Samantha’s life is in ruins when a mysterious woman who calls herself Lady Morgana unexpectedly delivers her from the streets. Seduced by the wealthy and enigmatic executive, Samantha finds herself spiralling helplessly into a world of debauched passion and sensual excess. Her submissive nature is nurtured and tested through numerous exquisite ordeals and Samantha swiftly becomes lost to the ownership of others.
At this time, the ruthless and devious Master Talon enters their lives along with his harem of slaves, each named after the deadly sin that they personify. During a weekend of pony play, strict domination, and relentless bondage at a remote ranch and mansion, Samantha and Lady Morgana start to surrender themselves to his dominion. A final depraved ordeal is prepared and it will determine the fate of both slave and Mistress.
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Executive Enslavement
Copyright © 2016 Bruce McLachlan
ISBN: 978-1-4874-0390-4
Cover art by Latrisha Waters
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Executive Enslavement
Executive Enslavement Book One
By
Bruce McLachlan
Prologue
Pounding music filled the interior of the car like a physical force. The swell of power in the song bolstered Karen’s confidence while she continued to casually cruise down the streets. She was concentrating solely on her quest and remained oblivious to the avid horn blares that stemmed from impatient drivers who had lost all tolerance for the idleness of her passage.
The dense business hub of the city was sombre and locked in a tentative quiet. It was an expectant hush where the district waited for the sudden chaotic eruption that would come with morning.
Just as the nurturing rays of the sun rolled across a migrant earth, life in the city moved from the dense array of sky-spearing towers made of glass and steel to an altogether new location. With clockwork precision, it would flow back again the next day and the process would repeat without ever changing.
Karen threaded a route out of the gloomy lifeless zone into an area where the buildings leant against each other for support. This more rundown portion of the city was filled with light and life. Restaurants were choked with diners who had smiles on their faces as they joked and talked about the most amusing or shocking of their recent events. Garish neon signs thrust back the night, beckoning the passers-by with slogans and pulsating silhouettes. Ragged mounds of tattered cloth extended withered and grimy paws at the joyous hordes, their mewling solicitations seeking worthless change that might extend their own meagre existence a little longer.
The further Karen travelled, the seedier the environment became. The elite establishments that pandered to the opulent profession of the moment began to thin or shed their dignity. They were replaced by strip clubs, fortified massage parlours, and adult stores that were replete with sex toys and assorted viewing material catering to every taste and vice. The insides of the bars grew darker, but these dingy interiors proved to be no less rowdy than their luxuriant cousins.
Iniquity hung in the air like a stubborn fog. It fondly welcomed the curious or hungry, and Karen was ravenous. Her eyes flowed across the pedestrians, locking to those prurient forms that could be seen loitering at the curb and in the doorways. She sought that which she required and ached for with a predatory intensity.
It was a warm evening and the wind had all but vanished. It made her assessing of candidates easier due to their resulting libertine and scanty attire.
Easing her foot off the pedal, Karen’s eyes sifted through the ranks then fixated on one particular youth. The woman was clinging to the last dregs of being a teenager but her eyes told of years beyond her own. They were intense, furtive of nature, and well aware of the traps and pitfalls her profession presented.
The girl stood near a ramshackle building that was undoubtedly the base of operations for all the whores along this stretch of the block. Women could be seen leading anxious men past the grinning sated clients that were swaggering out.
She was slender and her lithe frame was clad in vinyl. The midnight polished sheets caught the variety of colours from the flashing signs of nearby stores and made it seem somehow alive. A gloss Basque was laced down her front, and its low cups gathered up her alluring breasts. The lower portion of the garment was hidden under the hem of her short skirt. This sheath of vinyl was perched just over the tips of her seamed stockings and revealed the wink of the suspenders that stretched down from the Basque to hold the fine denier hose. Stilt-heeled ankle boots of black patent leather were laced onto her feet and the ease with which she moved on them revealed her familiarity with the awkward footwear. Lycra opera gloves scrolled up her arms and the missing fingers unveiled her vibrantly red nails. One hand gripped her hip and the other clasped a plain handbag that was slung over one shoulder.
A meticulously tended bob of short claret hair wreathed her impassive features and a set of overtly crass earrings emerged from her half-revealed ears. The girl’s face was touched with only the subtlest traces of makeup and the thin-framed glasses she wore gave her such an innocent quality that Karen questioned whether they were truly prescription or just a sly marketing ploy.
Karen looked away from the girl and considered the next course of action. A wide grin of relish started to spread across her face as she forged her plot.
Flicking on the turn light, she merged closer to the next corner and readied to hurry around the block and put her plan into effect.
Chapter One
With a half-hearted sigh, Samantha turned and walked along the sidewalk. The sauntering stride was an automatic consideration for her profession and it had quickly become second nature.
This night was one of the more trying ones where there was little to distract her from brooding on her life and what had become of it. As always, it put her in a most saturnine temperament.
She wished someone would just hurry and pick her up. Just to take her mind off it. To force her into enacting the insipid rota of advances and responses required in the sating of the average libidinous male.
Samantha had been on the streets for a couple of months now. Although this was a short duration in any other job, in her profession it was a lifetime. Even this short period had managed to harden and sour her with the rigours it demanded. It had carved her from stone and alienated her from other humans.
She sought to ease her temper and drew her contemptuous glower away from the flocks of young professionals that were strolling through the area and she tried to regard the sky. Nevertheless, she could still hear the people as they chatted and laughed about trivial things, and such
sounds reminded her of just how distanced she was from ever attaining a comfortable lifestyle such as theirs. She looked back down and sought visual solace in the road. The streams of cars that glutted the lanes did little to soothe the resentment of her lot in life.
The road was replete with ego-inflating trucks, SUVs, burnished sleek sports cars, and whatever trendy new version had jumped into the wake of the already revamped classic cars. In addition to these fashionable treats, there were steady fleets of the ever-popular stretch limousines. Their mirrored windows hid away the rich, influential, powerful, and the famous from the eyes of the common people. Even the merest glimpse of such personages was not for the average citizen.
From within the artery of self-indulgent excess she spotted a snow white Cadillac with chrome fittings that shone like mirrors. It could not have looked more out of place and showed through the starkest contrast just how acutely style had changed since the Fifties. The expansive vehicle seemed to float upon the road, steered by its raised fins. It was built to glide with a regal majesty and its pristine condition made it look as though it had only left the production line an hour ago.
The occupant of the gleaming car was an anonymous shadow that steered the vehicle out of the traffic and toward her. To Samantha’s surprise, it pulled up beside her with a soft squeak of brakes and a final growl of its hefty engine. It negated the possibility that the owner was just seeking parking and offered her a prospective client, one wealthy enough that she might be able to get away with charging a little extra.
The automatic window hummed down and proved that while the occupant had a taste for the classics they were not willing to part with modern comforts and conveniences.
Samantha stepped forward and placed a hand on the roof. With a quick inhale, she broke out the best smile she could muster and leant down. Looking within, she readied to extend her offer and size up how much she could ask for if they accepted.
The fact that a woman sat behind the wheel startled Samantha and momentarily threw her from her scripted words. She had never actually encountered a female client before.
The woman was maybe in her mid-twenties, but her blatant wealth made it likely that she had the means to look after herself and cheat the effects of time. She had short jet-black hair and attractive features with only the most frugal application of cosmetics. Her dark eyes gleamed in the twilight of the interior and she wore a stern suit of dark blue. The designer outfit was formed from a jacket that had been paired with a long skirt. The slit at the side revealed fishnet on her shapely legs, and stiletto-heeled court shoes that rested on the pedals. She did not wear a tie and her white satin shirt lay open at the neck as she clutched the wheel with manicured white nails.
The woman turned her gaze from the road and fixed it to Samantha, bringing her out of her shock and back to the matter of business.
“Hi, I’m Samantha. Looking for a party?” she asked. The words lacked her usual sultry tone. The rarity of this occurrence had caused the proposition to emerge much as her first-ever delivery had on her initial night as a professional.
“How much are you after?” the woman calmly replied. Her eyes lowered from Samantha’s to regard the presented breasts, her stoop serving to grant a deliberate teasing peek into her cleavage.
“I ta—”
“I’ll give you five hundred for the entire night,” interrupted the woman without any inflection. She had declared the sum with an almost blasé attitude.
“Dollars?” exclaimed Samantha, her eyes widening with surprise. “You must be...”
Samantha’s words trailed down into a mumble and faded out as the woman reached into her jacket and laid a one hundred-dollar bill on the passenger seat with complete indifference. Drawing her fingers aside, she fanned out the notes to reveal four more crisp green bills beneath it.
Samantha stood up and took hold of the handle. Her stomach was fluttering with trepidation. Something had to be wrong because this was not likely, or even possible. She just did not have that much good fortune. Nevertheless, she was low on money. Trade had been slow this week and Eddy was getting impatient. If she did not placate him soon she would no doubt find herself enduring another of his lessons. The recollection alone spurred her into forsaking caution and so she opened the door and made to climb in. Samantha paused as she saw the woman take up the bills, but then she continued when the client laid them on the dash for her.
The amount of money being offered was ridiculous. The fact that it was just lying there in front of her where she could simply grab it and run only made Samantha even more nervous. It felt as though she was being tested, or trapped.
Easing herself into the giving softness of the seat, she closed the door behind her. Fastening her seat belt she looked to the woman, who returned her eyes to the road, put the car in gear, and merged into the traffic without even a word to her freshly acquired passenger.
Samantha looked at the money with the eyes of a starving man staring at a feast. However, this was a meal that could be sitting atop a metaphorical land mine.
“Take it. It’s all yours,” absently commented the woman.
“Why so much?” replied Samantha, and turned to give a dubious look to her client. She was afraid of what was going on and that rising fear was overcoming her business sense, that voice who firmly called for her to just keep quiet and do whatever it was the woman wanted. The instinct for survival spoke in two distinct ways. It told her that she was in jeopardy, but also that without the money she was in just as much danger. The contradictory influences gave her no real clear and definitive course of action.
“Caution. That’s a strange consideration since you’ve already jumped into my car. That means you’re either intelligent, paranoid, or desperate,” answered the woman with a wry smile. She signalled again and moved deeper into the flow of traffic.
“Maybe I’m just curious,” uttered Samantha as she looked back to the money.
“I do hope so,” said the woman with a sedate chuckle.
Reaching aside, she turned the CD player back up and let the volume rise to sufficient heights to make further speech impossible. It deprived Samantha of any more information and seemed to be a deliberate action.
Deciding to go along with the situation, Samantha took the money and placed it in her bag. While she had her hand within, she made sure that the handle of her flick knife was easily accessible.
As she closed the bag and set it close to her side, she saw the woman grin to herself and give an almost imperceptibly subtle shake of her head. Embarrassed at how crude her attempts at hiding her worries were proving, Samantha put the bag on the floor and leaned back. She fought to distract herself with the view of the city and the tempo of the music. She could not dwell on what might be required of her because she had never been with a woman before. Could she satisfy her? What would she do? Could she even bring herself to do it? Would some stubborn flicker of morality ruin everything?
Driven up onto the steep slopes that looked out over the city, Samantha watched a visual representation of the social scale pass by. The mundane abodes at the lowest regions gave way to the more upscale dwellings and then through increasing size and extravagance to the miniature mansions of the elite.
“The richer you are, the better your view,” she muttered quietly to herself as she looked out across the twinkling sea of city lights down below. It was an ordered pattern of stars that sought to mimic and outdo the more subdued and chaotic vault above. The notion added massively to her resentment. Her own cramped room looked into a foetid alleyway and the brick wall of the condemned and squatter-filled neighbouring apartment complex.
The Caddy slipped into a brief driveway. A garage door yawned open at their approach and swallowed the vehicle. The interior was utterly devoid of any other item and left the garage a simple plain box with two doors.
The woman stepped out as the shutter closed behind them. She walked over to the interior portal and fished in her jacket f
or a key. Samantha glanced to the wheel and found that she had left the car keys in the ignition. Samantha wondered if this was another test of some sort, and it made her even more intrigued.
Samantha picked up her bag and emerged from the car to follow in the wake of the woman as she opened the door and entered the house. The interior was strangely barren. It was as though someone had lacked the will to decorate and had only introduced the barest essentials by which to give the expected image of what a home was supposed to contain.
The woman removed her jacket and placed it on an empty hat stand before turning to Samantha. The client worked her scrutinising stare up and down Samantha’s physique, relishing the image of the flesh she had rented.
“You look nervous,” commented the woman as she moved a little closer.
“I’m fine,” sternly reported Samantha. The insinuation that she did not know what she was doing or could not go through with the deal hurt some twisted sense of professional pride. Eager to remove this stigma she stepped forward into the woman’s open arms.
The foreign hands slid up the Basque and cupped Samantha’s breasts. The woman began to gently caress the tight fabric and the soft flesh that dwelt beneath it. The exploration continued as one hand rolled down her shoulder and the other slithered down her front to the skirt. The gentle nudge of the woman’s hand against the gloss started to focus with more intent. Samantha gave the barest of nervous trembles as she felt the woman stimulating her pussy, kneading her sex with an educated and extremely effective touch.
“You’ve never been with a woman before, have you?” she stated as Samantha’s physical response betrayed the truth.
“Of course I have,” she retorted bitterly as the accusation snapped her from a growing hedonistic stupor.
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