Slave Lover

by Marco Vassi

  Her eyes bulged and her lips curved obscenely over the thick phallus. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking or feeling. She provided a grotesque picture, her tawny, chalk-white form straining against her bonds, in stunning contrast to the red leather underneath, while the strange man fucked her mouth with harsh, long strokes.

  “Finger-fuck her,” the man gasped. “Get her hot!”

  The idea that the poor girl could get “hot” under such circumstances seemed, to Constance, to betray the typical male misinterpretation of what a woman’s sexuality was about. But hers was not to reason why, just to do so as not to die. She applied herself to the task. She pulled the girl’s cunt lips apart, and peered into the center.

  “She really does have a pretty pussy,” Constance thought. “Young, fresh, virginal.” And as she looked, she felt her own cunt starting to secrete with serious gushings. She slipped one finger into the girl’s snatch and moved it slowly around. At first the response she received she ascribed to the fact that the girl was trying to pull away. But after a while, she realized that the girl was responding to the excitement she was feeling. Constance rubbed the elastic walls and probed the tender knob of the cervix. She prodded deep into the intimate recesses of the girl’s most private part and reveled in the sense of desecration she was involved in. She drew her finger back and stroked the silky clitoris.

  A moan escaped the girl, muffled as it was by the cock filling her mouth.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” the man said. “Now she’s starting to turn on a little bit,” And then, dropping his voice to a kind of conspiratorial conversational tone, he went on to Constance, “It’s no fun just fucking the body, you know. The thing you want to do is to wake them up. And make them really feel what they’re doing. You know? Make an impression on them. Now, a chick like this, on the outside, would never give me a second glance. She’d be running around with some clod of a football player who’d be rubbing her pussy through her jeans in the front seat of a car. And I’d look at her and think, ‘I’d love to ram my big cock down your throat,’ but know I’d never get the chance. Then I found out about this place, and now I have the chance.”

  Constance continued her finger-fucking and the girl began to move her pelvis, to thrust back against Constance’s thrusts. Constance realized that within a few hours she could have the girl all to herself. The girl was now moaning steadily and from the way the man was acting it seemed to Constance that the girl must be licking his cock with a frantic action of her tongue.

  “That’s it, that’s it,” the man crooned and then slipped his hands under the girl’s head. For a long time he hunched over her, fucking her mouth, while Constance brought her to climax after climax with her fingers. It occurred to her that this was the first time the girl had ever had someone else’s hand inside her.

  “Now, now, now!” the man shouted and exploded inside the girl’s mouth. He pulled back slightly so he could watch the sperm pulsing from the head of his cock and cascading down the girl’s throat, over her tongue, onto her lips, until she was thick and sticky with hot jism. Then he pushed the spunk with his fingers, getting every bit in her mouth and forcing her mouth closed and holding it until he saw that she had swallowed every last drop.

  He looked down a long time. The girl’s eyes were opened wide, but instead of terror, what showed there was a kind of voluptuous disgust. She had just had something done to her that a few days earlier would have been the cause for permanent and massive trauma, and was now discovering that she had enjoyed it. The man saw all the changes in her eyes and gloated. His viewpoint had been vindicated. Although he was incapable of articulating it with any precision, he felt that a cunt was a blind and indiscriminate hole and responded to any stimulation it received, and that women’s insistence on the relationship with the person attached to the object of stimulation was sheer sentimental prejudice.

  “I’m going to take a rest,” he said, hopping off the table, “and then I want her rolled over. I want to work on her pretty little ass next.”

  “You can take a break,” Roger said to Constance as he stepped forward to undo the girl’s bonds and clean her up for the next round. “There’s a coffee shop through that door there.”

  “I need some air,” Constance said. “I’m going to take a short walk.”

  She threaded her way through the crowd heading for the exit door, but before she reached it she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to face her accoster and found a tall, thin man in his early fifties grinning at her.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Last time we met, you had a blindfold on. I shoved the big end of a baseball bat up your ass.” He waited a second. “Do you remember now?” he asked, like a teenage boy ready to be hurt.

  “I can’t say that you are familiar,” she told him, “but I’d recognize your baseball bat anywhere.”

  The man laughed. “No hard feelings then?”

  “Not now,” she told him. “But the thing felt pretty hard at the time.”

  There was a silence and she noticed that the man was looking at her nipples. She realized that she was very flimsily dressed. The man was developing a familiar bulge in his pants.

  “Well,” she said, trying to be light, “what are you into tonight?”

  “Just floating,” he said. Regular customers were allowed to pay a floater’s fee. That meant they didn’t get any special woman but could partake of anything offered to them by one of the clients for that time. Or they might get off just watching the activity around the place.

  “Well . . .” she said.

  “Want to make some money?” he asked.

  She blinked in lack of comprehension.

  “I’ll give you five hundred dollars if you suck my cock,” he said quickly.

  “What the hell would I do with money?” she asked.

  He stepped in closely. “If you get enough, you can pay one of the guards to look the other way some dark night when you are ready to make a break.”

  Fear sent shivers down her spine. The talk was suddenly seditious and she wondered whether she might jeopardize her position just by listening to it.

  “It’s been done,” the man urged. “If you’re smart, within a year you can build quite a fortune.”

  Constance examined him for a long time. “Listen,” she said finally. “I’ll forget you said anything about escape. I work here now, so I have no reason to want to escape, you understand?” She realized that she sounded like the rankest counter-revolutionary. “But the money could be useful for other reasons.”

  “OK,” he said, “Let’s step outside.”

  They went out into the night air. They were in an enclosed garden surrounded by a twenty-foot wall. The man, who seemed to know the place well, took Constance by the arm and brought her behind a large shrub. When they got there, he rubbed his cock through his pants and then pulled down his zipper. There was a smutty silence in the air and she realized that she was filled with a sense of naughtiness, despite the overwhelming sexual play she had just witnessed.

  “Get on your knees,” the man whispered.

  Constance dropped to her knees in the classic posture of submission. The man snaked his fingers into his fly and pulled his cock out. It was wrinkled and small. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and put the thing into her wet, hot, pretty mouth. She began sucking at once, and at once the cock began to swell. It grew proportionately larger than she had imagined and soon she was almost gagging on it. It was thick, succulent, throbbing. She forgot who it was attached to and why she was doing it, and gave herself up to the sheer sensations of the act. The earth was cool beneath her knees and the man’s hands had come down to fondle her tits. She pressed in until her face was against the rough fabric of his pants. She reached behind him and cupped his buttocks, drawing him in tight. His cock slipped into her throa
t and abruptly, without warning, spat hot sperm down her gullet and into her belly. She found herself protesting that he had come too fast, that she was unable to savor it, and all the while swallowed as quickly as she could so she might have all the precious fluid. And then pulled back so some of it would fall on her tongue and she could enjoy the taste of it also.

  He pulled back and left a trail of slimy jism on her lips. She knelt there for a few moments, rocking back and forth. The man reached into one of his pockets, pulled out five one-hundred-dollar bills, and threw them on the ground in front of her.

  “Thanks, slut,” he said, and sauntered off.

  Constance blushed, picked up the money, put it into one of the pockets of her shorts, and left the garden. She went through the Parlor and out another door to the employees’ quarters, checking past a guard who goosed her as she went by him, and then out onto the turf next to the swimming pool where she flung herself into one of the beach chairs.

  Her mind was a rushing river of thoughts, for she was trying to assimilate a complete reversal of everything she had considered her standard of values for her entire life. On one level, she felt a tremendous exhilaration, probably like that of the solitary cougar padding the crags of New Mexico mountains in its hunt for the fresh kill. At that point, there is no morality, no trace of doubt, but the simple imperative of hunger and the appeasement of it in whatever way nature has provided.

  But at another level, Constance felt that she had taken a step down in going from slave to employee. At least as a slave she had no boss. She could retain her inner freedom even though her body was being owned and manipulated. But when she took the step from that situation to one of staff member, she gave up some of her integrity in return for a measure of security. She opted for a longer and more comfortable life as a real slave, that is to say, a voluntary slave, instead of a brief life with extraordinary hardships but as a human being who maintained self-respect.

  “Yet,” she reasoned, “it’s not so cut and dry. The things that were done to me in the Parlor went a long way to erode the harsh distinctions of abstract morality. And the fact that no matter how I choose I can’t change the reality of the condition also helped sway me. Also, I really needed to feel a man in that way, and probably would have done anything for it.”

  She finally lapsed into cerebral silence and let herself enjoy the simple pleasure of lying down under the night sky. But after a few minutes, she heard a noise. She opened her eyes just in time to feel her arms being grabbed and a gag stuffed in her mouth. Four or five women swarmed over her and within seconds she was standing up, her hands tied behind her, gagged and blindfolded.

  “Take her along,” she heard a voice say and instantly recognized it as belonging to Madge.

  She was marched for a number of minutes and finally made to sit down. Then the gag and blindfold were taken off. Madge stood in front of her and before saying a word she lifted her right hand high in the air and hit Constance a savage stinging blow across the cheek.

  “Fucking traitor!” Madge hissed.

  Constance’s head swum. She saw nothing for half a minute but a surging sea of black dotted with white pinpricks of light. The harsh taste of blood flooded the inside of her mouth. She rocked back and forth on her seat.

  “Madge,” she said at last.

  “Don’t even dirty my name by using it, you backstabbing cunt,” Madge said and raised her arm in the other direction and hit Constance again, this time backhanded.

  Once again she was rocketed to the edge of unconsciousness. Everything grew black in front of her and she almost fell to the ground. Madge hit her two or three more times and Constance heard another voice say, “Take it easy.”

  “Take it easy, my ass,” Madge exploded. “This is only warm-up, compared to what I’m going to do to her.”

  “But not here,” the other voice said.

  “It’s as good a place as any,” Madge said. “It’s the one we agreed on. What’s the matter? You getting cold feet?”

  “But she’s a sister.” Constance now recognized the other voice as belonging to Sheila.

  “Sellout sister, you mean,” Madge said.

  “Madge,” Constance said. “Listen to me.”

  “Sure, I’m ready to listen,” Madge said. “You got five minutes to state your case before we sentence you.”

  Constance tried to gather her thoughts, a difficult task under the circumstances. There was nothing she could say that would really defend her position and yet she had to try. She took an emotional tack.

  “I’m as much a victim of this place as you are,” she began. “And if I had a choice, I’d get out. But escape is impossible. Robert told me that they know about the gimmick of whispering to pass information during the orgies. And a lot more. Believe me, they have it all covered. They only let us think there’s a way out so that we won’t give in to despair and become totally useless. And then he threatened me. He told me my choice was either to become a staff member or get snuffed, that very night.” This was a lie but she was in no mood to make fine distinctions. “So I told him I’d join them. But I haven’t sold you out. I’m still getting information. I’m still preparing to escape. It’s just that now I have better access. I can get to the guards more easily. I have money. And when I do get out, I’ll come back and get you all out. You must know that.”

  There was a silence. Sheila finally said, “See, I told you she was still one of us. She wouldn’t sell out.” She turned to Constance. “Do you really have a good chance of escaping now?”

  “Oh shit!” Madge said. “You don’t believe her, do you? She’s one of them. You can tell by the look in her eyes. And didn’t she help that guy to ravish that poor girl tonight? Migene was there. She saw it.”

  “All I hear,” said a third woman, someone Constance had never seen before and in front of whom Madge showed some deference, “is accusations and denials going back and forth. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no way to decide objective guilt.” Constance breathed a secret sigh of relief. “But on the other hand, from a purely pragmatic viewpoint, we can’t do nothing. So, on the grounds of pure expediency, I vote that we kill her.”

  “I second it,” said Madge.

  “I agree,” said each of two others.

  “I can’t,” Sheila said at last. She was trembling and close to tears. “I can’t help to execute Constance. I love her.”

  “Then you’d better get your ass out of here,” Madge said. “And let us do what is necessary.”

  Sheila bent down, took Constance’s face between her hands, and kissed her on the mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said, and then, to Constance’s amazement, winked. She turned quickly and ran off.

  “How shall we do it?” the first woman asked Madge.

  Madge thought for a few seconds and then smiled, a frightening expression under the circumstances.

  “Suffocation,” she said. And then reached forward to undo the ropes. Within a few seconds, Constance was free. But then Madge twisted one arm and forced her to the ground.

  “Hold her,” she commanded.

  Each of two women grabbed one of her wrists and held it pinned to the ground while the third woman held her ankles down. Constance was totally unable to move.

  “Now,” Madge said and took off her skirt and blouse. She stood there naked, her pendulous breasts swaying, her heavy haunches looking sinister as they loomed over Constance’s face. She then fell to her knees, one knee at either side of Constance’s head. Madge’s acid-smelling bush was inches from Constance’s face. Madge looked down and into Constance’s eyes.

  “Good-bye, sweetheart,” Madge said. “I really liked you and would have loved to have you as a comrade.”

  Then she squatted down, bringing her buttocks over Constance’s face. At first the association was with sex, her mouth being squashed by the erotic bulk. But Madge pushed down with greater weight
than she would if it were truly an erotic encounter. Constance felt her nose being mashed and the heavy flesh of the buttocks totally covering her lips. She tried to take a breath and found that she couldn’t! Panic seized her.

  She twisted her head to one side, using all her strength, and was able to gasp in a lungful of air. But Madge pressed her thighs tight together and once again Constance’s face was drowned in a sea of flesh. The texture of the pubic hair, the musty smell of Madge’s asshole, the slight smear of secretions of Madge’s cunt, all became part of a surrealistic mixture as they combined to cut off life-giving air.

  Constance gathered all her strength again and was able to twist her head once more, this time letting the air out of her lungs and just barely managing to take a breath. But Madge pushed down even harder, squeezed her thigh muscles even more forcefully. Constance thrashed about but couldn’t get free. Her lungs started to hurt and her head began to throb. She couldn’t believe that her life was actually ending in this bizarre fashion. She reached down into her most precious reserves and pulled her head away yet one more time, and was able to gulp a very tiny mouthful of air before Madge was on top of her again.

  “She keeps getting free,” one of the women said.

  “But each time she has less energy. She’s getting very tired. And soon she won’t have any strength left at all. And then I’ll really squeeze her head and really sit on her face and she can try all she wants she won’t be able to budge at all. And then she’ll be dead.”