She looked in vain for information about these people, their names and how old they were and where they came from, but didn’t find any. The other catalog was the same way, only there were more people of color in it, and more exotic-looking slaves. There was nothing, only pictures and numbers.
I could be in there, Sharon mused. In a minute. I don’t know why they’re doing this to me, but they’re not being fair.
By the time she left the room, the two Italian agents had already met with Grendel and they all shook hands on the start of a new program between their houses. As a courtesy, Alex made them an offer, and to show her that they didn’t mean any insult to her house, they asked for Sharon. She sent Sharon to them in the largest guest room with her compliments.
“She thinks she’s worth something to us because she is a skinny American girl with big eyes and a hunger for sex,” Dark Suit said, pinching her nipples sharply. “She’s a fool.”
“There are a million girls like her,” Light Suit added, pulling a pair of nipple clamps out of the top drawer of the dresser. “And they are smarter, they know more languages, and they know how to behave when they are being examined. Or, they can be taught.”
Sharon winced and whimpered as Dark Suit started to twist her nipples back and forth. Why were they talking about her like she wasn’t there?
“She, on the other hand, seems to have a talent for not learning,” Light Suit continued. He passed the clamps to his companion, who attached them quickly, making her cry out. “When we saw her photograph, we thought she might be worthwhile. Now, we are sure that she is not. Which is a shame for this house. Don’t you agree, Mauro?”
“Yes, of course,” Mauro said, tugging on the chain. “But we will have success with them in the winter. For now, let’s see if this girl has any potential at all. There are places where the brains don’t matter.”
Sharon started to open her mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was a little scream when Mauro dragged her down to her knees by the chain that linked her nipples. Light Suit got behind her and pushed her head down with his foot, pressing her face into Mauro’s narrow, polished walking boot. “Lick!” he shouted down at her, the first time she had been addressed. “Show us what a slave you are!”
Quickly, she lapped her tongue out, running across shiny, smooth leather while the man behind her smashed his hand into her again and again, hitting her thighs and the sides of her upturned ass, places where it hurt a lot. Sharon moaned and cried out, and her mouth was pressed even harder against the man’s boots.
“She’s useless!” The man behind her said. He switched to a torrent of Italian, and while he was speaking thrust two fingers into her, twisting that around as if to determine her size and depth. He found her wet, despite her obvious discomfort, and his announcement of that fact led to her being pushed around until her lips were on his boots, so that Mauro could explore her too.
“What a pity she’s such a... difficult case,” Mauro said, wiping his fingers across her back. He took his belt off and doubled it in one hand. “Let’s see if she can run. Run, little doggy, around the room!” He swung the belt fast and hard, and when it connected, she sprang forward, practically into the other man’s legs. Sharon howled like a dog as Mauro kept up a steady rhythm of heavy, biting smacks. She tried to get up, and he beat her back down, and then she understood that he wanted her to crawl around the room.
He chased her three times around the room, until bruises began to show faintly on the backs of her thighs. His companion cheered them on lustily, and when they got back to him for the third time, he thrust his hard cock directly into her gasping mouth, before she had one chance to gasp for air. Laughing, he clamped his hands onto her head and held her to him, cutting off her air until her struggles became frantic, and then he pushed her away. With one quick move, he caught her shoulder and arm and spun her around so that Mauro could spear her mouth for a while.
Between the two of them, she never caught a full breath. The only time they let her breathe was when they were turning her back and forth, from one to the other. Sharon became dizzy, and started to cry, and one of them, she wasn’t sure who, slapped her, hard, across the face. They began to speak exclusively in Italian to each other, and they laughed when she stumbled or choked. They just cuffed her when she gagged.
When it seemed that they had enough of that, the one in the light suit took a turn chasing her around the room, using a heavy wooden paddle to encourage her. Then, he tossed things across the room, and made her fetch them in her teeth. The first was a thick, heavy dildo. When she brought it back, he shoved it deeply into her, and warned her to keep it in while she went after things like another pair of nipple clamps, (which he put on her, replacing the first pair), a pair of handcuffs (which went on, locking her hands behind her) and finally, a strip of condoms.
They used her in tandem, Mauro in her mouth and the other up her tight ass. She screamed against the cock in her mouth, the pressure from the dildo and the anal intrusion almost too much for her to take. Light Suit, whose presence in her asshole was so terrible and so good, reached under her and began to play with the dildo, pulling it out when he was in, pushing it in when he pulled out, and when Mauro picked up the chain attached to her nipple clamps and tugged on it to bring her mouth up against his pubic bone, she screamed again, a sound well muffled and barely paid attention to.
They switched places after a while.
And then again.
They never spoke to her, other then to yell a command to change positions. And every time she seemed to come close to actually enjoying what they were doing, they stopped, and brought out more items of torture to play with. They both beat her with riding crops, making her race from one side of the room to the other. They clamped the lips of her cunt and beat the clamps off, and then made her clean them off in her mouth. They put the clamps on her tongue for a while, fucking her mouth with the handles of their crops, before they put her back on her chest and knees to take turns in whatever hole suited them.
Sharon didn’t know who was fucking her any more. They had blindfolded her, and now, she was positive that they were both in her at once, one up her cunt and the other in her ass. A thick gag with a mouthpiece shaped like a cock head spread her jaws open. The sounds she made might have been pleas, or they might have been sounds of pain or joy. When the two men finally finished with her, she wasn’t sure what she was hearing or saying. She only knew that she would do anything to make them stop. When the gag came out, she eagerly kissed whatever was offered to her, an ass, a foot a cock, a hand, the dildo, anything...
“Shall we visit Anderson and see what she has this year?” Mauro said in English as they dressed. Sharon lay between them, her hands still behind her back, the blindfold still on, the dildo sticking half out of her ass. Assorted nipple clamps and paddles and riding crops lay scattered on the floor beside her.
“We can give her a call from here and see if she’s receiving,” the other man said. “I would hate to just, as they say, barge in on her.”
“Good. Let’s go see Alexandra again, and then we’ll get on our way.”
Sharon panted and sobbed, and her voice broke as she shifted around, trying to get into a position where the pain wasn’t so bad. Her cries faded into hiccoughs, and she kicked weakly, unable to summon the energy to get up on her knees. She didn’t know how long she lay there until someone touched her. She jerked her whole body, tensing.
“Shh. Be still,” Chris said, unlocking the cuffs. “It’s me.” He removed them carefully, and massaged her wrists for a moment before removing the dildo from her, and then the blindfold.
“Oh, God,” she sobbed, bringing her hands around to shield her eyes. “Oh, God, that was fucked up.”
“Remember your language,” Chris warned. He lifted her up so she was sitting on the floor, weakly resting on one arm, her legs curled up underneath her. She shook and looked up at him. He gestured toward the scattered toys. “Clean these things up and b
ring them downstairs. You can give them to Claudia to put away, after you’ve washed the appropriate items.”
Sharon gazed at him in amazement. He didn’t have the least sympathy for her condition. “You... please, Chris,” she choked, swallowing bile. “Can’t you see? I’m... I think I’m hurt. I can’t do anything now! How could you... do you know what they did?”
“They used you,” Grendel said. She snapped her head to one side. She hadn’t seen him standing in the doorway!
“They used you like a piece of property can be used, Sharon.” He leaned against the jamb, and looked down at her with the patience of a good teacher. “They broke no rule or code of conduct that we apply in this house, and they stayed within the parameters you set yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Sharon asked, her voice almost a shriek. “That this was just a test?”
“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, missy!” Grendel drew himself up. “That was no test, my dear, it was just Alex being generous and hospitable to two business associates. And before I go and let Chris get on with the punishment you just earned yourself, I’ll just let you in on something interesting. Both Mauro and Jules are single men. Either of them would be eligible for the special rider in your contract.”
Sharon pushed herself up onto her knees. “At least punish me yourself, you son of a bi—!” she screamed. Chris cut her off with a vicious backhand slap which threw her back to the floor.
Grendel stopped without turning back. He said, “Double it!” and left.
* * * *
That night, Sharon had to be helped up the stairs. Her ass and the backs of her thighs were black and blue, and her back was tender throughout her shoulders. She whimpered when anything touched her nipples, and couldn’t find any way to lie down without leaning on something that hurt.
Her condition was massively sobering. Even the cuts on Robert’s back weren’t that bad. He was able to walk away, go back to work, and even sleep on his back without much of a problem. But Sharon had been beaten methodically, heavily, and with the sole purpose to cause her amounts of pain she would never forget. Claudia whispered to Robert that she had seen Chris carrying several rubber implements back to Grendel’s side of the house when he had finished with Sharon. Rubber, they both knew, hurt more and marked less. Whatever had marked poor Sharon had probably been nightmarish. She, of course, refused to talk about it.
Chris had drawn their attention to Sharon and her condition when she didn’t appear for dinner. “Sharon is being severely disciplined,” he had said. “I would advise you all to give the condition of her body some serious consideration. What has been done to her is something none of you may escape. For your edification, the reason for the severity was clear and profound disrespect for Master Grendel, in the form of her address toward him and her demands for his attention. I hope you will all learn from her example.”
They looked at her and they all did. To the pits of their stomachs and curling through their sex, it hammered home one thing for sure. That could have been any of them.
While Sharon groaned and shifted to find some way to lay down, Robert sighed with her. Finally, he got up and walked over to her bed, carrying his pillow. “Sharon,” he said softly. “Here. Sit up a little, and let me show you how to do it.”
Sharon shifted up on one elbow and looked at him. Her eyes looked black from all her crying, and her lip was swollen in one place.
“Listen,” Robert said. “I used to come home like that a lot. You have to give yourself different places to support your body.” He showed her how to fold his pillow up and lean against it, her body on its side, the pillow raising her belly just a little bit, so she could wrap herself around it. When he was finished, she did actually feel a little more comfortable. She whispered “Thank you,” as he went back to his bed.
“You’re a good guy,” Brian said, leaning back on his arms.
Robert shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone work a woman like that.”
“Hey. Equal opportunity slave training,” Brian said lightly. “They’ll beat and fuck us all to death, regardless of gender, race, creed, color or sexual orientation.”
“Let’s not talk about that,” Claudia said, sitting up. “I think it’s about time you told us your story, Brian.”
“Yeah,” Robert agreed. “If it’s as long and boring as you’ve made it out to be, maybe it’ll help Sharon fall asleep.”
“Hmm. More likely give her nightmares,” Brian quipped. But he looked at his fellow slaves, and saw that they were serious, so he pulled himself up to sit cross-legged, and thought about it for a little while. Then, he began to speak.
Chapter Nineteen: Brian's Tale
I suppose that my story begins back when I was a kid. I grew up in Brooklyn, in this nice neighborhood with lots of kids and trees. Very residential, very middle class. I was best pals with a kid named Nick, and we played together for, hell, years and years. Up to high school, I guess. But when we were about ten or something, we got into comic books, like all kids do for a while. But we liked the weird stuff. Not the pumped-up guys in their leotards, no, that was for the regular sissies. Everyone read those. No, we went for the different ones, like war comics and horror magazines with pictures of vampires and gore on the covers. And westerns. Can’t forget the westerns, because that’s where I first saw this hero.
He wasn’t even like any of the others. Cowboy gunslingers were pretty standard. They were all waspy looking fresh-faced pretty guys who wore neatly pressed jeans and chaps and had names like The Something Kid. But there was this one book that was about an Indian hero. Thunder, Native Warrior, was his name and the name of the comic. And he was so hot. He was taller than the other Indians, and bigger. He could run faster, out fight a whole battalion of cavalry, and then saunter into town to beat up the red-necks in the local saloon. He had this drop-dead gorgeous Indian maiden who was really hot for him, and every couple of issues, some white girl would fall for him and cause some plot twist, but he didn’t have any time for them. He was always out with the guys, hunting, or discovering hidden treasures before some greedy white guy took it all, or saving innocent people from cattle stampedes or some other happy shit. And without fail, every issue, he’d be on the cover in one of two poses.
Either he’d be standing triumphant over a fallen enemy, gazing off into the distance, or he’d be in some kind of weird bondage with this filthy, leering cowboy holding a whip or a branding iron that looked like it was aiming for a tit or for his loincloth.
He was the ultimate switch. He was either stomping heads and getting them to beg for mercy, or he was getting beaten up by a gang of clod-busters. And all of this dressed in nothing more than this decorated strip of leather between his legs and a pair of high lace up boots. I guess he got me as hot as a little kid can get. Nick and I would fool around sometimes, and I’d play the evil Nazi to his Captain Victory, and he’d be the mad scientist to my monster or werewolf, and then I’d get to be Thunder while he was a raging horde of cowboys with yards of clothesline and sticks that we pretended were branding irons.
Now, I figure if you grow up with memories like this, you gotta know what you want when your body tells you to go out and find it. I sure did. I just didn’t exactly know how to get it. So for a lot of years, I played around, dating girls, reading cheap porn, trading dirty stories with the guys, you know, typical stuff. When I was working full time, I found a girlfriend who was willing to be a little kinky with me, and we had fun for a while. She and I would buy these dirty magazines and read these fake letters to each other, or we’d rent X-rated videos, and then we’d decide what we wanted to do. If we liked it, we’d do it again.
Soon, we had a regular menu of kinky sex scenes. We’d say, “oh, let’s do the teenage virgin scene tonight,” or “the jailhouse scene.” It didn’t take her too long to figure out what got my engine going. The thing I liked best was “new man in the cellblock,” where she’d tie me to the bed, or over the back of her couch and use her
vibrator to fuck the hell out of my ass, telling me how many men were raping me in one night. Sometimes, I’d come without even knowing it! In the beginning, she thought it was really hot. I mean, all her girlfriends had these jerk asshole boyfriends who had too much macho and slapped them around or treated them like dirt. But she had a guy who was so open-minded, he liked to have her fuck him up the ass. She seemed to get off on it, and I always tried my best to satisfy her fantasies when she wanted them.
I can’t say that anything exactly went bad with our relationship, except that we both might have wanted something different and were killing some pretty pleasurable time with each other. I don’t think we were ever in love, but we were sure in lust! I noticed that she was getting a little bored before she did, and I started looking for something else to do. We both started seeing other people, and we just kind of drifted apart. The best thing about it was that we remained friends. I’d always call her when my night went well, and we even did phone sex for a while. She still calls me when she wants to chat.
After her, I just hung out and wandered around for a while. The memories of the sex we had kept gnawing away at me, though. The image of a real man fucking me became a regular part of my jerk-off fantasies. Sometimes, he would be dark, and have long black hair, just like Thunder. It was only a matter of time before I hit my first gay bar.
New York is heaven for a gay guy. You can find anything in the community there. I hit bars for dancers, for crossdressers, for young punks, and for Latino boys. I shook it down with the party crowd, who went to after-hours clubs, and I stood for hours in crowded, smoky bars with older guys in leather and denim. It didn’t take me long at all to figure out where I belonged.
At first, I was totally lost. I didn’t know a thing about keys, hankies, tops and bottoms, or anything. Let’s face it, my entire education came out of magazines designed for straight, middle-aged white men. So I just shut my mouth and drank and listened and watched. It was at one of these bars, The Shaft, I think it was, where I met Ron. Ron was my first master. He’s older than me, a real old guard leather man. I am so glad I couldn‘t afford a leather jacket that year, because he once told me that if I had been wearing one, he would have never taken me seriously. You see, the way he was taught, bottoms had to earn their leather. And I was the lowest of the low, inexperienced and raw, and if I was wearing some stuff I just bought off the rack because it looked good, I would only be good enough to play around with.
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