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   WARNING!  Contains sex and violence forced upon a woman by both male and
females.  The story is for mature adults who can maintain a distinction no
matter how vague, between reality and fiction.  It is intense.  You have
been warned.



   (c) 1997, Stroker Ace



   "And then the good witch said, `whatever you wish, whatever you brew,
sooner or later will come back to you.' Now go to sleep little Joey, for
tomorrow will be your first day of kindergarten."



   Sex, Slaves and Punishment

   Chapter 1 -- Coming Down

   I never did like coming down.  Not now, not when I was with the firm,
and definitely not when I was in the East.  Damn, those were some crazy
wild ass years.  The years all blur together, like looking at a girl
through the bottom of a whisky bottle.  Singapore, Hong Kong when it was
wild, Bangkok.  Damn Joy Town.  That hell hole really fucked me up.  The
plane was bumping, groaning, rain streaked over the tiny porthole.  Not
even first class.  Worse, can't even get a decent drink.  When you are on
the run, you travel economy on unheard of, discount lines.  The stewardess
repeated for the umteenth time "fasten your seat belts," in a dull, plain
voice.  "We will be landing in twenty minutes." Tired from overwork, her
smile had long since disappeared, now it was a barely masked snarl.  The
tie of her uniform was skewed.  It was the same blue but the material
lighter, cheaper and definitely not as elegant as the royal blue of British
Airways.  Like her, attractive enough but not as refined as...

   Best not to think of that now.  Better to nap...

   Refined and elegant, blue jacket and skirt under long sculptured legs.
Navy blue heels dangle from her toe, but she won't let them fall.  They
kick out madly, swinging above her waist, slicing the stale air above her
discarded uniform.  Her arms are slender, not made for supporting her
weight, but now she hangs from them, a single rope digs into the milky
white of each delicate wrist.  Her pain is else where.

   "Take her down!  Take her down, you have me!" she cries to the woman.

   The woman has her back to her.  Black hair falls long and heavy to her
waist.  A tiny waist, narrow hips, a tiny band of black vinyl for a skirt,
tall spike heels.  The woman is pulling the plaid skirt from the shrieking
young girl.  It comes away with a ripping sound, leaving fleshy legs, pale
and bare dancing in the air.

   "Let my daughter go.  You don't need her.  You have me.  Take me! 
Sarah. Oh my Sarah." the elegant woman wails.  "Sarah!"

   The skirt falls away, the woman admires the naked girl's body and turns
around.  It is Tam, the Thai whore trainer only her face is a skull.

   "Mister!  Wake up!  Are you all right?"

   "Where?  Oh.  Yeah, I'm fine.  Just another bad dream, that's all."

   Relieved that nothing more is expected of her, the stewardess forces a
quick smile and says, "You should see someone about that.  Go to therapy or
something.  You were screaming, your face is covered with sweat.  Are you
sure that you're OK?  Now fasten your seat belt, we will be landing in five
minutes."

   I don't know which of us will be happier to end this damn flight.

   +++++

   The airport is crowed.  A sea of faces.  I have taken to scanning faces
with my chin down.  I don't need to catch the eye of some overly ambitious,
still wet behind the ears agent.  I hurried through the crowd, and stopped
dead cold in my tracks.  Passengers spilled all around me.

   Poised and relaxed Roxanne Bodwell sat with the other stewardesses by
the gate.  Older, but the same woman, I would have recognize her anywhere.

   "Hey, get out of the way, Mister.  Some of us want to get off the
plane." one of my fellow passengers shouted.

   She looked up towards the commotion.  There was no avoiding her now.

   Slowly she stood, her eyes fixed on mine.  Their conversation drifted to
a stop, as the girls watched her stand and slowly walk towards me.  I
pushed through the crowd to meet her halfway.  Her mouth opened but she was
silent.  Her face was drawn, older than I remembered, but the same
irrepressible sea green eyes.  Still, her face was harder, more drawn. 
Tiny lines ran from the corners of her eyes.  Her jaw line was as proud as
ever.  She was still beautiful, a mature beauty, like the fine wine that
she was.  She always had been a woman of character.  Even when she was
naked, whipped and crying, but defiant, trusting herself, always facing
adversity with dignity and character.  That character was what made it so
tough for her when I sold her to some shit hole sex club in Joy Town.  Sold
her and her daughter into a lifetime of fulfilling every sexual deviant's
craziest fantasies.  But I guess that same character is also what gave her
a will to survive.  Survive as a sex slave and now turn up here, a world
away, a different world, a different time.

   "What are you doing here?"

   "I fly for the airline," Roxanne pointed to the counter.

   "I mean, here.  Last time I saw you was in Joy Town.  Big man Vopat was
grinning like a fool.  He was all over you.  That must have been seven,
eight years ago."

   "Nine.  You had just sold Sarah and I, back to that prick.  You bastard,
you sold us twice!  Bastard!  For years I have dreamed about meeting you,
and what I would say, but now."

   "Roxy, we have to board." A heavy set stewardess was calling.  Another
pulled a suitcase through the gate.  "Roxy?"

   "You were with British Airways.  A prestigious line.  Why did you hook
up with this screwed up shuttle outfit?"

   "I couldn't go back.  Not after all that.  Here they let me fly a few
flights a week.  Part time, you know.  They are not much, the pay is shit,
but it is flying.  Maybe one day I will give it another go." She brushed
her wavy blonde hair from her eyes.  "Just a minute!" she called to her
companion without turning away.  "There are bad days and not so bad days. I
get therapy two days a week and work out.  I keep busy."

   We were talking, as if two old friends, meeting late in the evening. 
She still held the strap, her suitcase tethered behind like a terrier.  I
guess we were old friends.  The devil knows that I have known her as well
as any man has ever had a woman.  I took her body, her sex and her fears. I
used her in every way possible, and as brutally as I wanted, both mentally
and sexually.  Chained in my apartment, she depended upon me for the time
of day, and even permission to speak.

   "And you?  I thought ass holes like you could only existed in Joy Town."
She looked me straight in the face.

   "I guess, I deserve that.  Still, I remember how glad you were when I
took you out of Candy Land."

   "Roxanne!  We must board now!" The lady had her hands on her ample hips.
"Do you hear me?" she yelled.

   Roxanne turned to face her, "Yes, I hear you.  Everyone can hear you. 
Now bugger off you dizzy bitch."

   "Roxanne!  What has gotten into you?  You are so fired!" She stormed off
down the boarding ramp, her big ass swaying.

   Again she faced me, her voice returning to her arousing tone, "Yes.  As
bad as you were, there were worse.  Like that Thai bitch.." Those green
eyes turned glossy.  "She caused me more pain than any man."

   A distorted voice slurred something about another flight boarding.  A
line began to form.

   "But you sold us back.  Why?  We belonged to you.  We worked to please
you.  You taught us to anticipate your every desire.  In bed, you debased
us, humiliated my daughter and I for your amusement.  I thought we were
doing well.  Did we not please you?  Why did you sell us back to him?  A
man doesn't know what a woman goes through to mold herself, her sexual
being to his pleasures.  Then to immediately have to reform yourself to
learn a new man.  A man can never understand the misery.  You disappear. 
There is nothing left of Roxanne Bodwell.  I would rather be whipped."

   Her voice trailed off.  People were staring, but Roxanne was lost in her
own personal hell.  I recognized it.  I had the horrid dreams too.  I took
her arm.  Tight, up high just under her shoulder, where it was damp, like
how I use to lead her to the bedroom.  No explanation, I didn't need any
then.  She fell in step beside me.  In just the way she was trained.

   We walked the length of the concourse to the baggage area.

   "Where are you taking me?  This is not Joy Town, you know?  I could
scream.  I bet you would prefer to avoid the authorities.  Men like you
always do." She always was smart.

   Outside was dark.  A pair of overweight cops lounged just inside the
exit.  "Stop.  Let me go." She said it softly, but it was not a request. 
Each cop had a Smith & Wesson, and at least fifty pounds on me.  Better to
run to the next door than try to barge through.

   "Tell me, what are you doing here?" she wanted to know.

   I turned to watch the cops out of the corner of my eye.  "I had to get
out.  I was in too deep.  When you know too much it becomes unhealthy.  The
syndicate realized I was worth more dead than alive.  Without me there were
no witnesses to name names, clubs, girls, the parties.  I ran, before they
had to carry me out."

   I shut up.  I had said more than I intended.  I was talking to a woman
that had satisfied my every desire.  Sex slaves are like that, you do
anything under the sun that you want with them.  You don't have to hide
anything, for they are nothing, just a fuck toy.  It becomes easy to open
up, to say too much.  Too easy.

   Her face, a girl's ass bent over it, I can't remember whose.  Her mouth
is open, tongue white with cum and sticking out, pressed close to that
delicious ass.  Two holes, an ass, a mouth, a slug of Klosters beer ice
cold going down, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, dick hard and
plunge in.

   "You get them too?" She is right looking through me.  "The flashbacks,
you get them too?" she repeats.

   She holds unkempt blond locks to one side, to give me a clear view of
her head working my tool.  She has been careful of her hair since Tam
threatened to shave her head.  While she sucks, I admire Tam's handiwork.
Whip marks criss-cross her back making a waffle pattern of red stripes
across milky white flesh as her head bobs, engulfing my cock.

   "No.  it's nothing.  Just another damn headache.  Nothing a drink
wouldn't cure."

   "We are two peas in a pod, Joe.  You and I.  You used me.  Fucked my
body, fucked my mind and used me up, but it consumed you too." She waited
until it registered in my face, then added, "Now we can go."



   Chapter 2 -- Going Down



   "There is not much out here for an agent on the run.  So I have been
laying low trying to stay one step ahead of the firm, the syndicate and
everyone else who wants a piece of me.  Trying to stay clean.  I flew out
here to meet some one.  A special friend." I answered.

   Pointing to a late model car.  "There, that one.  That is the right
model.  Five seconds on the trunk lock.  Reach in, as if getting the spare,
a sharp push and the back seat collapses.  See, less obvious than a slim
Jim on the door."

   Roxanne nods her head in admiration, "Very convenient."

   "It all feels so comfortable.  Not safe, not especially appealing, but
somehow a feeling of knowing what will happen." she says, talking as if to
the windshield.

   We are driving, doubling back, not quite lost, talking with an honesty
of old lovers.  "Do you feel it too, Joe?  I could have been killed dozens
of times over there.  If that is what that bitch or that fat bastard or
even if you wanted, it would have happened already.  No one would speak of
it, but it was there.  An understanding.  A pact, as clear as any written
contract.  Simple, but so bloody devastating in it's purity.  Surrender
everything, no questions, never resist and that final line is never
crossed. But the price is high, so very high." She was quiet for a moment,
then added, "It's being outside that is scary."

   I was left standing outside in the light rain.  Rain drops beaded on the
pair of coffins.  The honor guard gave me the folded flag.  The last few
family members drifted off without saying a word to me.

   "The Director offers his condolences, Joe."

   "He couldn't even pay his respects in person.  So he sends his clean-up
man.  Fuck it Bill.  This never should have happened.  Christ, my wife and
daughter.  How?"

   "You did not hear this from me.  There was a fuck up in the field
office. They broke your cover and hit your family.  The operation was blown
wide open.  They are looking for a scape goat, Joe.  The Director is going
to pin it on you.  That way if you talk, they can deny everything that the
traitor says.  Monday they seal your bank account, even your pension."

   "Then tell him to kiss, my ass.  If he can find it."

   "Joe, if you run, you will be on the outside forever.  You can never
come in."

   "JOE!  Watch out!  That bloke almost hit us.  You should get some sleep,
you look tired."

   Shit.  Way too close.  "I am going to pull in here." She was right.  I
did not survive this long, to buy it in some fucking car crash.  "I will
get a room." The vacancy sign flashed, red neon in the cool night air.

   A giant tongue licking in red neon.  Lollipops.  Lollipops.  Lollipops.
But it is only my head playing tricks on me.  Again.  *Focus, Joe.  Get
your shit together.*

   The motel is a dump.  The hot car parked well off the street.  The
interstate passes over the dimly lit parking lot.  A scroungy looking
German shepherd runs across the lot, his tail between his legs.  Probably
scared shitless to be out after dark in this neighborhood.

   "Looks like you have a lot of vacancies, Gramps." The owner is an old
man, watching television on an ancient black and white set with rabbit ear
antennas.

   "Yeah, since they completed the freeway, nobody comes here no more.  Not
even the pimps.  Ain't no business doing down here.  Gonna give it up soon.
Soon as we get some money, the old lady and I are packing up and heading
south."

   "Well buddy, it's your lucky day.  I want that far room, the one with a
kitchen.  For a week.  Give us some extra towels, because I don't want any
maid service.  No nothing.  You understand me, Gramps?  I pay cash, in
advance."

   "You got it, mister." He scooped the bills up.  The television ignored.
"Do not disturb.  Got it."

   +++++

   Standing at the foot of the king sized bed, turning around, absorbing it
all, the desk and lamp, comfortable but worn chairs, the tiny kitchen area,
one look and she can find her way in total darkness.  A motel room, like so
many others.

   "I should call in.  I owe them.  The airline hired me when no one else
would.  I was starting to rebuild my life, now I will never fly again." Her
gaze darted from me to the phone, to the bed, to the door and back to me
again.  "Flying has always been my life.  My daughter and flying."

   She watched silently, as I snatched the phone wire from the wall, and
then with a growing understanding as the door lock was reversed.  A dead
bolt kept strangers out, the reversed lock keeping the familiar in.  "Once
I lock it, that's it." After all that she had been through, I owed her that
much.  My fat boss back in Joy Town would have said that I was going soft.
Perhaps, but for him, none are hard enough.  "Last chance." I cautioned.

   Her eyes were on mine, clear and green as the China sea.  Her answer was
to hold her purse straight out.  I took the leather bag from a steady hand.
She reached up, fingers wrapped together behind her neck, her breast thrust
out proudly, as she undid the few buttons.  Her arms crossed and the blouse
slipped past her face.  A nice chin, proud yet graceful, cheek bones high,
giving her a timeless beauty.  A shake of her head straightened her hair, a
glance in my direction and she wriggled her hips free of the blue skirt. 
Her underwear was modest, cut for comfort, for a day of work.  She pulled
the strap from her shoulder, slipping an arm through, freeing her breasts
the bra.  She slid it to the front and unhooked it.  Raising each foot
through, she stepped from her panties, leaving them on the floor.  Head
raising, she sought my approval.  "Pardon the heels.  I recall that you
prefer them higher."

   "The necklace too."

   "Yes.  Everything.  Now I am completely bare."

   She remembered.  My eyes regained her beauty.  A tall slender frame.  Oh
how the locals loved her.  At first, the big man reserved her for his best
clients.  The business men from Malaysia, Hong Kong.  Tokyo.  A western
beauty, in their eyes, with her long legs, and a wave, in her natural
blonde hair, she could be a model or a princess.  For a few lousy baht,
they could see her orgasm or put fear in her eyes.  But the big boss was
not satisfied, he had a sense for money.  Like any good business man, he
knew what the traffic would bear.  So he put her on the local market.  For
the price of a cover charge and two drink minimum, any street vendor or
taxi driver in Joy Town could experience British royalty.  Fat man Vopat,
wasn't above embellishing the truth.  Promotion, the big man called it.

   Others broke.  Succumbed.  Gave in to Tam's whip.  They let themselves
go.  Started to mimic Tam's broken English.  Spoke in short simple
sentences.  Mostly, "You want Fuckee?" It didn't matter who.  They
preferred the dogs for they would do their business and get off.  The men
would want to play.  To string them up, play with them, see how it felt to
swing a whip.  Oh, they did the same with Roxanne too.  It was just that
she never waved that white flag.

   I was captivated with her, wanted her for my own pet.  So I bought her
and her daughter.  Cost me dearly too.  Did some research on her
background. Her father, it turned out, was an honest to God, British war
hero.  Military Medal and everything.  He was in some jungle conflict, a
counter insurgency they called it.  The whole sordid affair hushed up by
Whitehall.  Parachuted in the jungle, his squad betrayed by a bar girl. 
The guerrillas held him.  Tortured and executed his squad, one by one, then
turned on him.  But he never talked, he held on until the foreign office
arranged his ransom.  He would have been proud of his cute daughter,
Roxanne.

   "Where is Sarah?  She must be, what, 25 now?"

   "Full grown.  A beautiful woman.  She errr.  She works."

   I can see in her face, that now was not the time to pursue it.  Anyway,
I was ready for something else.  Roxanne saw it growing too.

   She laid back on the bed.  Navy two inch heels drawn up tight to a curvy
rump.  Slowly, Roxanne let her knees fall apart revealing her sex.  Fluffy
in natural blonde, trimmed and neat.  I have not seen her with pussy hair
since the day I took her from the airport.  She wet two fingers on her
tongue, and reaching between her legs, pokes them into her bottom, pauses,
then slides them up over and into her pussy.  Then higher still she rubs,
giving herself a little reward.

   Damn.  It is her greeting.  I trained her to do that and she remembered.

   It worked.  I am all over her, tasting her, struggling from clothing
reacquainting myself with each curve, each nerve of her lucious body.  Her
face tastes of makeup, her lips of red desire, her nipples hard as rocks,
sweet and so sensitive, a promise of what lays below.  She responds, her
body trained to mine, her mind racing to catch up, reflexing into an orgasm
under my hand.  Mine nearly exploding on her tongue, she pleases me as she
was prepared to do, during weeks of schooling.  She quivers around me as I
enter.  Fucking her hard and fast, feeling another quake as she comes.  And
another as I come deep against her, deep inside.

   "May I tell you something?  Back then, it was cruel to keep that shock
collar on me when you fucked me.  I can't be silent during sex."



   Chapter 3 -- Going Up



   I was running late.  I left Roxanne locked in the shabby room and raced
across town.  The directions led me to modern apartment building, luxury
cars filled the well lighted lot.  I dumped the stolen Ford four blocks
away and walked it.  The lobby was plush, the elevator all glass and
chrome. She had done all right for herself.  One light tap on the door and
she was there.  Deep guitar chords of country music spilled from the room.
My Deana was waiting for me.

   "Joey, I am so glad you came!  Woo, woo!" she cried in joy.  She did a
little jiggle of her chest, a dance step to the country music, and then ran
into my arms.  "When you didn't call, I thought the worse, that you changed
your mind about me."

   "No way, baby.  Never." I murmured in her ear.  Embracing her, but
tighter, caressing her, but reaching further.  Over her back, her bottom,
then sliding a hand inside of her jeans, and kicking the door shut.  I
whipped my belt buckle open to make room for her hands.  "Sorry to be late,
honey.  Met an old friend at the airport, had to stop and catch up on old
times."

   "Old times?  But you never talk of your past.  You said that you worked
for the CIA and some other thing, NSA or something, but I don't care, you
are with me now.  You can tell me when you want to.  In the mean time, I
will tell you everything about me.  Since I met you at that show in
Raleigh, I just knew that you were the man for me, and now you are here in
my house.  The bedroom is this way, I can show you the rest latter.

   The night was a feast of passionate sex.  Deana's willing body pushed
hard by her desire to love, pushed me harder to please.  We rested, ate
cold sandwiches and were all over each other again, like horny teenagers.
Morning's light found us together, snuggling like new lovers.

   "Do you remember the first time we met?" She was sitting at the table,
pink nipples almost in her scrambled eggs, as she reached across the table.

   "You were standing on the stage, looking bored.  I remember being green
with envy.  Your hand rubbed the curves of the boat like it was a penis."

   "Joey!" She threw a small clump of scrambled egg at me as I made the
coffee.  "I did no such thing!"

   "You wore white jeans and a black top, with the companies logo over your
boobs.  Damn, that top showed off your tits."

   "Guys!  That is all they ever look at.  OK wise guy.  What shoes did I
have on?"

   "Black sandals with a heel.  Your toes were done in red.  Got ya!" I
leaned over and kissed her fully on red luscious lips.

   "Oh Joey, I will do anything to keep you.  Love you more than anything."

   "I know, honey."

   "Let me finish.  I never thought that I would ever meet a man like you.
Someone that I could trust completely.  I am thirty-seven now.  I have not
dated for years and years.  No children, my modeling work is everything for
me.  I put everything I have earned into this condo.  It is my pride and
joy.  Eleven months a year, I am on the road doing boat shows, car shows,
tractor pulls, you name it.  Anywhere they need a pretty girl.  Never quite
made the big time, guess I am not the right type, too down home.  Too much
jeans and t-shirts for the New York crowd.  One time I tried to hook up
with a country band, sang background stuff, but they folded.  A single
woman on the road, I get offers all of the time.  I could have bought this
apartment cash, if I wanted to turn tricks.  But that is not me.  Oh, I am
no virgin, but I save myself for one man.  I guess, that I am just a good
ole, country gal at heart.  I worked hard for what little I that I do
have." She picked up the cowboy hat from the back of the chair.  "Happy in
boots and a black Stetson."

   "And nothing else, I see." Nude in the morning light, the aroma of
morning coffee drifting in the air, her blonde hair spilled from beneath
the black hat.  Her face beamed in a broad smile.

   There was only one thing I could say, "I love you, Deana Clark.  I mean
that."



   Chapter 4 -- Down and Out

   That is how it started.  Days walking through the park hand in hand with
Deana.  Midnight dinners by candlelight.  Nights of sweet romance.  Stolen
breaks away to see Roxanne, while Deana worked the local household
suppliers convention.

   Locked in her motel room, I became Roxanne's lifeline.  Unlocking the
door, restocking the little refrigerator, providing her only human contact.
She had become a kept woman long ago.  Kept for sex.  Fantasy fulfilling
sex.  Though not necessarily for her.

   Strong leather bracelets on her wrists and ankles were tied to the
corners pulled her limbs tight.  Her whole body was taunt tight, trembling
like a guitar string.  Roxanne gulps for air.  Her naked body is covered in
sweat even though the men around her are comfortably sipping cold beers.  I
feel myself shrinking from her.  I collapse spent on her nude form,
protecting her from the next man in line for a little while longer.

   "I knew you would bring that." she said, standing with her hands crossed
across her breasts.  My exquisite captive wore a loose angora sweater that
fell to the crack of a freshly shaven pussy.  Her legs were bare, calf
muscles shapely in flaming red stiletto heels.  "I feel it better this way.
It makes the sex more immediate.  Intense.  Am I wicked?  Well, this is
what you and the others made of me.  And how you enjoyed drilling my
lessons into me."

   My time with Roxanne has become more precious.  Each minute more
desperate.  We struggle to recapture the passion of Joy Town.  For me it is
simple.  What does she seek?  Is it a murky, so very muddled desire for
simplicity from choices removed or lingering lessons beat into her from
Tam's whip?  Nerves just beneath her skin, pulsing, trained for so much
more, seeking a heightened stimulus while she revolts against the
humiliation.

   The bag is full of rope and broad leather bands for arms and legs.  The
sex is fierce.  Bound, stretched or suspended.  Each time different. 
Reaching for only the pure single sided satisfaction.  Mine.  For that is
how it is.  She must be satisfied with whatever little pleasures her body
can grab.  My visits get longer.

   She kneels at the foot of the bed, firmly bound, delicate wrists
securely tied behind her.  White goo drips from her chin to bare breasts.
The angora sweater long removed lays beside her.  "I always enjoyed your
oral talents.  You learned your lessons well in the clubs."

   "Must have.  Others also liked the way I suck."

   "I screwed both you and Sarah for a while.  Then traded you back to the
big man.  I needed the money.  You understand.  Last I heard, he auctioned
off both you and your daughter in Cambodia.  What became of you?"

   "Auctioned me.  A meat sale is what it was.  Lined us up, whipped and
fucked us until the money was right, then we found ourselves servicing sex
tours from Germany, the States, anywhere losers with two shillings to rub
together wanted to own a woman for a night.  No holds barred.  I dared not
say no.  It wouldn't have mattered if I did.  For they would meet, the
customers would, and share their fantasies.  They looked in the hard-core
porno magazines and picked their fancy.  Then they picked a woman.  I felt
like meat on the hoof.  I guess that is what they wanted.  Sarah and I were
kept with an American woman.  Colleen, a real beauty with reddish brown
hair.  With only three girls, we were kept busy, day and night."

   "Sarah's figure was filling out.  She had always made my owners a ton of
money, but now the demand was too great.  They came from all over, all
wanted to do Sarah.  My poor Sarah would come back from one group, filthy,
bruised, dead tired and be taken immediately by another.  My daughter was
booked solid for sixty days in advance.  A Japanese businessman took a
liking to her and stole her away, to be kept as a reward to his best
employees.  That is the last time that I saw her.  The owners had Sarah
booked, they had taken the payments in advance and now they couldn't
deliver.  So they did the only thing they could.  They dissolved the
business overnight.  Dragged Colleen and I out into the street.  The
drunken slobs from the other sex clubs on the strip emptied out to laugh, a
few to bid for western women.  They thought it all great sport.  Half nude,
they pushed us onto the bonnet of a car and under the flashing neon lights
put two full grown women up for sale."

   "Colleen was dragged, kicking and screaming her head off, into a black
limousine.  I never saw her again.  I ended up being the private property
of a Thai store owner who could barely support himself.  Any money he made
selling vibrators and smuggled cigarettes, he spent in whore houses.  Now I
was sleeping on the floor over his tiny store front.  I had to clean his
damn store on my hands and knees, then fuck him and his friends.  Then he
sat me in his store window sucking on a plastic cock.  Then he started
including me as sort of a bonus, to clinch his sales.  `Buy some batteries
and get to hard fuck the tamed English woman.' He was a savage.  Every
night, the fucker took my ass.  When a salesman from Hong Kong took an
interest in me, I threw myself at him.  He must have felt sorry for me, he
rescued me by trading a 21 inch Sony for me."

   "For a while I traveled all over Thailand and Cambodia with him.  He
bought a passport for me.  I carried his sample case through airports, did
his laundry and sat at his feet, looking pretty while he made his sales. 
They like that.  At night I was his sex toy.  There was no running away. 
Nights, I was kept chained to the toilet.  It was not too bad, for me.  I
was like his obedient dog.  His company got wind of a big account in
Africa. A mega rich German noble, was refurbishing an old estate out in the
wild.  His company wanted him to sell them a security system.  That is how
I came to meet the mistress of the house, the eccentric Madame Freya.  B.F.
liked me to kneel quietly beside him, as he made his sales pitch.  Having
an obedient woman at your feet was very prestigious where he came from, but
here it was quite disruptive.  Madame, was more interested in me, than his
products.  She wanted to know if I minded.  He laughed at that, and
explained that it was no matter.  To demonstrate, he ordered me to raise
Madame's dress and kiss her crotch.  What could I do?  You can't take a
beating every time.  So I did it.  Freya was fascinated.  She made an offer
for me but B.F.  would have nothing of it.  She raised the price and kept
raising it until he give in.  B.F.  was really sorry to loose me.  He cried
as he counted his cash.  As he said, the markup was just too high."



   Chapter 5 -- Taking it Down

   Madame Freya kept a scandalous old estate.  She never told me where I
was, but the staff spoke German.  She had cooks, maids, a butler,
chauffeur, the household manager was the enforcer.  Everyone had a job. 
Mine was to provide sexual services on the demand of her staff, as well as
her guests.  Freya enjoyed hosting `parlor games' for her guests.  And I
was to be the entertainment, the more perverted the better.  Every night I
was expected in her private chambers.  I put everything I had into pleasing
her in bed.  After a year she began to trust me.  She left me unchained.  I
could go most anywhere in the house but was not let onto the grounds.  I
began to plead with her for my freedom.  After sex, I would beg, pausing
only to lick her, as she cooled down.  I had learned how to please a woman
in Joy Town, and how Madame loved my attentions!  For hours, Freya had me
in full maids outfit, fish net stockings, scooped neckline, tits bursting
out, down between her legs, licking and sucking that old ladies cunt."

   "After a year, Madame consented to grant her fateful lover and party
whore her freedom.  She made a game of my freedom.  Old Freya did enjoy her
games.  The game was, freedom after and only after, the poor creature
swallowed six liters of cum.  Do you realize how many men that is?  Over
five gallons!" Roxanne had laid her head in my satisfied lap, her bare
breasts warm on my legs.  Her neck muscles tense under my fingers.

   "What it is like?  Can you even begin imagine?." Roxanne was speaking
softly but swiftly.  As if rushing to ease the pain.

   "Madame calculated everything.  Twenty four hundred, that is the number
she arrived at.  Two thousand, four hundred ejaculations for me to swallow.
Oh, she ran tests, or more accurately had me run tests.  All done very
scientifically, in her precise, so very methodical way.  On my knees,
sucking until I was blue, each load scraped of my face, into the specimen
jar.  She recorded it all.  Date, time, who, how long I took to satisfy
him. Her guests enjoyed it all.  They thought it great fun.  Oh to be sure,
their wives and girl friends thought it good sport also, to have me naked
at their feet, asking them if I may stick my head under their designer gown
before sucking off their man.  Great fun to have every drop wiped from my
hair and measured, calculated and averaged.  Twenty four hundred hot pricks
discharging down my throat.  That was my price for freedom."

   "Freedom, that I, on my knees, had to buy back.  And she insisted that I
not spill a drop.  I had to do it.  What choice did I, her sex slave, have?
Sarah needs me.  I have to find her.  Help her.  I went at it as hard as I
have perused anything in my life.  Harder actually.  I offered myself to
every man that visited the estate.  I kept myself up.  Did myself up as
pretty as I could.  Oh, I was motivated.  They got the best blow jobs ever,
for I wanted them to come back.  I had to make my numbers.  Twenty four
hundred.  Six liters.  Some were huge.  They filled me, gagging me with
their cum.  They laughed, as it spurted from the corners of my lips, for
they knew that to Madame Freya, it would not count.  Others were bastards,
and laughed as they pulled up their pants, laughed and didn't tell Madame.
Their wives and girl friends laughed at the British whore, when hot gook
shot all over my face."

   "They all knew how important it was for me to swallow every bit of the
sticky gunk from their cock, or worse, they would say that I spit up.  That
would make me loose my entire days consumption.  Madame assumed that I spit
up everything.  It had to be recorded in that oversize leather journal of
her's, for it to count.  It is there now, I am sure of it.  In her den,
amidst the mahogany paneling, the leather riding crops, on her desk in
brown embossed leather.  Her gnarled old hand, noted the date and time of
every man I that I sucked off, every penis draining load I had to take down
my throat."

   To a girl well trained in sexual services, bound arms are a minor,
though she hopes, temporary inconvenience.  Roxanne had been trained by the
best.  With her arms immobilized, her warm face nuzzled against my cock,
she brushed away her tears, while giving me a delightful treat.  Her knees
now rested comfortably on the discarded sweater, as she lay between my
outstretched legs.  Her back is bare, smooth to my touch.  I remember how
when it was criss-crossed with welts, you could read their age, like the
rings of a tree.  The healing faint pink of last week's stripes, lashed
over with new angry red whip marks.  Now composed, she shakes hair from her
misty eyes and continues in her deliberate, sensuous voice.

   "Somedays, Madame Freya assigned me demerits for being lax in my
household duties, taking away from my tally.  How I cried myself to sleep.
I can't tell you how important every load of semen was to me.  Every bitter
salty wad was one swallow closer to freedom.  I could taste it.  There were
days when their were no male guests.  Then I threw myself at the household
staff, even the gardener and old butler.  The gardener considered himself a
stud.  Oh, he was big all right, big enough to make me gag, but he took
forever to cum, and then he tasted of garlic.  All night I could taste
him." Roxanne was staring across the lobby, lost in her horror.  I too was
felling it.  Feeling myself growing.

   "They quickly caught on.  Soon I had to agree to fuck them first.  First
a few times, then a few more, until I had to accept ten.  Ten fucks and
then they would consent to so graciously shoot their seed in my mouth.  And
I was happy for it too.  Let me tell you, I was ecstatic.  Out of them I
could get only one or two mouthfuls to be recorded in Madame Freya, neat
handwriting every two weeks.  And then only if I begged them to tell Madame
Freya.  Begged them and offered to do their chores.  Just keeping track of
how many fucks I owed them was pure hell."

   My cock is throbbing ready again for her attentions.  Roxanne licks the
length of my shaft and with a glance at me, continues.  "The party guests
were my ticket.  I lived for sucking cocks.  I sucked their girlfriends, to
be allowed a taste of their men.  I quickly found that I could only swallow
four or at most five loads at a time before becoming violently sick.  Of
course if I spit anything up, the whole days work was disqualified.  Madame
Freya, made the rules, I only sucked.  It took me six long years to fuck,
suck and swallow for my liberty."







   Chapter 6 -- Beaten Down

   I was captivated.  The thought stayed with me.  The thought of her
forced to swallow, seeking it out and all because of me.  I found myself
stealing away from lovely days spent with my dear Deana to visit Roxanne.
During long mornings in bed with Deana, we satisfied each other, but my
head flashed with the strobe images of a submissive Roxanne.  Deana takes
all my loving.  From me, Roxanne takes a different kind of love.

   The little motel room is looking more and more like Vopat's back room.
Hooks have been sunk into the bed the walls, the ceiling, anywhere that a
woman can be tied or hung.  Roxanne's back is again covered with scarlet
red strap marks.  The woman takes it all.  I try to outdo her.  I hang her
upside down but she does not resist.  Does not even complain.  Just takes
the harsh rope to each ankle, takes her hands being pulled behind.  She
takes me in her quivering cunt, in her soft mouth.  She takes the vibrator
ride to a body shaking orgasm as I lash at her inverted breasts.  Her pain,
humiliation and pleasure are all mixed together.  She services my cock in
every way, but I save sweet love for my lovely country girl, Deana.  I have
begun to leave the motel door unlocked.  Whether she notices or not, I
can't tell, but every night she waits so patiently for me.  She senses it
too.  Maybe she smells or tastes another woman.  One night she asks.  For
hours I talk about my lovely Deana.  She wants to met her.  There is
nothing to mask from a woman that you beat.

   In exchange for the few dollars of damage to the room, I offer my sex
slave's considerable range of sexual services to Gramps, the owner.  He
doesn't ask any questions, he just enjoys the lavish services bestowed upon
his cock.  Never having whipped a woman before, he is taken by her
markings. I give him a choice of a light crop, or a whip with many strands.
He takes the crop to the back of her upper thighs.  She can't help but to
scream in agony, so he gags her and starts again.



   Chapter 7 -- Getting Off

   "Can I?  Can I look now?"

   "Just a little farther, Deana.  Watch your step."

   "It smells musky in here.  Sexy.  Smells of a woman."

   They are both surprised, but Deana is in pure shock to see Roxanne
standing totally nude in the cluttered, messy motel room.

   Roxanne, recovers first.  "So this is your daytime woman, that you talk
so much about.  Your lover." Her back straight and her arms folded under
her whip marked breasts, like a shark, she circles the still disbelieving
Deana.  "Smashing good looks, but shallow."

   "That is enough Roxanne.  Assume your greeting position.  You are going
to please your new Mistress."

   "You are right Joe, enough is enough." Roxanne sits on the bed, pulling
on a pair of jeans.

   "What are you doing?  Assume your greeting position." I demand.

   "No more Joe.  I am giving the orders now." She stood to fasten her
waist.  "I start with you.  Have your little floozy strip."

   "What?  I will teach you!  Where are my whips?  What have you done with
them?  I will..."

   "Joe.  Oh my poor old Joe.  You have become such a dinosaur.  You just
don't understand, do you?  Have another go at it.  It's not about male
strength anymore.  You and that flabby bastard had strength over me in Joy
Town.  Madame Freya had strength over me at her estate, but now I have the
power.  Oh you are stronger than I, but you can't use those male muscles
against me.  Can you?  You can not hurt me, like I could not walk out that
door."

   "You knew the door was unlocked?"

   "We are intertwined."

   "Intertwined?"

   "Since the time you imprisoned me in your apartment in Joy Town.  You
remember that don't you Joe?"

   Yes I remember Joy Town and the apartment.  She is chained to the floor.
For two weeks she has hunched under the heavy links.  For both work and
sleep.  A collar around her neck keeps her from speaking.  It leaves little
pink shock stings all around her pretty neck.  Kept naked, given mind
numbing chores with harsh punishments, Roxanne is learning a valuable
lesson.  How to barter with her body and her looks, for the daily
necessities.  Food, water, bathroom privileges.  She must do this and keep
her lipstick done right, hair brushed, her legs and most importantly her
pussy shaved, always be perky, a willing and enthusiastic fuck, so she is
attractive for me.  I like to take her like that, on the table.

   "It is called the Stockholm Syndrome, honey.  Psychologists call it
traumatic bonding.  I studied it after I was freed from Madame Freya's. 
Hostages who are helpless and must depend totally on their captors for
their daily existence, begin to feel an affection for their captors.  It is
all rather common.  Surprisingly, it is more pronounced when torture is
involved.  There is an emotional transference that makes the captive view
their own well being as depending on the happiness of their captors. 
Captors whom she begins to love as well as to fear.  When you brought me to
orgasm while punishing me, love and fear got blended hopelessly into one.
They understand the syndrome well enough in Chile.  There it is a common
brainwashing and interrogation technique."

   "What is not so well known, in academic circles, is when intense and
prolonged sexual abuse occurs, there is, what the shrinks call, a
protective affiliation that works both ways.  The more intense the sexual
gratification the stronger the captor's connection to his victim.  There
has always been something between us anyway.  It is undeniable.  I need
you, but your psyche craves me even more.  See my dinosaur, you are chained
to me.  You can not see them, but you are feeling them now.  They are wide
and stronger than steel.  And I can pull your chain whenever I want."

   Roxanne pulled on a blouse, tucking it neatly into the waistband. 
"Those are nice boots." she said to Deana.  "I will take those."

   "You look perplexed, Joe.  Not at all like Joy Town, is it?  Never had
to think so hard, have you?  It can be easy, just behave and I won't turn
you in to the authorities or the syndicate.  I will make it easy for you
and let you use those muscles.  Start by telling this ditz, to give me her
boots.  You love her.  I can see your love for her.  Don't deny it.  You
don't want to loose her, do you?  You don't have to, Joe.  You can still
have her.  It is just that things are a little different now.  Cute perky
Deana will be working the streets for me.  Like I had to fuck and suck at
your command, now she will do what I say.  Deana will make me a lot of
money."

   "Tell her, Joe.  Tell her now."

   "Better, take off your clothes, Deana."



   -Stroker AceComments welcome gentclub@hotmail.com

   Notes from the author:

   Sorry for the way it had to turn out for our old friend, Joe.

   While not described in the story, Joe turns out to be Roxanne's house
boy, torn between his need to obey Roxanne and his adoration of Deana. 
Roxanne someday will seek to find and reunite with her daughter.  Poor Joe
finds himself ending up like Roxanne was, being dragged around the globe,
sexually servicing on demand and watching his love being used and
humiliated by a woman that he loves even stronger.

   Ahh, well he should have listened to his mother: Whatever goes around,
comes around.
   Stroker Ace