Undercover Slave Girl

by Argus

  She gasped as she felt him grip her hair and pull firmly. She felt her head forced up and back, then her shoulders and chest were raised up off the ground. She jerked herself up and back until she was on her knees and only then did he release her hair.

  He held up a very realistic shaped dildo, and she gulped and stared at it anxiously.

  “Do you know how to deep throat a man? If you don't, you need to learn.”

  Blushing, she jerked her head up and down angrily.

  “You do? How well?”

  She gave him a scornful look and he smiled thinly and reached behind her, undoing the ball gag. He worked it slowly out of her mouth, and she worked her stiff jaw, still scowling at him.

  “Don't talk. Nothing a slave says matters anyway unless it's to admit what a slut she is,” he said.

  She glowered indignantly.

  “Get used to this sort of language, Miss Foster,” he said. “It's not used crudely, either by me or by O'Neil. It's used to deliberate affect.”

  He held out the dildo, the cock.

  “Prove it,” he said.

  She flushed in embarrassment, but then took it into her mouth, licking it, moistening it, then, glaring at him, she put on a show, an exaggerated show of herself as oral queen. She had considerable experience in this area, after all. She was tired of his overbearing arrogance, and wondered if it was possible to arouse a gay man by showing him oral sex.

  She licked up and down the thing as he held it in his hands, then took the head into her mouth again, beginning to slide her lips up and down its length, rolling her eyes hotly up at him as she pushed further and further forward. She braced herself and swallowed the head, then forced herself down to the base of the dildo, which he clutched in his fingers.

  She rolled her eyes up at him challengingly, holding herself in place, until he slowly drew the dildo back and out of her mouth.

  He didn't seem impressed, which irritated her. Instead he took the dildo and squatted before her, then set it on the floor between her legs

  “Knees wide,” he ordered.

  She obeyed, and then gasped as he gripped her hair and pulled, forcing her to rise up. He slid the dildo under her, then released her hair, and as she sank, she felt the slick, saliva covered head of the cock against her opening.

  “I – .”

  “Down, slave,” he ordered. “No speaking!”

  Biting her lip and flushing again with anger and embarrassment, and yet with an even deeper tinge of that dark sexual heat, she let herself push down, let the head of the dildo force its way through the lips of her sex, up into the mouth of her pussy, and then, repressing a gasp of heat, she felt it pushing up deeper as she sank lower.

  She tightened her self-control, sternly reminding her body of all the reasons why there was absolutely nothing here to get excited about even as she felt the slick shaft pushing up deep into her lower belly.

  When most of it was inside her he produced another one, again insisting she suck on it. She obeyed, furious with both him and herself. But then he raised her by the hair again and pressed the head of the dildo against her back opening.

  “Wh-why do we have to do this?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

  “Because you're a slave. And slaves, particularly sex slaves, are going to be used for sexual purposes whether they like it or not. Get used to it, slave.”

  She gasped as he pushed down on her shoulder.

  “W-wait!”

  “Do you need a distraction?” he asked mildly.

  A vibrator was the distraction, and she gasped as he played it back and forth across her clitoris.

  “S-Stop that!” she demanded.

  He ignored her, pushing down on her shoulder again so that she felt herself slowly sinking down onto the thick dildo. For the next half minute he rolled the vibrator across her clitoris while pushing down on her shoulder, and she slowly sank down, shuddering a little as the big dildo pushed up deep into her ass.

  Then with a tight grip on her shoulders he jerked her forward and down, forcing her onto her belly. He drew her ankles up and back against her and used a short chain to lock them to her wrist restraints. A moment later the gag went into her mouth, then he took a thin wire from the briefcase and attached it somehow to the base of the dildo he'd pushed up into her pussy.

  He fed the wire to a small electrical box he set up on the edge of the sofa, then picked up the vibrator again and did his best to overcome Hannah's determination to pay no attention to the stimulation being inflicted on her body, or the sensations flooding through her as they grew more and more powerful.

  It was a battle she quickly realized she could not win, as the sensations mounted, and the intensity of the sexual heat swirling inside her grew steadily greater. She tried to hold her body rigid, but before long she began to tremble and shake, and her hips began to jerk and spasm. She felt an orgasm rising before her, and fought desperately to push it back.

  Then Smith stopped. He reached over and pinched her nipple painfully, and Hannah squealed into the gag.

  He got up and moved away, leaving her in place. She tried to steady her breathing, and after a minute or so managed to do so. She felt her pulse slowing and the heat beginning to ease back. A minute later Smith returned, sat down, picked up the vibrator, and began to use it on her again.

  It took less time to heat up since she had not fully descended from the heights of sexual hunger, and soon she was once again moaning and jerking, beads of sweat starting to appear on her forehead as she fought to resist.

  He eased off and left her in place for two minutes, then returned and started over again... and again... and again. Sometimes he pinched her nipples before leaving. Sometimes he slapped her taut breast or jerked painfully on her hair. Once he slapped her face. Then he found some ice cubes and played them across her breasts and over her clit when she got too aroused.

  Only when she was uncontrollably shaking did he finally stop completely, her body flushed and sweating heavily, her chest heaving and her hair matted against her forehead and cheeks. She felt as if she'd run a long, long race, and was so incredibly aroused that just touching herself, she was sure, would give her an explosive orgasm.

  Smith touched her with ice cubes, and that didn't do it.

  “All right,” he said. “You can get dressed and go to work now.”

  Chapter Three

  Hannah was rushed, and when she was rushed she had a difficult time thinking straight about complicated problems. In this case, too, it was a problem her mind was shying away from. She felt somewhat shell-shocked, dazed by what had happened. It had started out innocuously enough and then proceeded to something totally humiliating.

  It wasn't even what Smith had done to her which left her feeling mortified and small. It was her response to it. She had a self-image, which she had held quite tightly to for some years now, of a practical, no-nonsense young woman who had her head on straight and didn't suffer fools or drama queens gladly. She was thoughtful and capable, and did not let her emotions take charge.

  It would have been easier to take had Smith actually shown the slightest sexual interest in her. If he had been a straight man, gotten aroused, and actually fucked her, she'd have felt as though they had done something together. But he'd remained detached and clinical as he had shown her for a weak, sluttish female who couldn't control her own body in the face of stimulation. That was a hard pill to swallow!

  Oh how smug he must be about it, the fag, she thought furiously. No doubt he'd go and tell his little fag friends about how weak and stupid and good for nothing but sex women were! God! She had acted like a complete loser! She'd lost all self-control, and if it hadn't been for the fucking gag she'd have begged the bastard to do her right then and there!

  She'd never felt more humiliated!

  Why had she gotten so hot!? It wasn't as though vibrators were an unknown to her. She'd used them before, and they'd never had that kind of effect o
n her. Of course, this was someone else using one, and so the effect had been quite a bit more... powerful. And being tied up and helpless... that had done something to her mind too.

  Maybe those things he'd injected her with had made her more responsive, she thought with a degree of suspicion and hope. If it was some sort of drug then it wasn't her fault, really. Bastard! Fucking government spies She wouldn't put anything past that lot!

  Her face heated every time she thought of how easily he had manipulated her body and turned her into a writhing, twisting, feverish ball of flesh craving release. He'd called her slut and whore, and while they'd been insulting the words had also done something to her, heated her in some strange new way, as the leather restraints held her helpless.

  Was this the sort of thing she could expect if she wound up going to Ireland as this man's 'sex slave'? If so what would she become? Would it be a frightening, painful, humiliating experience or would it turn her into some kind of helpless nymphomaniac!?

  Then again, she had been worried about what working as a stripper would do to her. And so far, it had only made her more self-confident, more cocky around men, and more arrogant around the other strippers. She knew she was better than them, smarter, better educated, better disciplined. She wasn't like them. Just talking to them and seeing them reinforced that notion in her head.

  But suddenly she felt a weakling! A helpless, stupid, emotional weakling!

  And it didn't help that she was still aroused, that her mind still swirled with thoughts of sex, that her nipples, damn it, were still erect!

  And that sense of frustrated arousal wasn't likely to go away as she hurried into the club to get changed.

  She barely had time to nod greeting to people as she threw off her clothes, then threw on the new ones to get out on stage.

  * * *

  Seamus O'Neil moved like a man who was utterly confident in his right to do anything he wanted to do or be anywhere he wanted to be. It wasn't just his powerful six foot three inch body, and it wasn't the wealth he owned or the people who grovelled around him. It wasn't his position as a powerful and wealthy member of the elite, or a life of privilege. It was simply an innate sense of grounding, in a sure knowledge of who and what he was, and an utter lack of interest in anyone who didn't approve.

  The five armed men with him didn't hurt, of course.

  But he didn't need them to bolster his confidence. They, along with the bulletproof Armani suit which was tailored so perfectly to his powerful body were merely necessary parts of the business he was in And while he wasn't in Ireland at the moment, one never knew when the enemy's opposition would set a trap for him. And he had many enemies. Including some of his friends.

  He was ostensibly in New York to party, but in reality he had held quiet meetings with several powerful men, including one here on the New Jersey side of the river which would lead to some interesting upticks in business back home. This journey, he hoped, would be profitable on any number of fronts.

  Including the one in this club tonight. His subordinate, Robert, had visited the place as a possible meeting site, but rejected it as too noisy. While here, though, he'd seen the girl, had a lap dance, and then looked into her background. That last hadn't been easy, but he'd discovered some extremely interesting information about her which he'd passed on.

  Seamus was extremely interested in seeing this girl, who, according to Robert, actually came from a well-heeled, upper class British family, had just gotten out of the Royal Navy, where she'd been an officer, and had gone far from home to work as a stripper in a desperate attempt to earn money.

  That was a back story any man could love, but particularly Seamus, who'd always had a weakness for pretty British girls. But Robert had a talent for spotting girls who were highly sexual, and according to him, this was one stripper who was smoldering and aroused throughout much of her performance. That spoke of the kind of girl who was a rarity indeed.

  The kind of girl Seamus loved to play games with.

  He and his entourage took a booth in the corner, and while his men watched everyone else, Seamus watched the stage. He viewed with disdain the lazy, awkward dancers who came out to prance around, drop their clothes, flash their genitalia, and then leave. Strip clubs were really very rarely places of entertainment for a man like him. They were for desperate men who couldn't see a naked woman anywhere else.

  He didn't have to ask which was the girl. He sat up straighter as soon as she came out on stage. The way she strode forward, so confident, so alive, the way she stared out challengingly into the audience, the way she taunted and teased them, showed him this was a girl who knew just how hot she was, and reveled in that knowledge.

  More importantly, as she stripped off, he noted the way she moved, like an erotically charged ballerina. She was beautiful, and had an exquisite body, but what started to get Seamus's groin throbbing was her eyes, and the way they seemed to be filled with heat and arousal as she twisted and writhed and danced around the stage.

  Seamus considered himself an expert on young women and their sexuality – and indeed, he had good reason to think so – and it struck him that this young woman was far more aroused than anyone watching her. An exhibitionist, then, he thought excitedly. That could be a challenge, but also an opportunity.

  The mere thought that this lovely young woman had only months earlier been in an officer's uniform giving orders on a ship was astonishing and arousing. He would need to have that verified. It seemed impossible to believe. And yet, it wasn't. She didn't look like she was a frippery, weak minded woman. She looked full of heat and lust and confidence. Yet there was something vulnerable there, too, something which again made his groin pulse with hunger.

  He motioned to Robert, a brief nod, and Robert went off to ensure that the girl's first private dance – in fact, all of them – would be his to purchase.

  He got up and his men followed, taking their place around the curtained alcove. There were objections from the staff, but money took care of that. He sat down and waited, feeling a sense of anticipation. Would she live up to what he saw out there, or would he leave disappointed?

  And then she was there, and their eyes met. She seemed startled, and he felt a small sense of smugness. No doubt he was quite a bit different from her usual fat, middle aged customer.

  “Hello, luv,” she said uncertainly, before settling herself and smiling. “My name is Victoria. And I love to dance.”

  “And I love to watch dancers, Victoria,” he purred.

  She seemed slightly startled again as she began to move in time to the music. Seamus took a hundred dollar bill and laid it on the table, something she noted, he saw. She moved slowly, sensuously. There was no rush. The hundred dollar bill said as much. Her body moved with a liquid grace as she slowly, teasingly removed her clothes to reveal the perfect, unblemished skin beneath.

  Then she was atop him, still slow, still moving gracefully as she ground herself against him.

  She was halfway through the second song when he put a second hundred on the table. She blinked, but continued her dancing. Seamus brought his hands up and rested them on her hips. Strictly speaking, touching wasn't allowed, but small touches were generally accepted if they weren't clumsy or rough, or too intimate.

  She moved, her hips moved, and his hands moved with them, stroking slowly up and down, staying in safe territory, but loving the soft, silken feel of her warm skin. His eyes flicked up and down, noting with appreciation her flat belly and firm young breasts. But he mostly watched her face, her eyes, and he knew that was unusual and unsettling to her. Good.

  His hands caressed her hips, moving lower, in longer, softer strokes, then higher, up along her hips, up along her sides, even up along the side of her ribs, lightly avoiding her breasts.

  It was a short diversion from there to slide across her back as she moved, to caress her soft skin there. He was prepared to withdraw if she objected, but she continued to move. She had behaved diff
erently with Robert, politely taking his wrists, and pushing them back with a gentle, reproving smile.

  There was no such smile for him. She looked very tightly focused, very tense. But there was something in her eyes, something he'd seen before in other women, that told him the source of that tension had nothing to do with money or fear.

  His hands glided over her back as she rolled her hips and arched, then slid downward, down to her buttocks, resting there lightly, squeezing. He thought he heard her sharp intake of breath over the music, but she didn't protest. He eased his hands back however. She would think twice about protesting next time too, since she'd assume his hands would come away quickly.

  And they did, but then he rubbed lightly across her stomach, and his caressing fingers felt what he thought he would find, the firm sense of muscles underneath that soft skin.

  His cock was getting very hard, more from the feel of her delicious skin against his fignertips than her buttocks grinding against him. But she felt it, and just as he knew she was aroused, so too did she know about him.

  His hands slid up her ribs, then his thumbs curled in along her front until his hands were almost cupping her breasts. He left them there, thumbs a half inch under her breasts, the inside curve of his hands holding his fingers up just on the outside of that lovely rounded flesh. But he wasn't touching her breasts, not quite.

  She arched back, and he let his hands trail down that firm belly, down lower still, his thumbs stretching out and curling down until as she arched all the way back across his knees, they were a scant inch from her swollen clitoris.

  She pulled herself back up effortlessly, and his thumbs retreated, his hands sliding around her back, then off.

  Another hundred went on the table.

  He smiled at her and she smiled back, but the smile was tremulous, breathless, anxious. He would have bet far more than he'd laid on the table that if he slid a finger down between her legs the girl would be sopping wet.

  His hands slid up and down her back, then exerted pressure as she rolled her shoulders from side to side. He pulled her chest forward until her stiff nipples were right before his face, and then he felt the brush of those nipples against his cheek, against his lips.