by Jessica Rael
Amber had thought about taping rainbow girl’s buttocks apart, giving a wider target area – though it would still take some skill not to overreach – but that would defeat the object of the exercise, and Sabrina, the Black Glass Bar’s owner, had said the lawyer hadn’t done that. She just spread the girl and landed six straight hits, each directly on target. Amber felt like she was preparing to go up against the most deadeye shot in the West, the girl’s ass the flesh equivalent of a row of beer bottles on an old fence.
The redhead raised the cane, holding it in the air for a few moments. Rainbow Girl whimpered into her gag as the instrument of pain sliced through the air, then yelped in surprise as the flexible plastic cane thwacked into the bed sheets beside her. Amber dropped the cane onto the bed and sat down beside the tied slave.
‘Okay,’ she sighed, ‘lets get this straight. I don’t torture you for fun, and in return I have your absolute loyalty. Got it?’ Rainbow Girl nodded frantically. ‘If you piss me off, I’ll tear you up just like any other slut we own. If you disobey an order, same thing. And if you ever betray my trust, I’ll ship you off to China Town so fast you won’t have time to blink those pretty blue eyes. You’ll end up chained to a bench in a five-bucks-a-bang-booth with some fat slut riding your face while her hag of a girlfriend jams a twelve-inch dildo in your cunt and tries to shove both her fists in your ass…’ Amber leaned across to the terrified young woman and unclipped her gag. ‘Just say yes, loser.’
The young woman’s lips quivered for a second. ‘Yes… mistress.’
‘Cool, I like that… yes mistress.’ The redhead laughed. ‘It’s like being in a fucking porn flick.’
Rebecca showed her usual detached amusement at her protégée’s fierce individuality. The Inquisitor knew the dangers of having a maverick in an organization like the Cruza. The cartel was a dark, brooding serpent, utterly ruthless, single-minded and flawless, it hovered above society like a hawk, ever watchful, but this hawk was made of diamond, and like a diamond it could only be marked by its own kind, but it could cut through flesh like a razorblade through a silk handkerchief. Unpredictability was discouraged, with extreme – and usually fatal – prejudice, but then, the girl was hardly unpredictable. She had shown herself to have an instinctive understanding of the Cruza’s inner workings, and her respect for the organization was total, but she was not afraid to innovate, and that’s what made her so valuable. That she had chosen to turn this particular possession into something resembling a pet more than a slave was an interesting quirk. The girl had spared the slave’s body, but held her mind in a vice-like grip. That she allowed her to speak – albeit in a limited fashion – was another curious sparkle of diversity. New blood, thought Rebecca as she sipped her strong, mocha caffeine infusion.
Rainbow Girl knelt beside her young mistress as the girl ate breakfast with the powerful dark-haired woman. Shelly was careful never to meet the older woman’s gaze, something she never did with her own mistress, unless ordered to do so. Amber had asked the curators to cover the slave’s wrist and ankle cuffs with rainbow-hued silk. The redhead had then asked for a small, tight fitting dress to be made of the same multi-colored silk, which she allowed the slave to wear. The garment had no sleeves, and was practically see-through, and it hung exactly to the slave’s vagina. It didn’t afford much in the way of modesty, but she was no longer naked like the Cruza’s other possessions, and so it set her apart, she was something more, it meant her owner thought she was something special.
Amber grasped the slave’s ponytail and guided rainbow girl’s head between her thighs, parting her robe as she pressed the slave’s face against her shaven mound, just as she had seen McKenna do. Shelly pushed her tongue into her mistress’s vagina, occasionally withdrawing, pulling it out to flick it across the young redhead’s clitoris. The slave felt a glow of adoration as she tasted the girl’s juices. She knew she would have died in that basement, but first she would have been beaten and tortured until she went insane. The beautiful redhead had saved her, and now she kept her close, protecting her. Rebecca rose from the table and walked back into the house, Amber by her side, rainbow girl shuffling a respectful distance behind.
‘Clever,’ the Inquisitor said, smiling. ‘I think they call it the Stockholm Syndrome.’ Amber looked at her mentor, puzzled. ‘It afflicts hostages and kidnap victims,’ Rebecca continued, ‘but the principle can be made to work in a variety of situations. The girl’s life becomes threatened, even by you, and her survival instinct kicks in. In an effort to preserve herself she will develop a powerful affection for you, then if you offer her a degree of reprieve… and timing is everything… then she will be bound to you for life.’ The Inquisitor turned to face her protégée, a strange look on her face. ‘Always trust your instincts, Amber; they were honed in a place where daily survival was a fact of life. You don’t weigh up probabilities, you just act. I’ve come to trust those instincts of yours, and so should you. Remember, any girl the Cruza takes is like a scorpion’s concubine, in a rattlesnake’s lair… but it’s not unknown for scorpions and rattlesnakes to sting their own kind. Try to remember that.’
Amber lay on her back in the middle of the luxurious bed, naked from the waist down, while rainbow girl nuzzled at her mistress’s pussy. It was a gentle session, more to help the young redhead relax, a sort of genital massage of the most pleasant sort.
‘I had a bitch once…’ Amber often spoke to the slave the way people would speak to their dogs, not really caring if they were listening or understood. It was like thinking out loud.
‘Even before I came to this place. She was called Jackie, but she was just bitch, or slut, to me. Had some fun times with her until my bastard of a father spoiled it all.’
The teenager looked around at her large, sumptuous room. ‘Suppose he did me a favor in the end. Fucker came at me with a baseball bat an’ fractured my arm, so I stabbed the bastard in the guts.’
Amber smiled like a gladiator recounting a hard won victory. ‘He was okay though, it was only a small pocketknife, but they made me go into a shelter cos he’d threatened to kill me for it, an they couldn’t put him away cos I’d hurt him too. Shit, I think the lawyers expect you just to stand there and take it just so it don’t complicate the case. An’ just when things were getting fun with my plaything, too. Things weren’t so bad when I had Jackie. Not that bad a life for a high school drop out who’d just turned eighteen. It was like I had my own place. Nothing like this, though.’
Amber laughed, gesturing around the grandiose room. ‘But I could just use the bitch’s trailer whenever I felt like it, an’ I kept her naked an’ tied to her bed most of the time, so it was my territory.’
Amber moaned and slid down the bed, settling onto the slave’s probing tongue. ‘I used to love beating her, and I know she liked it too. She was a weird bitch, no doubt about that. Anyway, it felt kinda strange when I had to go to the shelter. I mean, she’d become kinda dependent, laying there on that bed waiting to suck my cunt and get thrashed every night, an’ I was getting my kicks that way too. It was fun, but like I said, I was packed off to the shelter before that bastard found me. I didn’t fight it cos I knew he’d have one of his guns with him this time, cos I also know for fucking sure the cops didn’t find them all. Still, it was a good job I remembered to untie the bitch before I went though, huh?’
The teenager’s snigger trailed off into a low moan as the slave slid her index finger into her vagina, while still using her mouth to suck the girl’s labia. The probing index finger stroked, bringing her to a powerful orgasm. She shuddered as she climaxed against rainbow girl’s mouth, the flood dribbling down the slave’s chin. The teenager tensed her thighs, clamping down hard on the young woman’s head, before releasing her grip and flopping back on the thick silk pillows.
‘Wow!’ she gasped. ‘Gotta hand it to the curators, they certainly know how to teach our bitches their trade.’
Swimming in
the Dark Fairy Pool
‘Why the urgency?’ Rebecca strode purposefully along the dark-red velvet-walled hallway with its deep scarlet carpet. It made her think of the medical documentaries she’d seen, a fiber optic camera sliding along a main artery. Not an unreasonable analogy, the hall led to the heart of the building, the command center, and all security control functions were located here.
‘As we can tell, there isn’t any,’ Dakota increased her stride to keep pace with the taller woman. ‘Just the way he likes to do things, gives his enemies less time to plan.’
‘Well, if the little shit gets me up at five in the morning again he can add me to that list.’
‘He’s worth the inconvenience; deal’s lucrative, safe, and worth about sixty million to us.’
‘I’m sure, and please excuse my confusion,’ the Inquisitor added sarcastically, ‘but didn’t you wrap this thing up about two months ago? What’s he want? If he thinks I’m slashing my arm so we can mingle blood in some moronic Samurai ritual, then he’s going to be a sad old man over breakfast.’
‘Not sure he has enough blood left, but I think it has something to do with honor, seeing the head honcho in person sort of thing, and I gather he’s proposing some form of cultural exchange, a way for us to understand each other better.’
‘Typical Yakuza,’ Rebecca sighed. ‘Call Amber, have her meet me in the el sol de la mañana in thirty minutes.’ Dakota dropped back, picked up one of the house phones on a side table and punched in her security code.
The cultural exchange stood giggling in the corner of the plush conference room, behind the old man who seemed to resemble the mummy of Rameses III even more in person than he did on video link. Rebecca bowed lightly to the old Yakuza master, and sat down opposite him.
‘Time moves on shoujo,’ the old man muttered, lowering his head. ‘I have seen many changes, I will not pretend to like them, but it is not even in my power to change the way of things.’ Mr Nakaichirou allowed himself a wheezy chuckle. ‘I will never grow used to dealing with women in this way, and time, as you can no doubt see, is not on my side. But I respect you for what you are; we should respect all things, yes? One has to admire the rattlesnake for it is fearless and deadly, and finds prey in the desert where others find only sand.’
‘What can I do for you, Mr Nakaichirou? Is there a problem with the services we’ve been providing your organization?’
‘No, shoujo, as well you know. I merely wanted to see the face of the rattlesnake with my own eyes, and not through a machine.’ The old man turned awkwardly and motioned to four young Japanese females standing behind him. ‘And to ask you to take some of my family into your own.’ The Yakuza master turned slowly back to face Rebecca. ‘It is our way,’ he said simply, ‘although I would usually honor you with some of my finest warriors, but your organization is somewhat… unique. In light of this, I hope my choice has been appropriate.’ The girls giggled. Rebecca guessed they were barely out of high school, between eighteen and nineteen, and looking younger, as was the way with Japanese girls. They all wore the same neat but tight fitting navy-blue suits, with skirts well above the knee. ‘They are my blood,’ Mr Nakaichirou continued. ‘A great-granddaughter, and three great-nieces, I will leave Jasmine to make the introductions.’
The small Japanese-American translator sitting to Mr Nakaichirou’s left bowed deeply in acknowledgement, as without another word the Yakuza master got up and left, accompanied by his bodyguards, made even more sinister by their garish Hawaiian shirts and sporty sunglasses. Yakuza muscle loved outlandish fashion; it was as much their trademark as the occasional missing fingertip. One of the protectors stood with his thumb tucked in his belt, showing off the decapitated little pinkie on his left hand, a mark of macho pride. Men, Rebecca shook her head as they left; so fucking predictable.
Rebecca sat in the el sol de la mañana as the dawn sun streamed through the large windows. The aptly named room looked out onto a white stone courtyard, and a breeze ruffled the tops of the seven palms that surrounded the large ornamental fountain in the center, the spray catching the sunlight and igniting a myriad of rainbows in the dry air. Amber sat to the Inquisitor’s right as the two watched the slightly ludicrous beauty pageant play out.
The four Japanese girls stood in a line as Jasmine introduced them. Rebecca had known the thirty-something translator for years, and if it wasn’t quite friendship they shared, then it was certainly mutual respect.
‘Miss Kichi,’ Jasmine announced as the girl at the far end bowed, ‘Mr Nakaichirou’s great-granddaughter, and this is Miss Mayu,’ the second girl in the lineup bowed, ‘Mr Nakaichirou’s great-niece.’
‘I think she did it,’ Amber whispered, bringing a smile to Rebecca’s tired and somewhat bored expression. The image of a police lineup hadn’t escaped her either.
‘Miss Nyoko,’ Jasmine continued, but Rebecca had given up trying to match names to faces, something she was normally exceptionally good at. The girls could be quadruplets for all she could tell. Jasmine introduced Miss Yoshi and the parade was complete. Rebecca shook each of their hands as enthusiastically as she could manage, then handed the problem deftly to her protégée. The Inquisitor had never been given reason to question her judgment of the teenager since she brought her into the family, and as far as she knew, neither had any of her senior officers. In fact, she was finding the girl pleasingly reliable.
‘Nan-sai desu-ka?’ Amber asked one of the girls.
‘I was eighteen two months ago,’ replied the Japanese girl in perfect, though accented, English. Rebecca turned and stared at her protégée.
‘I had this crush on a Japanese waitress once,’ Amber shrugged, and as she headed for the door Rebecca pulled Jasmine to one side.
‘The old man called me shoujo.’
‘It means girl,’ the interpreter replied.
Rebecca paused, then smirked. ‘How cute,’ she said, then left the room.
Over chilled orange juice in the courtyard, Kichi, Mayu, Nyoko and Yoshi explained to Amber the legend of the Cruza as they’d heard it, and erupted into an excited babble as they discussed the wild sex orgies and other games they were looking forward to.
‘Well…’ Amber eyed the giggling young women, noting their tiny Asian frames, slender legs and tiny feet, an idea forming in the back of her mind. ‘How would you girls feel about putting on school uniforms?’
‘Well, duh,’ said Yoshi, with an affected south Californian accent, ‘we’re Japanese; it’s like asking if you’d mind wearing jeans.’
Amber laughed. ‘Yeah, guess it was a stupid question. Well then, there’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Sugoi, Sugoi,’ Kichi chirped excitedly, and Amber looked at Yoshi, raising an eyebrow.
‘It means cool,’ Yoshi explained.
Rebecca fired six shots from the Browning DBM 9x19mm at the cardboard outline. The target showed a picture of an angry black guy clutching a battered Uzi; the cardboard had been punctured in the chest, one hole in the neck. Dakota’s identical target showed eight neat holes in the face. The lieutenant paused, then took aim again and emptied the remaining seven rounds into the figures crotch area.
‘Know how you get amber?’ Rebecca asked rhetorically as she flipped the catch, letting the magazine slide into her palm and handing it to her lieutenant. ‘You cut a tree, then it bleeds, but instead of its blood drying to dust like yours or mine, something else happens. The more you try to crush it the harder it becomes, until you have something hard as glass and a lot more precious.’
‘What level you want her trained to?’ Dakota took the magazine and handgun from the Inquisitor, slipping the mag into her pocket and then pulling back the breech to drop the shell in the chamber. She rolled the small brass cylinder between her fingers.
‘As high as you can take her, State Girl.’
‘Then we’re going all the way, Miss R. I recogni
ze talent when I see it too.’
The box was hot and stuffy, and wasn’t quite long enough to allow Stephanie to stretch out properly. Lauren didn’t keep her hogtied in the toy box, though the slave was still shackled ankle and wrist. The box itself was made of white plastic. It had a lift up lid and was covered in pictures of little yellow flowers. In the center of each flower was a small air hole, cleverly disguised and allowing the captive girl to breathe. Lauren always laid the girl in the box the same way, so her head was at the end that faced the large window where clean sunlight streamed in through gauzy yellow silk curtains. The reason Lauren did this was that the curators had located a small hatch at this end of the box, and the slave had become accustomed to the sound of the little silver latch clicking free and the cover lifting to reveal her tormentor’s grinning, over made-up face.
At first the woman’s obsession with infantile games had seemed no more perverse than anything else Stephanie had seen in this strange place, just the turn of a coin. Heads: gothic torture rooms, tails: a mock-up of a child’s playroom. But time had passed. How much, the slave had no way of knowing, but enough for her to begin to lose her own grip on reality. Part of the reason was that given her position as the woman’s personal plaything, she was totally immersed in Lauren’s world. Other slaves endured a variety of torments, but at least it was variety. Stephanie had been turned into a full size living doll, and she was never allowed to be anything else, never treated as anything else, and everything she saw, every waking moment reminded her of this, reinforcing the idea in her mind.