Undercover Slave Girl

by Argus

  He released her hair and picked up the dildo where it lay. Hannah gasped as she felt it jammed up between her buttocks, groaning as the head, still slick with her own saliva, pushed slowly in through the tight opening and began to twist and turn from side to side.

  She was surprised, in fact, at how easily it slid up inside her, slick or not. It was as if all her muscles, including her sphincter, had gone numb.

  Then he moved around before her and sank slowly to his knees. He gripped her hips, his fingers caressing her soft skin, then he spread her thighs slowly apart as his tongue eased in across her clitoris.

  It hurt. Hannah gasped softly, shuddering, her hips flinching back, but the pain was an odd sensation, unlike the dull, throbbing ache she'd felt until then. It was a hesitant, tentative sensation, sharp, but brief, and with something mixed in which hinted at pleasure.

  His tongue licked lightly, repeatedly, and she gasped and moaned repeatedly, yet the thread of pleasure grew, pushing aside the ache until she was wriggling helplessly like a fish on the end of a line, feet jerking and spasming as his tongue licked a trail up and down her aching sex, and his lips sucked hungrily at her swollen clitoris.

  “P-Please!” she gasped. “Oh God!”

  “Yes,” he purred. “I am indeed your god, slave.”

  He rose up before her, his eyes dark and filled with heat, and Hannah moaned as she felt something soft and warm rubbing up and down against her aching, sopping sex. It was not his tongue, this time, and she shuddered as it pushed between the lips of her burning, aching, sex. His big hands grasped her buttocks, spreading her thighs apart, and his cock slid easily up into the depths of her belly.

  He started thrusting immediately, and pain and pleasure churned wildly through Hannah's battered body.

  His hands slid down her buttocks onto her thighs, drawing them forward and up. His hands slid up along them to grip her at the knees, then up higher still as he raised her legs up and back. He had his big hands around her ankles now and lifted them up and back further, until he was effectively pushing them back on either side of her body, her feet above her shoulders, and then behind them.

  Her lower body was forced forward by the pressure on her ankles, and O'Neil stroked harder and faster so that she shuddered continuously to his hard, powerful thrusts. Such was the intensity of the sensations within her Hannah didn't know whether to scream in pleasure or in pain.

  And then she simply screamed as the sensations peaked and tore through her body and mind. Her eyes rolled back as the world spun around her, and O'Neil pounded his hips against her so that she shook violently through the maelstrom of sensations and emotions flooding through her.

  Chapter Eleven

  It seemed as if her initial 'training' was over. Hannah, wearing nothing but the shackles and collar, was finally allowed out of the round room. She was not even required to crawl, though she suspected that was for O'Neil's benefit, rather than hers. She could not, after all, crawl very quickly, and he was not an overly patient man.

  The round room, it turned out, was actually in the top of a tower in his castle. It was built high on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The walls were high and broad. While the view from windows looking into the courtyard was restricted, the view from the rear, looking out over the ocean, was spectacular.

  O'Neil's leather fetish reared its head again, in that he dressed her in the tall leather boots with stiletto heels and long leather gloves – though these actually did have fingers. A leather corset went around Hannah's waist, complete with leather laces that pulled in so tight in back she could hardly breath. The corset squeezed her middle, and pressed up against the underside of her breasts. It hid nothing, though.

  Then came the dress. It too was black leather. It was high collared, and tight, zipping up the front. The lower part was thankfully loose, and fell to the floor. There was no hiding what she was, given the broad silver collar around her throat with the ring prominent in the center, not to mention the leather gag, which was more of a mask, actually. It was made of soft leather, came up under her chin, and covered her lower face below the nose.

  Her arms were free at her sides, though the shackles were still around her wrists, but O'Neil attached a leash to the ring in her collar and then led her out of the room and down a winding stone staircase to a high, broad stone corridor several stories below. He didn't speak as he walked, and held the leash loosely, but Hannah soon learned that her training was incomplete, for he stopped after about ten seconds.

  “When you are walking or crawling at my direction, slave, you will stare straight ahead, not turn and stare all around you like a tourist,” he said.

  He punctuated his statement with a swift hard slap to her bottom which stung, despite the leather dress. Hannah nodded her head hurriedly, her bottom stinging, and the turned and walked on, with her following, looking straight ahead.

  They went down a much wider staircase of polished dark wood, and into a central hall, then down a more narrow corridor. They passed a woman about Hannah's age. She was short but attractive, with reddish hair to her shoulders, and wearing a black maid's uniform. Her eyes were wide as she beheld the gagged blonde, and Hannah blushed behind her mask, staring straight ahead as they passed her. Hannah could feel the woman's eyes on her as they continued.

  They turned into a series of rooms, and stopped in a large drawing room of sorts, filled with sofas, chairs and tables. O'Neil took the leash and pointed at the floor just inside the door.

  “Kneel,” he ordered.

  Hannah knelt, spreading her legs as best she could in the skirt, and drawing her high heeled boots up on either side of her buttocks as he placed the handle of the leash on a kind of hook or peg by the door.

  “If that leash ever comes off whatever peg I hang it on without someone else removing it you'll get a much worse whipping than your earlier one,” he warned, eyes narrow.

  Then he walked into the room and sat down as an older man in a dark, three piece suit hurried in from another door on the other side. The older man didn't even glance at Hannah, but instead went to O'Neil.

  “Mister Garcia is here, Mister O'Neil.”

  “Show him in,” O'Neil said.

  The man nodded then departed. A few moments later he returned with three men. Two stood just inside the door while he showed a swarthy looking middle aged man into the room.

  O'Neil stood up and greeted the man – in English.

  “Manuel. Good to see you,” he said, motioning him to sit.

  “What can we get you?”

  “Beer is fine.”

  “Heineken?”

  The man nodded, and O'Neil looked at the other man, who Hannah assumed was some sort of butler. He departed.

  “What can I do for you? We usually conduct our business by phone and email,” he said.

  Garcia eyed Hannah doubtfully. “The Americans have too many ways to intercept electronic communications,” the man said, his English easily understandable despite a clear Spanish accent.

  O'Neil smiled. “Yes, they might not be very good at much else but they're clever with their electronic eavesdropping.”

  “I'm told this place is secure.”

  “Everyone who works here is a trusted family retainer. No one gets in without being checked and observed. And we take other – precautions. It's as secure as it can be made.”

  “And her?” he said, eying Hannah dubiously.

  “That's my slave,” O'Neil said. “You need have no fear of it.”

  Hannah blinked as the word registered. He hadn't said 'she' or 'her' but 'it'. Did he do that simply for the outrageousness of it or did he really think of her like that!?

  “Your slaves seem to change regularly,” Garcia said.

  “A man likes change in his life,” O'Neil said.

  “And is she an old family retainer, as well?”

  O'Neil smiled. “Trust me, Manuel. It hasn't been planted here. Nor has it any means of co
mmunicating with anyone.”

  “Not while she is gagged, certainly,” Garcia said with a snort.

  “A female's mouth is always best kept occupied on something other than conversation,” O'Neil said dryly.

  Arrogant bastard, she thought.

  “Now what can I do for you, Manuel?”

  “I have another large deposit for you, and I wish to discuss investment in a copper mine in Panama.”

  “You brought the money in cash?”

  “It is outside in the car.”

  “I will arrange to have it deposited. You want to invest in copper? I'm not sure this is the best time for it given the economy. Mining stocks have been down across the board for some time.”

  “I do not wish to buy stock. I wish to invest more directly with the mine's ownership. But the money must come through from a trusted bank.”

  “Ahh, I understand.”

  “It is best if no one but the people involved are aware of my investment.”

  “You realize I cannot be responsible for the outcome of this investment.”

  “Of course. Though I still hold you responsible for the bank stocks you put me in.”

  “Trust me, Manuel. They'll rise again. They're very secure institutions.”

  They spoke of other investments, including a group of automobile repair shops, and the market outlook for investing in resources and oil. The only thing at all suspicious about it, and it was quite suspicious, was that he'd brought money directly to be deposited. That wasn't how things worked, and as far as Hannah knew any cash deposits over a certain sum had to be reported to the authorities.

  She was guessing that wasn't going to happen here, and wondered who Garcia was.

  Their meeting went on for about half an hour, then they spoke of sports, of politics, and then Garcia left. O'Neil got up and picked up her leash. She started to rise and his hand went to her shoulder.

  “Did I tell you to rise, slave?”

  Hannah looked up at him in consternation.

  “Did I say you could look at me, slave?”

  She jerked her eyes back down.

  “You do not anticipate, slave. You do only what you are told, and only when told to do it. No more, no less. Rise.”

  Hannah stood up and he unzipped the dress down to the hem, then turned her to the wall.

  “Lean forward. Place your hands against the wall,” he ordered.

  She obeyed, her heart beating faster as he swept her dress aside to bare her bottom. He pulled his belt from the loops of his trousers and doubled it in his hand.

  “You will learn your place, slave. You do not think. You do not consider. You do exactly as you are told at all times, and no more,” he said.

  The belt cracked across her buttocks sharply and Hannah cried out in pain, the sound deeply muffled. Another blow followed, then another, so that her bottom began to burn rapidly. The belt hurt! It hurt more than those thin laces he'd used on her!

  “Push your bottom out, slave, and keep it out,” he growled.

  Moaning, Hannah obeyed, and the belt cut across her buttocks again, and then again, with sharp, stinging blows.

  The butler appeared at the door, then halted for a moment, not seeming particularly startled or bothered.

  “Mister Fernandez, Sir.”

  “Show him to my office.”

  “At once, sir,” he said, turning away and departing.

  “Did I tell you to look towards the door?” O'Neil demanded of Hannah. “No, I didn't,” he said.

  Crack! The belt snapped across her bottom.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Her bottom was on fire, the pain rising, her eyes starting to tear up as her body shook, but he stopped at last, and pulled the dress back into place.

  “Stand straight,” he ordered.

  Hannah obeyed, trembling, and he zipped up the dress again.

  “Remember. Obey,” he said. “Do nothing without instructions. Nothing whatever.”

  He jerked on the leash and walked out of the room and further up the corridor, with her following quickly behind, bottom aching.

  Looked at calmly, from a distance, she supposed children got the 'strap' from time to time, and so it was no big deal. But her bottom ached and burned, and she was still sniffling as they arrived at another room, this an obvious office with antique furnishings. Again, he ordered her to kneel just inside the door, then slipped the leash onto a peg and continued on to sit at a desk.

  A moment later a couple came in. They too seemed Hispanic. The man was short, older, gray haired, and had a belly. He was wearing a striped shirt and casual trousers. The woman was much younger, probably in her early thirties. She was tall, with dark, shoulder length hair and high cheek bones, and an arrogant look on her face. She was wearing a dress that looked like a designer original, short and tight, emphasizing her big chest.

  O'Neil rose from behind the desk and greeted him with a handshake and a bear-hug. His name was Juan. The woman was not introduced at all. O'Neil got him a drink, both of them, and then they sat down in the corner to her left, on red and gold Edwardian settee and chair.

  It was more of the same type of conversation. Though Fernandez was apparently more of a messenger from someone called Miguel. The woman paid little attention to what was being said, apparently much distracted by Hannah. She kept stealing glances at the blonde girl, which Hannah noted out of the corner of her eye. It made her squirm inside, embarrassed and feeling degraded and perverted. The look on the woman's face was a mixture of disbelief and disgust seeing Hannah collared and kneeling there like that, unmoving.

  Hannah didn't dare look at her directly. Even if she wasn't too embarrassed O'Neil had already communicated the need to not to not look at things that weren't directly ahead of her. Her bottom wasn't hurting as much, but it still felt warm.

  “I see you have a new slave,” Juan said finally, sitting back and smoking a cigar.

  “Change is the essence of life,” O'Neil said with a smile.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes,” Juan said with a smirk.

  “What is her name?” the woman asked suddenly.

  Her accent was not Spanish. It was, Hannah thought, French.

  O'Neil raised his eyebrows, and glanced at Juan. “I haven't given it a name yet.”

  “It?”

  “It. I don't like to personalize objects.”

  “And she is an object to you?”

  “A sexual object. Would you not agree?”

  “All people are sexual objects.”

  “But it is not a person. It is a slave.”

  “And what marks the difference?”

  “It is difficult to explain,” O'Neil said. “A human being has free will. A slave does not.”

  “Only because you imprison her.”

  O'Neil laughed. “I do not imprison it, madam. It imprisons itself through it's own weakness and sexual hunger. It longs for guidance and direction and discipline, having none of its own. It's only purpose in life satisfying its endless sexual hunger.”

  Hannah thought she should have been blushing more. She should have felt more humiliated by his outrageous description of her. But given what she had been through recently, she couldn't seem to find it in herself. She certainly wasn't going to do anything to anger him by disputing his description of her.

  “Come here, slave,” he said.

  Hannah started, then hesitated in an agony of indecision while they all looked at her. Fortunately, he smiled thinly a moment later.

  'You see. It does not know what to do. It is not permitted to ever move where its leash is on a peg, lest it be beaten. Yet I have given it an order it must obey. Since it cannot reason between the two it is like a program locked in an endless loop.”

  “You … beat her?”

  “Thoroughly,” O'Neil said. “She craves discipline. As you are closest to the door, madam, perhaps you would go and get its leash for us.”
>
  “Oh no, I – .”

  “Do it, Cecile,” Juan said. “I wish to observe.”

  The woman stood, scowling uncomfortably, then walked to Hannah and plucked the leash off the peg. She started back, pulling on the leash, but Hannah held her position and it jerked against her collar.

  “Come here, slave,” O'Neil ordered.

  Hannah slid forward onto her hands and knees and crawled the short distance, knowing that was what O'Neil would have wanted. Yes, it was embarrassing, but the sheer outrageoueness of it was starting to set her pulse ticking more quickly, and his outrageous, over the top treatment of her lent a sort of kinky game-like sense to what was happening.

  It felt surreal, kneeling before him while his fingers slid through her blonde hair. She didn't dare look up at the other two after the recent strapping she'd been given for looking at the butler.

  He slipped the leash off the collar, then sat back.

  “Stand, slave.”

  Hannah stood up, still looking straight ahead, pulse racing now, heart thumping and chest tightening.

  “Is it not a beautiful creature?” he asked slyly.

  “From what I can see of her,” Juan said.

  “Ah, you wish to see more of it? Just unzip her dress.”

  A little shockwave hit her chest and rippled into her belly and groin at the words.

  “Cecile, do it,” the man said.

  “But I – .”

  He looked at her and she muttered something under her breath, then jerked the zipper down.

  “Push the dress over its shoulders,” O'Neil said.

  She did, gulping as she saw Hannah was naked beneath. Although the corset really made her seem more than naked. The blood was racing through Hannah's body, and she was feeling that now-familiar sense of confusion, of veering wildly between humiliation and arousal at being so-displayed.