by Paul Blades
Ilse now backed away from the middle of the room, her hands still up around her face, her eyes darting frantically from one person to the other. Klitzman spoke, “Now, Ilse my dear, come back. Don't be shy. We want you to be a part of our little party here.” Klitzman motioned to Andre who promptly stepped over to Ilse, grabbed her arm and drew her up to the little circle which now surrounded Inge.
Inge had started struggling again and tried to kick Rukimo. Her foot had little force though as she could only push with her toes on the floor. Rukimo easily side stepped Inge's kick and then stepped behind her. He took his knife and cut quickly through the side of Inge's panties, first the right, then the left sides. Inge clamped her thighs together, in a desperate attempt to keep her last shred of clothing and modesty in place. Grabbing her shoulders, Rukimo turned her towards the rest of us and then pulled her panties from behind and out from between her thighs. Her bush of hair sprung free, blond and full. You could hear her whimpering and groaning, crying hard from behind her gag. The tears streamed down her cheeks as she stepped from one foot to the other, back and forth three or four times, and then collapsed, hanging from her chains, defenseless, naked.
“Now, my pretty” Klitzman turned to Ilse, “I hope that we won't have any problems with you. You can see how it's useless to disobey. Now, step over here and let’s see how you look.”
Klitzman took Ilse by the hand and led her towards the area midway between the sofa and chairs. He motioned to me and the others to join him and we formed a circle around Ilse. I sat in the chair by her left, Andre and Rukimo taking places in the chairs to her right. Klitzman let go of her hand and stepped backwards to the couch where he then sat down. He reached over to the small table to his left and picked up the brandy snifter he had left there, took a small sip and replaced it on the table. I did the same, but kept my eyes pinned to Ilse who was standing before us, eyes cast down, sobbing silently, the tears running down her face.
“Please, Mr. Klitzman, please don't do this. Please let us go.” Ilse spoke softly over her tears, her voice slightly more than a whisper, her plea, useless.
“Silence!” bellowed Klitzman. “You must remain silent, do
you understand?”
Ilse nodded her head slightly, then, pressing her hands to her face collapsed to the floor on her knees. Her pale blue dress spread like a large flower petal around her as she bent over, almost pressing her head to the floor, sobbing. We watched her for a minute or two. Klitzman sipped at his cognac a few more times and Andre and Rukimo watched and waited silently for instructions. The room was silent except for Ilse's sobs.
“Now get up” Klitzman commanded. Ilse raised her head to look at Klitzman, then at me and then Rukimo and Andre, her sobbing reduced to sniffles as she started to raise herself off of the floor. Her face was drenched with tears. Klitzman motioned to Andre who stood up and stepped towards the girl. As she saw him she flinched, but he was only handing her a small handkerchief to wipe her face. She looked at him resignedly and took it from his hand. She wiped her face dry and then handed it back to him. Andre stepped back to his chair and sat down. Ilse stood before us, her head hung down, her arms at her sides, softly sniffling. Her blond hair hung down her neck and back, her breasts, full and round beneath her dress. She looked fragile and beautiful, like a porcelain doll. Only her slight movement as she shivered with fear and despair gave lie to this vision.
“Now, first remove you shoes and stockings.” It was Klitzman speaking, breaking the momentary spell the girl had cast. Still sobbing slightly, Ilse reached down and pulled her sandals from her feet. Unlike Inge, she was wearing shear, tan panty hose. Reaching behind herself, and under her dress, she pulled the panty hose down around her backside and towards the floor. One at a time she stepped up and freed her feet from the hosiery and then dropped it to the floor.
“No, no,” Klitzman said softly. “You must fold it neatly and give it to me.” The girl bent down and picked the pantyhose from the floor, folded it together until it was a small square and then handed it to Klitzman. “Thank you Ilse, now step back and remove your blouse.”
Ilse was wearing a pretty flowered blouse, full of reds, greens and blues, the kind of thing you'd see in a garden magazine worn by the refined, proud hostess of a garden club party. In fact, there was something quite reserved and refined in Ilse that Inge didn't have. Inge was obviously the more wild and free of the two, Ilse being reserved, thoughtful, shy. Even standing here, shivering and sobbing, at the mercy of her captors, she kept that prim, dignified and proper demeanor you would associate with the aristocracy. Obeying Klitzman's command, Ilse undid the four or five buttons which led down the front of her blouse. Keeping her eyes cast downwards, she slipped one, then the other arm free of the blouse. She folded it neatly and stepped forward, handing it to Klitzman. She obviously didn't have to be told twice.
Ilse returned to the center of the chairs and stood there silently. Unlike Inge, Ilse was wearing a lacy, dainty bra which held in her breasts like two phantom hands. The daintiness of the bra was unsurprising, but the way it uplifted and presented her breasts, covering only the bottom half of each one barely to the nipple, was. This bespoke a sensuousness which gave lie to her proper, matron-like outer clothing. Klitzman spoke again, pausing only long enough to take in this dainty sight, “Now the skirt.”
Ilse reached to her side and unbuttoned the dark blue skirt which clung to her hips. The skirt was broad and pleated at the top, draping into an expansive swirl down her legs and to the tops of her knees. Her hands were trembling as she fumbled with the buttons. After a few moments, she managed to undo them and she pulled down on the short zipper on the side of the skirt. She stepped out of the skirt and revealed two long, sinuous legs, firm and shapely. She folded the skirt and stepped forward again and handed it to Klitzman. Klitzman was obviously enjoying every minute of this little tableau. These two delicious creatures had been dropped into his lap like a gift from the gods. Fate had been unkind to them, and now they faced the whims and fancies of Klitzman and his crew, not to mention, later, when they were trained adequately, the whims and fancies of the guests.
I took this opportunity to glance over at Inge, still hanging by her wrists from the ceiling. She was watching her sister's strip tease closely, fearful, but fascinated. The reality of her and Ilse's predicament was slowly creeping in. She looked at me suddenly, shivered, shaking her breasts slightly, sensuously. She started whimpering and hopping from foot to foot again, pulling on the chain with her weight. Rukimo got up quickly from his chair and walked over to Inge. “You must learn to be quiet!” he told her and reaching behind her head with one hand he grabbed her nose with the other, pinching it closed.
Because of the ball gag in her mouth, this cut off her breathing. Inge's dancing became immediately more frantic as she struggled for air. Rukimo held her nose for about a minute and a half, letting go only when he saw that Inge was starting to turn red in the face. She drew in air deeply through her nose, her chest heaving. Her dancing stopped. “You will be quiet!” Rukimo commanded. Inge's eyes lit up and she nodded. Rukimo stepped over to a small cabinet on the wall, opened it and drew out a black hood. He stepped back to Inge and pulled it over her head, drawing it closed around her neck with the string that was sewn in the opening. Rukimo then calmly stepped back to his chair and sat down.
Ilse hadn't moved during this entire sequence. Inge was to her back so she couldn't see what was going on. She was learning all right: mind your own business, do what you're told. The fact was that she was probably so scared that she could only move on command. Our attention again focused on Ilse.
“You may now remove your bra and panties.” Klitzman told her. The tears started pouring from Ilse's face anew as she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. She slid the bra straps slowly down her arms, trying to delay, even if only for a moment, the inevitable. Her breasts were pale, full and firm like Inge's, slightly smaller, but with larger, darker nipples. I could see t
he tips of her breasts standing stiff and hard. Fear had drawn her skin taut. I noticed a small drop of perspiration run down from her underarm, down her side. She handed Klitzman the bra. Stepping back, Ilse gave out one more deep sob and, reaching to her sides, in one swift, fitful move, pulled her modest, white panties down to her knees and stepped out of them. She handed them to Klitzman and stepped back to the middle of the chairs.
“Very nice, very nice,” Klitzman said. “Now that wasn't so hard was it, and much easier this way, don't you think?” The girl was speechless, but I don't think Klitzman really expected a reply. “Put your hands behind your head, elbows out,” Klitzman ordered her. When the young girl had complied, lifting her luscious orbs up and out, Klitzman smiled. “Yes, much better,” he told her. “You should be proud of your beauty, not hide it.”
Klitzman was playing with her. “Step closer to me,” he ordered. The girl, arms behind her head, stepped slowly, gingerly, towards Klitzman. “Yes, yes, very nice. Now turn around slowly.” The girl rotated slowly, standing about a foot from Klitzman. Her eyes were looking past him, above his head at the wall, and as she turned towards me, I could see the fear and humiliation distorting her face. Her body was beautiful, as beautiful as her face, even though it was wrenched with terror. Her hips were round and graceful and her buttocks were firm and smooth. She was well toned and her belly was pulled taut and flat.
She slowly around until she faced Klitzman again. “Yes, very beautiful, my dear,” Klitzman said approvingly. “Now to your knees.” Ilse, her face wet with humiliation and shame, sank slowly to her knees, not daring to move her hands from behind her head. She was shaking visibly, and almost fell as she lowered herself first onto one knee and then the other. “Spread your legs.” Klitzman commanded. She spread her knees wide obediently.
She was kneeling directly in front of Klitzman, her breasts just above and inches away from his knees. Klitzman leaned forward and cupped them with his hands. I could see the girl recoil from his touch as if she had been struck by a whip.
Klitzman paid it no mind as he caressed her breasts, pushing them up, rubbing them together. He leaned over further and put his lips first to her right nipple, then her left. Ilse's eyes were shut tight, as if by not watching this happen to herself it could be denied. But it couldn't, and she began sobbing again, the tears cascading down her cheeks like two small streams. Klitzman then looked up at her face as he dropped his hands to her hips, then her thighs, and then beneath her belly to her sex.
Ilse stiffened and then began sobbing uncontrollably. Klitzman, keeping his hand on her puss, smiled. “You must stop that, my child. Now!” Ilse looked at Klitzman. His voice was stern, harsh. It bespoke of punishments to come, power over her and all that she did and felt. She stopped sobbing, clearly terrified of the costs of disobedience. “That's better,” the fat man told her. “Now tell me,” Klitzman said to her, his voice sweet again. “Have you ever made love to a man?”
Ilse looked at Klitzman, struggling to suppress her sobs, startled at being forced to speak on such an intimate subject. “Y-yes,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible. “Please, don't do this, I beg you, please,” she continued, her eyes darting around, unwilling to take in Klitzman’s obviously lustful stare. It was as if, having found her voice, she could only now begin to plead for mercy.
“You must only answer my questions, my dear; begging and whining will not change things,” the callous slaver told her. Klitzman's voice was deep, sharp, lethal. The girl suppressed her pleas.
The obese man addressed the frightened girl again, his hand still stimulating the yellow bearded slit between her thighs. “Your cunt is wet and hot, did you know that?” he asked her.
“N-no,” the pitiable girl answered.
“Oh yes, it is,” the brutal man retorted. Klitzman's hand probed deeper into the girl's sex. I could see his fingers working their way between her thighs, her knees spread wide, her back slightly arched. “You must present yourself to my friends now,” Klitzman said.
“Andre,” he said to his sidekick. “Bring that ottoman over here so our lovely lady can display her charms to us all.”
Andre got up and brought over a large ottoman to the middle
of the chairs. Klitzman rose and taking Ilse by the arm, pulled her to her feet. He led her to the ottoman and instructed her to get up on it on all fours. She did so. “Now spread your legs like a good little girl,” Klitzman said. Ilse spread her legs wider. She was a vision, her breasts hanging down towards the floor, full and ripe, her legs, long, curvaceous, inviting. Her skin was a kind of rosy tan, her ass, lower belly and the ends of her breasts, pale, a sharp contrast to the rest of her. Her straw colored hair, which Klitzman had released when she climbed up on the ottoman, hung long and straight covering her face as she looked downwards. Klitzman motioned the three of us over as his other hand explored Ilse’s near perfect body. “What smooth skin,” he said. “Here Harry, feel for yourself.”
I was in no position to refuse. I ran my hand along her back, feeling her lithe muscles, her soft skin. My temperature was rising. Rukimo stood up next to me and ran his hand along her ass and then between her legs. His black hand was a stark contrast to the pale, milky skin of Ilse's rear. Rukimo thrust two fingers in her little rear hole and Ilse jumped, gasping. “Very tight, very tight,” he said, laughing.
Andre, meanwhile had reached under Ilse's arms and grabbed a breast. He was caressing it as he pulled her hair together behind her head. “She should look up so we can see her face,” he said. Klitzman nodded agreement.
Andre pulled Ilse's hair back sharply, forcing her face to look up. Right in front of her, about ten feet away was Inge, still hanging from her chains, silent now, visionless, swaying slowly from side to side. Andre took his hand from Ilse's breast and ran it down her face to her lips. He gently forced open her lips and pushed two fingers into her mouth. “A soft mouth,” he said, as he rocked his fingers back and forth across her lips. Ilse grimaced as the thick, black fingers rasped across her pursed lips. She whined softly. “She will be a pleasure to train,” Andre said, as he appreciated the frightened girl’s charms.
“Yes, Andre, I believe she will,” Klitzman said. “What do you think Harry?” he said to me.
I flashed Klitzman a grin. “Luscious,” I said.
“Well, let’s get started,” Klitzman said. “Rukimo, bring me some leathers for this pretty, young thing.”
Rukimo went to a tall armoire and opened it. Inside was a collection of the miscellany of female slavery: whips, collars, bracelets. He came back with a set of four bracelets and a thick, leather collar.
When Ilse saw the bracelets, she started to tremble and sweat. Here was her future, one unimaginable to her even a short hour ago. Klitzman laughed. “Don't you like your new outfit my dear?” he said. “I think it’s very becoming. In fact, it matches what you're becoming, a slave.” Klitzman roared at his own joke as Andre and Rukimo smiled and chuckled. Quite a punster.
Rukimo locked a thick slave collar around the poor girl’s neck. He then fastened the bracelets and anklets to Inge's wrists and ankles. When he was finished, Klitzman guided the girl down off of the divan and drew her wrists behind her back, fastening them together. He then stood back from the girl and motioned to the three of us to do the same. “Yes, quite a picture,” he said. The four of us looked at the girl who seemed to shrink in front of us.
The effect of the confinements on her was crushing. Before, she had looked at us with fear and bewilderment. Now, the bewilderment was gone, leaving only fear. She now knew that she was undergoing an unspeakable change in her life. Her hands, her breasts, her orifices, all no longer were hers to deal with as she saw fit. From now on she would be a slave to the whims, desires and demands of others. Her feelings and thoughts were meaningless other than if they conflicted with that of her masters. Then they could only bring her pain and suffering.
“Now for the other,” Klitzman announced. “I think it’s time to tea
ch her the cost of disobedience. Come my lovely,” he said to the cowering naked girl next to him. “We will watch together as Rukimo conducts your sister’s first lesson as a slave girl.”
Klitzman pulled Ilse over to where Inge was hanging and
motioned for us to join him. Andre and I pushed over the chairs and the ottoman and we sat in a little semicircle around the hooded twin. Klitzman had Ilse sitting on his lap, his hand buried in her bushy, blond quim. Ilse had stopped crying a while ago, but her eyes were darting back and forth nervously. As Klitzman probed deeper and deeper into her canal, she became more agitated, her breasts swaying back and forth as she tried to negate Klitzman’s expert handling of her nether lips. Klitzman took his free hand and grabbed the hair behind her head, forcing her to gaze upon her suspended sister. “Watch and learn, slave girl,” he said.
Rukimo had pulled the hood off of Inge's head and unfastened her gag. She sputtered and coughed and then looked in front of her. She could see her sister sitting there, being handled by Klitzman, the accouterments of slavery stark around her body. Inge, whining, started to do her little dance again, struggling at the chain, desperate to forestall whatever the cruel men who surrounded her had in store.
“Now you will learn a little lesson my dear Inge,” Klitzman said. “You must learn to obey without hesitation, without thought. Your life and well-being from now on will depend on it. Rukimo and Andre will be your first teachers.” He nodded to Andre and Rukimo who were standing behind Inge, long, narrow whips of leather in their hands. “Gentlemen, do your duty,” he intoned.