Slaver's Dozen (The Klitzman Stories)

by Paul Blades

  When Cholo returned he had three shoeboxes. “Here’s a 5 ½, a 6 and a 6 ½. See which one fits best.” He instructed her. He watched her intently as she doffed her bright red high heels and donned a pair of the black patent leather shoes. They hard sharp pointy toes and medium sized heels. The spikes had broad bases to facilitate dancing. The 6 ½’s fit perfectly.

  “Wait here,” Cholo said as he picked up the shoe boxes and went back through the mirrored door. He returned quickly and walked to a small recess in the wall on the right side of the room. Lana heard the loud, beating rhythm of a salsa beat. She recognized the song. It had been a hit a year or so ago. It was a favorite. She fought off the memories of happy times that the song brought. She had an audition to perform.

  Cholo walked over to the girl. “Let’s see you move,” he ordered.

  Lana found it hard to believe that she would have to audition with her gag still in place. Dancing was physically demanding, at least this type, and she worried about being able to draw deep enough breaths through her nose. Frightened, nervous, she began to dance in time with the music. She hoped that her body would remember her salsa moves.

  “No! No!” Cholo yelled. “Not like that. I didn’t say dance. I said move. Sway your hips; let me see if you’re an or a Latina princess.”

  Lana let the insult roll off of her. She would show this cholero what a full blooded, real Latina could do. Lana looked down at her feet. She tried to block out all that had happened to her and her friends since they had stepped off the plane when they arrived at Klitzman’s island. She tried to forget the weeks of torment she had suffered and that this street thug, this serial rapist, was going to judge her as to whether she was suitable to fuck his customers. She let the rhythm of the music flow through her. She began to tap her toe.

  The black haired slave girl began to sway her hips slowly. She closed her eyes and let the music enter her. All else was gone. Just the sensuous, love song remained. Once the music took over, she began to move her upper body. She felt her breasts gently swaying as she moved, her hair begin to swirl in the air. She could have been anyplace, anyplace in the world. Her mind felt liberated, free.

  Cholo stepped forwards and grabbed her swinging arms. She opened her eyes at the sudden movement, and then they were off. Cholo led her through the dance steps like a master. His body breathed sensuality. Lana felt that she was on air as she became who she once was, a happy, liberated, proud, Latina. The singer cried out his agony over his lost love in deep, smooth, plaintive tones. For the moment, Lana was that lost love. She had a lover who pined for her, who called her mi corazón.

  All of Lana’s energy was poured into the dance. She knew that, in a way, she was dancing for her life. To be able to dance would be a wondrous gift after all she had gone through. She danced like she never had before.

  When the song ended, Lana was huffing and puffing. She had strained to keep dancing even though her heart was pumping madly, straining for oxygen. Towards the end, limited by what breath she could bring in through her nose, she had begun to feel dizzy. Now, she tried to recover her breath so that she could receive the verdict of this callous man.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give you a try.” He was breathing heavy too, a sign that he had been excited by his turn on the floor with the girl. “Okay,” he repeated, “take off the dress and the shoes.”

  Lana hurried to obey her overlord. Careful not to tear the fine silken material, she grabbed the hem of the skirt and lifted it over her head. She was a naked slave once more. She handed it to Cholo who tossed it on the floor. “The shoes,” was all he said.

  Lana stepped out of the shiny, black shoes and placed them aside.

  “Clam position,” Cholo ordered.

  The slave girls had been taught a series of simple commands. Rather than have to describe at length a special posture or position the master desired from the slave girl, he could utter a one word command and the girl would know what to do. ‘Clam’ denoted kneeling on the floor, legs slightly apart, crouched over with the breasts crushed against the knees, elbows on the floor, head down. It was a simulation of a closed shellfish. ‘Swan’, ‘dog’, ‘snake’, ‘frog’, were all commands denoting a specific position. ‘Ostrich’ was similar to ‘clam’ but the slave’s head would be forward, legs spread wider, arms out beside the head and forehead on the floor, like an ostrich with its head in a hole.

  Lana dropped to the floor and adopted the ‘clam’ position. As she assumed it was a prelude to her use, she turned first so that her haunches would be presented to her master. In this position, only one orifice was conveniently available. Lana knew this and began to relax, as best she could, the muscles that governed her rear entrance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cholo’s brown robe tossed to the floor. She felt him kneel behind her. He placed his hands on her arched back and caressed her soft skin. He ran them down to her inviting buttocks. Cholo was not a man to waste time in extended foreplay. His cock was hard and it needed a warm, moist place. He preferred the tight ring of the rear entrance to the lush, moist sheath. And he had no interest in giving women pleasure.

  Lana felt Cholo’s hard meat press against the opening of her rear passage. Even though she had tried to loosen the ring of flesh to permit the easy entrance of a hot, thick member, Cholo’s cock pressed on the edges of Lana’s brown star, stretching them. Lana suppressed a cry of pain. She was grateful when she felt the entrance to her bowels loosen and Cholo’s member slide in.

  She had never permitted any man this privilege before her abduction and enslavement. She had had to work hard to overcome her revulsion as the strong African men in Rukimo’s dungeon forced it on her. She had cried and screamed in pain and humiliation. But she had learned to tolerate it, and then to even derive some pleasure from it. As Cholo’s cock dragged back and forth against the pursed opening of her bowels, Lana closed her eyes and let the sensation of his shaft against her sensitive flesh run through her. Following her training, the slave girl timed the tightening of her rear entrance with the backwards stroke of Cholo’s cock. He moaned on his withdrawal, and, further energized by the intense pleasure of the tight ring around his shaft, plunged his dick forwards again, burying it to its hilt.

  Cholo’s grunts as he plowed Lana’s ass echoed through the room. The girl broke position and looked up seeing her reflection in the mirror. Her body was crouched down as if closely bound. Cholo’s sweaty torso rose from behind her, his face tense with growing passion, his eyes closed, his head tilted back. The man’s breathing was getting harder and harder. Lana saw his face become red, his eyes squeeze shut. Her own lusts were rising, excited by the vision of this stranger plowing her rear. When she felt Cholo’s cock throb and pulse within her, she was shocked to find that she her own lusts had crested. At each pump of Cholo’s hot sperm into her bowels, her cunt pulsed with pleasure. She moaned as she came. She looked again in the mirror and saw her face as she had never seen it: lustful, hungry for a man’s cock.

  When Cholo’s forces were exhausted, his flaccid cock slid from Lana’s rear. He got to his feet and, without a word to the kneeling girl walked off. He went through the mirrored door and returned about thirty seconds later drying his cock with a paper towel. She saw that he also had a whip in his hand.

  Lana’s heart began to thump in her chest at the thought of the pain to come. All remnants of her recent pleasure fled from her mind. As Cholo walked behind her, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for the blows. She heard her master’s voice.

  “This is just a taste of what faces you if you should disappoint me,” he told the frightened young woman. “Just a taste.”

  Cholo landed five hard strokes of a rattan cane across Lana’s rear globes. She cried out in pain at each one. They felt like strips of fire running across her skin. “Ohhhhh!” she cried as each one landed. She had struggled not to cry, but the tears came all of themselves, washing down her florid cheeks. Her cries resounded off of the bare walls of the room, reverberatin
g in her mind. When the man was done, Lana looked up in the mirror to see her red rimmed eyes, her tear stained face. She met Cholo’s eyes there. He smiled at her.

  “When I get to know you better, I’ll take you back to my place and teach you what pain is really like. That okay with you, comerita?”

  Lana, unable to speak, nodded her head in reluctant affirmation. She watched him in the mirror as he picked up the dress and shoes.

  “I’ll be back for you later, crica,” he told her. He took the materials back behind the mirrored wall. Lana looked up at him as he came back.

  “Keep your head down, puta!” he ordered. Lana lowered her eyes to the floor.

  She remained in that position for what seemed like hours. Time dragged on unmercifully slowly. She could hear the woman in the corner shifting about in her cage. There no other sounds except for her breathing. She was too frightened to move even an inch, although her muscles had begun to cramp painfully. She could feel her plump breasts crushed against her knees, Cholo’s discharge leaking from her rear. Her buttocks burned from her beating. She just kept repeating to herself that life would be better here. In spite of the bandit’s threats, she would be able to dance, to feel freedom even if for a short while. She would do anything to stay.

  Kneeling inside a tiny space in the middle of a vast room made Lena appreciate what a small cog she was in a huge machine. She imagined how she looked, a naked, kneeling woman, all drawn up as if inside a cage, her compressed figure reflected in the mirror that she could not see, her body a mound of light brown flesh amidst the yellowish brown polished wood. But she was in a cage, a cage not of steel, but of words. Cholo’s command to remain as he had left her was as strong a bond as steel chains. She felt puny and powerless. She had no real idea where she was, never mind having any ideas about escape. She would just have to pray that someday, somehow, someone would come to save her.

  Lana heard the door behind her open. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor. She sensed a male presence. Had Cholo come to free her, she wondered. Then she heard a voice speak, a coarse, cruel voice. It was not Cholo’s.

  “Get up, cunt,” the voice said. Lana quickly rose to her feet, ignoring the painful cramps in her thighs and back. She felt hands locking her wrists together behind her. A black bag was drawn over her head. Hands turned her body around. A leash attached to her collar. She felt herself being tugged forwards.

  “What is happening?” she thought to herself urgently. “Where is this man taking me?” Could it be that Cholo had changed his mind? No, she realized. It was a mistake. They were supposed to come for the other girl. They were taking her away instead. Lana’s hope for a happier life evaporated. “Oh, God!” she thought. “What will happen to me now?”

  She could not protest or explain since she still bore the gag that Cholo had installed earlier that day. Even if Cholo were in the bar upstairs, she was hooded and she doubted that he would recognize her by the shape of her body alone. As she was pulled up the stairs, she cried and moaned.

  “Shut the fuck up!” the man who was taking her away said. “I’ll tell them to beat you when we get to the boat.”

  “Boat?” Lana thought, panicked. She was being sent away somewhere! If Cholo had intended to send the woman downstairs away as a punishment, wherever she was going had to be much worse than whatever fate could hold for her in the resort. She started to pull back on her leash. She fell to the floor so that the man would have to drag her from the club. She kicked and screamed from behind her gag. A fist landed solidly on her thigh. The pain was excruciating. She heard a familiar voice.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you? Can’t you handle a simple job like this?” It was Cholo and he was yelling at the man for losing control of his prisoner. “Get her the fuck out of my bar!” he yelled.

  The man grabbed Lana by the ring in her collar and lifted her into the air. She squirmed and cried out as he dragged her to the door. At the last moment, Cholo looked around to watch them exit. He saw the five deep, red lines across Lana’s rear.

  “Hold it! Hold it!” he yelled. “Get that cunt back in here!”

  Lana felt her body being turned around and moved towards Cholo’s voice.

  “Get that bag off of her head!” Cholo ordered.

  Lana felt the bag being removed. When her sight was restored, she saw the angry, red face of her ‘employer’.

  “That’s not the one, asshole!” Cholo yelled at the man.

  “What do you mean?” the man asked.

  “Didn’t you check her number? It’s the one in the cage, stupid!”

  “I didn’t see anyone in a cage,” the man replied.

  “Did you look?” Cholo asked, his voice full of irritation. He waited for an answer. None came. “I didn’t think so,” Cholo said. “This one just came in today. Why the fuck would I be sending her to the mainland? Eh?” Cholo was barely containing his anger. Being sent to the mainland meant being turned over to one of the native whorehouses, where life was ugly, brutish and short.

  While he was at Klitzman’s island, Cholo helped out by running the disco club. It gave him something to do. He could play big shot with the guests. But most of the time, he was a stone cold killer.

  There was a very pregnant pause. Lana looked at Cholo with undiluted relief. After a moment, Cholo seemed to get hold of himself. In a tense, but calm voice, he instructed the man carefully. “Let this cunt go. Go downstairs and get the other cunt. And then get you and her out of my club. Comprende?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said meekly. Lana was released from the leash and the man went downstairs. In a few moments he returned with another naked and bound, hooded woman. She followed him docilely out the door.

  Later that afternoon, Lana finally had her gag removed. The other dancers for the club, fourteen of them in all, arrived at 3 p.m. They had been led around the perimeter of the resort compound in a coffle, naked and bound. It would spoil the illusion of the club for the guests to see them in their servile state. Once inside the club, they were led to a sort of lounge cum dressing room in the basement, one floor below the dancing studio. The rule of silence did not pertain there and they were soon chatting noisily. Lana had been left there, standing alone in the room since her brush with exile to the mainland. The guard that released the other dancers unbound her wrists from behind her back and removed her gag. A tall woman, with long chestnut colored hair approached her. She was a little older than the rest of the girls, maybe 25 or 26. She gave Lana a hug.

  “My name is Yolanda,” she said. “I’m the mother hen of this little group. What’s your name?”

  Lana’s jaw ached from its long confinement and it took her a moment to answer.

  “I’m happy to meet you, Lana. I know that this is all very strange to you, but it’s not too bad, really. I assume that you have met Cholo.”

  Lana nodded. She was still too taken aback by being surrounded by what seemed to be a gaggle of normal, happy, young women to give more than perfunctory responses.

  “He’s not here much,” Yolanda told her, holding Lana’s hand in hers. “And he pretty much leaves us alone. Danny really runs the club and he’s much nicer. But let me introduce you to the girls. I won’t say their names, you’ll learn them eventually, but it’s too much to get all at once.”

  She turned to the chattering young women. “Girls,” she shouted over the din. “This is Lana. She’s the new dancer. Please make her feel welcome.”

  The young women called out various greetings to Lana. She noticed that they were not wearing the standard leather collars and bracelets of the club. Their bindings were made of dark brown, polished leather. The rings were made of a gold alloy, gold by itself being too likely to chip and bend. They were all pretty with lithe bodies and beautiful, shapely breasts. There were no ugly or plain women on Klitzman’s island, but these girls were a cut above the rest.

  While they were chatting, the girls had been donning tight fitting leotards and leg warmers. Yolanda showed Lan
a where her dressing station was and found her a leotard that fit.

  “We’ll be going upstairs for some workouts and dancing in a few moments. After about an hour or so of practice, we’ll come back for dinner. Then we’ll dress for work. I’ll find you something really pretty to wear.” Yolanda’s smile was comforting to Lana. She had been afraid that she would be shunned since she was replacing a girl who was probably a friend to most of these young women. She mentioned her concern to Yolanda.

  “Oh, please don’t think that, Lana. We all know it’s not your fault. These things happen. Someday we’ll all be shipped out to somewhere or other. We try not to think about it.”

  “But what happened?” Lana asked.

  “I’m afraid that Linda got into a conflict with a guest. He was going to burn her with a cigarette and she slapped him.”

  “Oh!” Lana said, shocked at both the action of the guest and the girl’s response.

  “She knew better,” Yolanda said. “The guest would probably have had his privileges suspended. They can beat us, but they can’t scar us. Anyway, we have no right to disobey any order of a guest or supervisor, never mind strike one.”

  Yolanda put her arm around the black haired girl. “I’ve been here for five years. I’ve seen many slave girls come and go. Smile, obey and fuck like a bunny. That’s all the protection you have against being punished. It’s not a guarantee, but as a rule it will keep the whippings to a tolerable level. The guests don’t usually come to the club to find a girl to whip. They want to dance, have fun, get blown. Occasionally, one will come in looking for a beautiful girl to abuse, but not often.”