another stinging blow.

  “That's it, Position yourself to be mounted, like the bitch animal you are,” he said. “Show that pussy of yours.”

  She flushed in a strange, swirling mixture of humiliation, anger, and a helpless, simmering sexual arousal which startled and frightened her. She fought it desperately, not wanting him to know how turned on she was becoming, not wanting to BE turned on.

  “That's it, you filthy little slave,” he said, the tip sliding up and down along the neat, tight line of her sex.

  She flinched again as he let the flat tip slap lightly against her mons.

  “You're a sex slave, a walking piece of ass that's here to be used by any man who wants you.”

  He put the crop down and picked up a leather strap.

  “Legs together, slave.”

  She drew her legs in, and gasped as the strap cracked down across her bottom. It stung! And the second and third blows stung worse! Her bottom began to heat up, and she winced and gasped as blow followed blow.

  He put the strap down, and she felt a sense of relief. But then came the paddle, and she squealed and then cried out into the gag as it struck her bottom with a startling burst of pain.

  “Don't be such a whiny baby,” he said scornfully. “Children have been paddled from time immemorial.”