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<pre>

"Captive Kajira"

******
Installment 1

You sit in the back of a speeding car as it races along the
nearly empty highway in the early morning hours.  You're strapped
into a special adult carseat, straitjacketed so you can't reach
any of the buckles, your ankles encircled by padlocked leather
straps linked by a short chain.  Your tongue was pulled out and a
wide clamp applied to it which prevents you from moving it, and
makes you unable to stop the drool from dribbling from your
mouth.  During the long journey since you put into the car no one
has said a word to tell you where you are going or for what
purpose, nor did anyone speak to you when you where seized off the
street, thrown into a van, taken to an remote airfield and put in
a plane.  Since you disembarked in another empty airfield and
were loaded in the car you've been able to watch the road signs,
as you were not blindfolded, and if someone recognized the signs
they'd know you were being taken into the vast emptyness of
northcentral Pennsylvania, a place with few permanent residents,
mainly visited so that one may kill the deer, and sometimes, the
dear.  No one seems concerned that you might ever report where
you are being taken.

At last the car pulls off the highway and drives through the
empty streets of a town you've never been to or heard of.  It
pulls up to what appears to be a multistory warehouse.  The two
men in the front seat unstrap you from your carseat and pull you
from the car, then put a leash around your neck.  One man takes
the leash, the places the barrel of a large caliber revolver
between your eyes, and says "Our contract permits us to kill you
at any time before final delivery, and still get paid.  Final
delivery is about to occur; don't do anything silly before then".
Then, with a tug and the leash and a gunbarrel pressing your left
kidney, you begin hobbling towards a door.  The door leads to a
set of stairs, and dragged forwards by the leash you struggle up
the steep stairs, your ankle chains just barely long enough to
let you get part of your foot on the next stair and barely keep
your balance as you are pulled forwards.  After going up three
flights of 13 steps each, a short distance but exhausting under
the circumstances, you are dragged through another door, and led
down a hall. At the end of the hall is a locked steel door, which
one of your escorts opens by keying in a combination.

You are pushed through the door into a windowless room empty save
for a cage, about six feet high with a four square foot floor
space, and four canisters placed around the room.  Shoved towards
the cage, you see it contains a case. "OK, reset the combination"
one of your escorts says, and the other pushes a button on the
wall, changing the combination, and opening the cage.  The man
holding your leash opens the case, and counts some money.  "It's
all here", he says, and pushes you into the cage and closes the
door behind you.  It locks automatically.

"Your new owner will come to collect you", he who had held your
leash says.  "I don't know when, or who he or she is; they always
leave the money, and we leave the slave.  They probably know
you're here, but they won't show up for awhile, just in case we
where followed or tried to double cross them.  If we try to open
the door to leave here without your weight registering on the
weight sensitive floor of this cage, those canisters will flood
the room with chlorine gas and everyone in this room will die.
When we leave the door will lock again, and if someone keys in
the new combination wrongly, or if anyone moves anywhere inside
this room, except inside this cage, the gas will be released. You
just stand there like a good little slavegirl until they come for
you, and pray no one saw us bring you here and tries to rescue
you".

At that, the two men go to the door and press a button.  It
opens, and they quickly exit.  As the door closes, you hear
tumblers whirl then click, and the lights go out, leaving you
standing alone and caged in the utter blackness.

*****
Installment 2

Time stretches on, hour after hour.  Standing in your cage,
unable to sit, you lose track of time.  In the first few hours
you have periods where your frustration builds up till you have
to do something and you struggle to escape the tight
straitjacket, but your efforts are futile.  As time wears on and
your fatigue increases, you cease struggling.  You're getting
weak, it's been so long on your feet, your legs are getting
rubbery and you feel vaguely naseaous.  You slump against the
bars of the cage, no longer able to stand up.  You're trying not
to throw up, since the clamp on your numb tongue which covers
your mouth will make it hard to clear your mouth, and choking on
your own vomit isn't how you want to die; the effort not to
through up naturally makes you even more naseaous.  The smell of
own urine from the inevitable result of so many hours without
bathroom access doesn't help any. Your tongue and mouth and
throat are so very dry.  In the many hours of your captivity your
concerns have gone from "who are these people and what do they
want" to "what are they going to do to me" to your present
concerns "let me sit down, give me some water".

A building makes so many sounds we never usually notice.  It
creaks, pipes ping and hiss. Small sounds that in the normal
bustle never exceed the threshold of our awareness.  But alone
in a dark and silent building these sounds can become a dreadful
cacophony.  Is that ping someone at the door ?  Does that creak
indicate a panel opening to admit someone to the room ?  That
creak, is someone moving there in the dark ?  In the first few
hours these sounds torment you, but eventually you become too
sick and tired, literally, to pay any attention to them.  And so
you don't realize someone is at the door until the room is bathed
in light, bright lights set in the ceiling and in all the walls
filling the room with blinding light, no matter where you turn
your poor burning eyes a white wall of pain assaults them.  You
hear people moving.  Some part of your brain registers that the
sound is that made by high heels, but you're too tired and sick
and in too much pain to be aware of what you know.  The door to
the cage opens and someone tugs on the straitjacket and you fall
forward and hit the hard floor with a thud.

"I don't think she's going to be much trouble", a female voice
says. You dare to open your eyes briefly in the direction of the
voice and catch a glimpse of a fortyish brunette wearing dark
wraparound sunglasses before you must close your eyes again.  One
person holds you by the straps of the straitjacket while another
takes your legs, and they lift you into something, first setting your
on your knees on a soft surface.  You feel something fit over
your nose, it's strap fastened behind your head. Then your head
is pushed forwards till your forehead touches the floor and the
top of your head the padded side of what you realize is some kind
of box, and as they close the lid and it presses your back you
realize that your in a padded box that fits you precisely,
pressing against your buttocks and back and sides and head and
preventing you from making even the smallest movement.  You can
open your eyes now, but you're back in total darkness and can see
nothing.  After a moment you feel a cold flow on your nose and
realize that they're pumping oxygen into the box [more
accurately, though you have no way to know it, the box is in two
compartments, one to hold the prisoner, the other to hold tanks
of oxygen and a quantity of semtex; this container also requires
a combination to be safely opened, if breached w/o the correct
combination being entered, the plastic explosive will be
triggered, and no identifiable parts of the occupant will remain
(and not much of whoever opens it).  When the lid is closed, a
pump begins supply oxygen to the captive, who would quickly
suffocate in this airtight and soundproof box should the oxygen
run out.]

You feel the box being picked up and carried, then raised and
rested on some solid surface.  Then a push and "OH GOD I'M
FALLING" you realize as the box free falls down a long shaft,
plummetting several stories before it's caught in an airbag.
You're unharmed, but the time it takes for the women
collecting you to ride down the elevator to the basement garage
and collect you is nowhere near enough time for your pounding
heart to slow down, so as the box is picked up and placed in
a van you can still hear the echoes of your own heartbeat in your
tiny prison.

*****
Installment Three

The drive from the warehouse is thankfully short, then your box
is picked up and carried to you know not where.  You can hear
nothing, you've no idea where you are or what's happening.  In
fact, you've been left in the dungeon until I have a free moment
to open the box (like the other devices we use, the combinations
are constantly changed; this one's combination was reset before
it was given to Sandra and Christine to use in your transport, and
once it was closed no one I was the only one who could open it
without triggering the bomb).  I'm busy with preparations for
today's party, and there's enough oxygen to keep you for a while.

Eventually, I find a free moment, and open up the case.  You're
too stiff, too tired, and most of all, too smart, to move, so I
unbuckle the oxygen mask and grab you by your blonde hair and
pull your head up, and then back so I can get a good look.

"Not bad", I say. "You probably have a lot of questions.  Well,
save your breathe.  You're not here to ask questions.  You may be
asked some, and you *will* answer, no matter how sensitive the
subject, but that's not why you're here either.  You're not here
to talk, you're here to obey, and to suffer, and the primary use
of your voice from now on will be to scream".

I pull you from the box, and push you towards Deborah and
Christine, who catch you and hold you up.  "Tell your mother that
this one should be cleaned up, and should get enough rest to have
some energy tonight.  I don't think she'll give you any trouble,
but if she does she's to be overpowered without marking her, and
there's to be no punishment.  I want her pristine for tonight.
Any marks on her and I'll whip the ass of every Anson in the
house". The girls [both in their early twentys, about 5'5";
Christine is blonde and buxom, Deborah is a younger version of
her mother, dark and slender] start to drag you off to Sandra,
their mother and my slave for nearly twenty years, who raised the
daughters of her late husband (the man was offered a fair price
for his females, but wouldn't listen to reason) as my slaves.  I
notice that you aren't drooling, and tell the girls to stop.
Removing the clamp from your tongue, I see how parched you are.
"Thirsty ?", I inquire, and you nod weakly. "Let's take a walk" I
say, and lead on, D&C struggling to carry you and keep up with
me.

We go outside to a row of large doghouses.  At one of them
there's what looks like a small horse trough, with what looks
like a small horse drinking from it, but is really just a
mastiff.  I gesture to the girls and while I pat the dog, they
lay you down alongside the trough, then back away.  "Hello Cerby,
that's a good dog.  Say hello to Kajira", I say, pointing to you,
and the friendly animal bounds over and straddles you while
licking your face happily, his abundant drool dripping all over
you.  "Slave", I say, and Cerby backs up a bit and puts his paws
on your chest and starts growling and barking, his large face
inches from yours. "Sit", I say, and he quiets and sits down, but
keeps a careful eye on you.  "He's really a sweet dog, but he has
been taught to stop any slaves outside the house and hold them
till I come.  If he has to tear your leg off to stop you, he
will, but he doesn't have anything against you.  Perhaps at the
party, if things get boring, you'll get to see how affectionate
he can be", I tell you.

"Now, as to your being thirsty", I saw, pulling you to your knees
facing the trough, "drink". You look into the water and all the
foamy drool and bits of dog food floating in it, and look at me,
and I give you a hard look.  Your fear and your thirst overwhelm
your revulsion, and you lower you face to the water, your hair
falling in the trough as you do, and begin drinking.  When
patches of foam float toward your mouth you raise your mouth and
try to move elsewhere, but I grab your hair and, holding it
tightly, put your mouth back where it was and say "Drink, bitch".
You hesitate and I say, softly but with unmistakable conviction
"Drink, or I'll drown you right here, right now".  Reluctantly,
you start drinking again, swallowing the foamy drool, and keep
drinking.  When you don't think you can swallow anymore, you try
to raise your face from the water, but I press it down and say
"Keep drinking", which you do, with a growing sense of nausea
that leads you to try to raise your head a couple more times, but
I keep your face down, and tell you to drink until I tell you
otherwise.  When you appear on the verge of throwing up, I shove
your head completely under the water, then quickly pull it back,
and carry you over to D&C.  "Take her to Sandra; tell your mother
to make certain that the prisoner isn't restrained in any way
that she might choke on her vomit.  Tell her I'll feed her your
clits for breakfast if this woman isn't available and ready to
scream at tonight's party.  Go !", I say, and they scurry off,
dragging away a heavier burden than they had previously brought.

************
Installment 4

"So this is the guest of honor", Sandra says, looking you over
as you lay straitjacketed and hobbled on the ground at her feet,
where D&C have thrown you down. "I like the multihued blonde hair;
let's see what's under the straitjacket".

D&C pick you up and stand you against a post, wrap an ace
bandage around your throat and the post, then wrap the leash
around the bandage and put a clamp on it to keep it in place.
It's tight, but you can breathe, so long as you don't move.  The
straitjacket comes off, and Debbie and Christine immediately
seize your hands and cuff them behind the post.  Sandra takes a
long, sharp, single-edged blade and holds it in front of your
face, turning it so you can see the light glint on the stainless
steel.

"I really don't want to cut you; I just want orange juice for
breakfast.  But my master says that I'm to prepare you, and that
your clothes are to be cut from your body.  If you squirm, you'll
get cut, and if you aren't in satisfactory condition for today's
events, my daughters will be harmed.  Don't imagine that anything
the Master says is hyperbole; I *will* be forced to eat their
severed clits tomorrow if I present a damaged unit to him.  He's
very particular about special guests, a couple nicks will ruin
you. So after I nick you a couple times, I've nothing to lose if
I carve you up real bad.  I *strongly* suggest you exercise some
self-control", she says, and the tip of the knife slides down
your throat, slips under your blouse and pops off a button.  It
works it's way down your abdomen, removing the buttons of your
blouse.  She then pulls the lifts the fabric of your blouse at
your left shoulder, punctures it, slides the tip of the knife
under it, and slides the blade down your arm, the dull edge
riding along your bare flesh while the sharp edge slices the
arm and cuff of the blouse.  The action is repeated on your
right arm, then the blouse is pulled off you.

"These are nice", Sandra says, hefting your breasts.  She then
slides the knife, sharp edge out, into your cleavage, and cuts
your bra, then slices the bra straps, and pulls away the remnants
to eye your breasts some more.  "With those tits and your pretty
face, you might just survive for a while.  A word of advice, hon,
you've heard about the importance of first impressions ?  Well,
here they're a matter of life and death.  If you don't make a
good impression tonight, you'll be tortured to death over the
next few days.  If they think you're a valuable piece of
property, they'll still torture you, but they won't allow you to
die.  I suppose it's a matter of personal preference which is
better.  If you'd rather be dead, don't worry, it's real easy to
die here at the Master's Dear Farm".

Advice ended, the knife slides under the the waist of your jeans,
and slices easily through the denim. Soon the scraps of your
jeans are being pulled away by the girls, who grimace a bit at
the smell of your urine soaked panties.  "A long journey, heh ?",
Sandra asks as she cuts them, then pulls them away with just the
knife, raising the blade to your face to hold the stinking fabric
to your face.  "Hmm, no shit.  You must have to go real bad.
That's convenient.  Before we clean you up, we'll let you relieve
yourself, and then show you some things that should help you get
a grip on where you are now.  Most people just can't believe it
until they see it, they can't comprehend just how long the
journey has been from their former lives to the Dear Farm, and
they don't behave appropriately, to their regret".

D&C have brought a large bowl, and place it on a bench.  They
unclamp and unwrap the leash and the bandage from your neck, and
briefly free your hands, then fasten them again as soon as you
are free of the post.  The chain holding your ankles is removed
from the leather cuffs, which are left on your ankles.  They pull
on the leash and lead you to the bench. "Wait", Sandra says, and
sends Deborah off while Christine keeps hold of your leash.
Deborah soon returns with a video camera, and records the events
as you are ordered to squat over the bowl and shit while Deborah
records it.  You balk, and Sandra takes out a tube and sprays it
in your face, and you fall to the ground screaming and crying.
After a few minutes, D&C pick you up and lead you to a hose,
where they run cool water over your face and eyes until the
burning stops.  "That won't leave any marks on you; by the time
you have to be ready the redness and swelling will be gone.
Don't think you can be uppity just because we can't mark you;
there are many ways to hurt you that won't mar you.  Now, you
can shit, or you can take another shot in the face.  Your choice;
shit or shot.  I don't care, I kinda like seeing you cry".
This time you squat over the bowl, and push, and begin to shit
while the videotape records you squating there, wearing just your
shoes and leather on your wrists, ankles, and neck while you
relieve yourself.  "Better", Sandra says while Christine replaces
the chain between your ankles.  "Walkies !", Sandra sings out,
and Christine yanks your leash, and the group heads off, you
shuffling your feet as quickly as you can in order to keep up.

After a short walk, you come upon an intriguing sight.  A young
woman, in her early twenties it appears, lays very tautly
spreadeagled between four posts set firmly in the ground.  Her
hands are discolored and her wrists lacerated from the tight
cords around her wrists, her ankles are in snug but safe leather
cuffs.  She's naked, and her slender form glistens as the hot sun
hits the sun block that's been rubbed over her.  She's still at
the moment, her long honey blonde hair partly covering her face,
which is turned to one side, and she appears to be unconscious.
Between her legs a man's head sticks up out of the dirt, the rest
of him being buried to the neck.  He's facing his girlfriend, his
face so close to her pussy that if he stuck his tongue out he
could almost touch it.  His head has been shaved, and he's badly
sunburned, with parched lips that have seen no fluid in a long
time.

"So she still hasn't taken pity on the poor boy", Sandra says to
the men attending the couple.  "Nope", one of them answers,
"we've fingered her clit and her nips and her g-spot and used
several vibrators on her, but she still won't lubricate enough to
give her boyfriend a drink". "And in this heat", Sandra says.
"Such a selfish little bitch. Well, we're through being nice to
her, if she's got that kind of attitude.  Bring 'Old Faithful'
here and we'll show her how it's done".  One of the men leaves,
and while the group waits Sandra adds some warm water to the bowl
and stirs your turds into a paste.  In a few minutes, the man
returns, leading a pale, petite redhead on a leash.  She's naked
save for a leather training harness over her head which
incorporates a blindfold and gag, walking with difficulty because
of the spreader bar that keeps her legs far apart.  There's a
encircling her arms and holding them against her body, but her
wrists are not fastened, nor would there be there much point in
fastening them, as she has no hands.  "This is 'Old Faithful',
the most reliable gusher known", Sandra says.  "Her sexual
capacities are most remarkable, she gushes with the slightest
stimulation, and she can easily be brought to the most explosive
orgasms. Unfortunately for her, she couldn't be taught not to
touch herself, and gushed and came at too many inappropriate
moments. That's why her hands were cut off, and it was decided
that she'd wear the spreader bar at all times, except when *we*
want her to come.  We don't need her to come just know, but this
young man will die soon without fluid, and his girlfriend - they
were vacationing together and got lost and ended up here asking
for directions; we've been directing them ever since - won't help
him, so we'll have to do it for her. Now", Sandra ponders, "how
do we arrange this.  Let's get the useless little bitch's legs
out of the way".

The young woman's legs were released, reducing the strain on her
body, and causing her to raise her head enough to make the hair
fall away and reveal delicate features showing a mix of pain and
relief.  The relief is short lived, as stakes are driven into
the ground by her flanks, and her legs pulled up and her knees
pressed to the ground on either side of her, and kept in place
by being tied to the stakes.  "Old Faithful" is placed on the
ground, leaning back on the girl's raised buttocks, her pussy
near the boy's mouth, into which a vise has been inserted to
make him open wide.  Debbie and Christine begin to stroke the
prominent nipples of OF's small breasts while one of the men
fingers her pussy, and then pulls his hand away as she begins to
lubricate, and then the pussy juice squirts out, hitting the boy
in the face, some of it going into his mouth.  "Not one of her
better efforts, but it will do", Sandra says.  "She has other
uses as well", she says, signaling the men to reposition OF, this
time making her kneel alongside the young blonde.  Sandra removes
the strap that held the redhead's arms, and positions her stumps
over the blonde's pussy and anus.  "Fuck the bitch", Sandra hisses
into the kneeling woman's face, and the slave starts thrusting
her arms, pushing her left stump into the blonde's pussy, then
pushing her right stump into her anus, then pushing deeper into
her pussy, alternately thrusting into the young woman's dry
holes, not slowing when the girl starts to scream, knowing that
she can do nothing to help any other prisoner, and after awhile
her arms as as far into the blonde's vagina and rectum as she can
go, and unable to push any further she starts rotating her arms
from side to side to increase the friction inside the young girl,
until her screams cease and Sandra says she can withdraw her
arms.  One stump is covered in shit, and while smelling salts
are used to revive the unconscious girl, OF is repositioned
again, this time so she can put her stump over the young lady's
mouth.  She gags and tries to turn her head away, but Sandra puts
the tip of her knife an infinitesimal distance from the surface
of the girl's right eye, and then she dares not move, and Sandra
says, "Clean it off".  The girl does nothing for a moment, and
Sandra says "A dry hole like you isn't particularly valuable to
us; if you aren't a good fuck, you'd better be able to perform
other services.  If you can't, there's no reason why I shouldn't
slice your eye right now", and the girl begins to like clean the
shit-stained stump.

While she's cleaning it, Deborah takes the vise from the boys
mouth, noting that he'd been unable to swallow, and most of the
pussy juice that had reached his mouth drained out of it.  But
a few drops are better than nothing.  The vise is put in the
girl's mouth when she gets done cleaning the stump (at which time
"Old Faithfull" is lead back to the cool, dark, and solitary cell
in which she's usually kept, the better to prevent dehydration),
and stakes driven into the ground a couple feet from her head.
D&C took the girl's long hair and pull it into two sections,
and tie each section with ropes that are then tied to the
stakes, leaving her with her hair being pulled tightly and unable
to raise her head.

"You know", Sandra says as she squats by the honey-blonde head,
"a pretty thing like you could spend most of her timing fucking,
if she cooperated.  Around here, fucking and sucking is light
duty.  But if you're going to be little Miss Moral, and not play
nice with us, we'll find other ways to have fun with you", at
which Sandra begins spooning shit into the girl's mouth.  When
the girl's mouth is full, Sandra says "We're going to leave you
like this for a few hours.  By that time the pain in your legs
will be quite exquisite; you're pretty limber, which is one
reason we're going to keep trying to make you useful for a little
while longer.  But not much longer.  Think about how awful it is
to have to lay like that with a mouthfull of shit, and hopefully
you'll try harder next time we tell you to do something".

Standing, she says, "Don't think we've forgotten you, Mr. Head.
It must be pretty rough with the sun beating down on you like
that.  But we've got some really good sunblock for you", she says
as she squats by the head, and begins to cover it completely with
a thin layer of shit.

****************
Installment 5

D&C lead you to a shower.  "Time to clean you up", Christine
says.  Your ankles are released, and fastened by rope to widely
spread "O" rings, then your hands are tied together in front of
you before the wrist ropes are fastened to a hook which is raised
ubtil you are on tiptoe.  Deborah and Christine watch you until
your legs start to tremble, then Deborah departs.  Some time
later, she returns driving a small cart, having brought some
cleaning supplies and a young boy. He looks to be 12 or 13 years
old.  "This is Ryan, the son of one of our voluntary guests.
Ryan, this is Kajira, who at present is a captive guest.  She
need to be washed, would you like to do that ? ", Christine asks,
as she sprays warm water over you. "Sure !", the boy answers.
"Good, here's the stuff, have fun. She's nice and wet now, how'll
about you soap her up for us". Ryan looks over the material, then
plunges his hands into the box of soft soft, and with two soapy
hands begins rubbing your breasts, gently at first but with
growing force.  On the fourth layer of soap he's rubbing your
breasts very hard.  "Uh, Ryan ?", Christine says, "I think her
breasts are pretty well lathered. Do you think you could lather
the rest of her ?"  After that, the boy rubs some soap over your
arms and shoulders and neck and face.  Some of the soap gets in
your eyes and you gasp and shake your head, and he backs away,
but Christine laughs and says "Don't worry about it, the soap
won't do any real damage, it just hurts like hell".  He steps
back up, smearing the soap in your face, pushing some in your
mouth and making you gag.  He smears soap over your arms and neck
and rubs it into your ribs and belly.  "She's got a back, you
know", Deborah says, so the young man begins lathering your
shoulders and back and hips, by which point he's in quite a
lather himself, and condition that isn't helped any by rubbing
his hands over your buttocks.  He hesitates a bit, then begins
rubbing and squeezing your thighs, his hands sliding up and down
them, especially the inside part, reaching higher each time,
until he suddenly begins to rub your knees, and then his hands
slide down your left calf and over your upraised foot, where he
pauses for a moment, then you feel his finger playing over the
sole of your foot for a few seconds.  Not getting a response from
you, he lathers your right leg and foot without any tickling.

"Ah, I think you missed something", Christine says.  "Go ahead,
it's alright".  Ryan's right hand slides into your crotch and
rubs in the soap, gingerly at first, his fingertips exploring
the vacinity, then with growing fervor, rubbing in several
layers of soap before his fervor overcomes his fear and he slides
a soapy finger inside you, a bit at a time, then withdraws it and
slides it back in again, repeating this several times.
 "Would you like to fuck her ?", Christine asks.
 "Oh, god, yes", he gasps.
 "I'm sorry, hon, she can't be fucked yet.  She's still a guest,
 even if she is an involuntary one, and can't just be used.  Soon
 we won't have to worry about that.  If she's still alive
 tomorrow you can do anything you want to her.  Hear that, you
 big blonde bitch ? This time tomorrow you'll either be dead, or
 anybody will be able to do anything they want to you.  And I do
 mean ANYTHING.  But not just yet, so Ryan, you come over here
 and let me take care of you".

Ryan walks over to Christine, who kneels in front of him, and
opens his pants, extracting his erect penis. "May I suck on this,
sir ?", she asks, her face all sincere submission, and when he
squeaks out "Yes, please", she begins running the tip of her
tongue over it, then releases how quickly she needs to act, and
her head darts forwards, the boy's cock sliding deep into her
mouth just as he begins spasmodically coming, and she swallows
his cum and moves her head back and forth, her lips sliding over
his penis and elicting more and more until finally the boy is
completely spent.  "That was great, Ryan", Christine says as she
helps the boy, wet and limp all over, into a chair, and starts to
clean him.  "I'd really like to serve you again, if that would
please you.  Just ask for me anytime, and I'll do anything you
want.  Would you like me to take you back to your quarters now ?"
The boy nods, and Christine leads him to the cart and they drive
away.

Deborah turns on the shower, letting ice cold water pour hard
over you while she scrubs you all over with a very stiff-bristled
brush. When she's done scrubbing you, she leaves you under the
cold spray until you're very cold despite the heat of the day,
then turning it off and starting to roughly dry you with a large
coarse towel.  By this time Christine is back, and they bend you
over a padded horse and fasten your arms and legs to the frame
while they insert hoses into your vagina and anus and inflate
rings to keep them in place, and begin filling your cavities with
warm water. The vagina they don't stretch too much before letting
the water drain, then douching you, then washing you out again
with cold water. Your rectum they treat less gently, allowing it
to distend painfully before they allow it to empty, then
repeating the process with uncomfortably hot, soapy water, then
repeat it again with clear water, adding more water until it's
all clear water draining out.  Then they hose you down and dry
you again before strapping you into a chair to continue working
on you, holding your head back by your hair as they brush your
teeth, pulling it further back to pour mouthwash into your mouth,
washing your hair and tending to your finger and toe nails.  When
this is done, they put you in a cart and drive you to a room
where they tie you spreadeagle to a bed and tell you to rest as
well as you can.

After a few hours rest Sandra and the girls come for you. They
strap you into a chair to attend to your hair and makeup, being
sure to put excessive, tacky makeup on you to make you look as
much like a slut as possible.  They make you put on a garter belt
and stockings, with a tight corset and pushup bra. They then put
you into a tight dress with a low neck and a high hem and work
your feet into a pair of very high spiked heels a couple sizes too
small, which have padlocked ankle straps so you can't get them
off.
  "Yes, dear, we know they hurt.  The shoes were designed to
  cause as much pain as possible and still let you walk.  Some
  people don't manage to walk in them; those people don't survive
  very long", Sandra say.  "Now watch this tape if you hope to
  do better than they did".

The first few scenes show attractive, slutty looking women
entering a room on one side of a raised stage, and then walking
all the way around the perimeter of the room, the center of which
is filled with men and women at tables, before mounting the stage
on the other side, where they bowed deeply to the people on the
stage before walking down a runway projecting from the stage,
frequently stopping to bow to the audience, deeply enough for the
audience members to see their cleavage, then walking back up the
runway, continuing to bow, until they reached the stage, where
they dropped to their knees.  In all of these scenes you can see
several little red specks of light on the woman.  In the last
scene, the woman, a shapely Meditteranean type with long black
hair, lunges for a door on her promenade around the room, and a
red dot over her left knee explodes as a rifle bullet passes
through it.  Several people grabbed her and dragged her to the
stage, then a muscular man in executioner's garb fastened her to
a wheel, then used a hot iron to seal the leg wounds (entry and
exit) before taking an iron club and breaking her arms and legs
in several places.  Her shattered limbs were threaded through
the spokes of the wheel and tied in place, then the wheel was
suspended horizontally over a large tank that was rolled into
the room; the tank was full of boiling oil, and the wheel began
to slowly lower until the woman was immersed in the oil.  Somehow
she remained conscious until then; most of the tape was
soundless, but her awful screams as the boiling oil covered her
had been recorded.

"As you've probably guessed, you're going to be making that walk
tonight", Sandra says as the tape fades to black.  If you hope to
stay alive, you'll try to turn on the audience; if a life as a
sex slave doesn't appeal to you, do whatever you want.
Theoretically your fate hasn't been decided yet and you are still
a free woman, but no one ever gets freed.  Since you're supposed
to be free, you'll make this walk without any restraints.  Enjoy
it, if you can; for the rest of your life you'll never again be
able to move without being in restraints of some kind.  But don't
get any ideas about using that freedom.  There will be rifles
aimed at you the whole time, those red dots are the laser sights.
If you want to know where the bullets are going to get you, just
look for the dots".  Checking the clock, Sandra says,"Time to go
soon.  Get up.  In the doorway.  Turn of the lights in here, Deb.
Open the doors, Chris.  Step up to that mark, Kajira Hill."  As
you do red dots appear on your left knee, your forehead, and your
right breast, all of them obvious in the full length mirror ahead
of you and a little to one side.  You see the room you've seen in
the tapes, filled with men and women.  On the stage, I'm
standing, and I announce to the audience: "Masters and Mistresses,
the special guest of this meeting, maybe you've heard of her, THE
Kajira Hill !", and all eyes turn to the door, now illuminated in
several spotlights.  "Walk, or die", Sandra hisses, and you start
to walk.

************
Installment 6

You begin the long walk, every eye in the room on you. The
spotlights, and the laser beams, remain on you as you move.
You're walking slowly; the shoes, which are very painful, and
the stratospheric heels make it impossible for you to move any
faster, but you turn the limitation to your advantage with a slow
sashay that gives every appearence of being a free choice on your
part to tantalize the audience.  You manage a smile and a look of
utter confidence.  Someone would have to look very closely to see
how terrified you are, how with each careful, excruciating step
you expect to fall on your ass, or worse, to stumble towards one
of the many doors encircling the room.  You involuntarily glance
down at your breast occasionally to confirm what you have no
doubt of, that the rifle is still aimed at your tit.  As you pass
a highly polished fixture you manage to catch a glimpse of what
everyone else can see, the red dot on your blonde bangs.  Somehow
you know that with my ironic sense of humor, that marksman is the
one with the order to take the first shot, and if you even lean
too far to your right it'll be a bang to your bangs (and you're
right).

The room is warm, and the spotlights are hot.  With so much makeup
on your face, you wonder what will happen when the beads of
perspiration begin to roll.  The thought produces the effect, as
you can feel the beads begin to snake their way down your face.
The makeup, it may come as no surprise, runs when even a little
wet, and before you are halfway around the room the women at the
outer tables are giggling about how your masacara is running and
pointing it out to the men with them.  As they point at you, you
for the first time become aware of what they are saying as you
pass.  Both the men and the woman are saying "Oh, what a slut",
though they don't all mean quite the same thing.

By the time you reach the stage and carefully climb the narrow
steps, your heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow and blush have all run
together and dripped down your face in a multihued mess.  It's
actually quite intriguing, and those who hadn't had a good look
at you earlier whisper about the avant garde makeup.  You stride
along the stage, walking a little easier on it's hard floor than
when your spike heels were constantly struggling with the carpet.
The click of your heels on the floor echoes loudly throughout the
room, which had been designed to magnify that sound.  Before
turning down the runway, you bow deeply and long to the people on
stage, allowing all of them a view of your breasts, then stand
erect and execute a sharp turn towards the runway, and sashay
down the runway, your hips rotating widely, periodically bowing
very deeply and holding your long hair so the guests can see the
breasts.  At the end of the runway you chance a nice pirourette,
which draws an appreciative buzz which might have reassured you
were you not so scared because you nearly fell off the runway. As
you make your way back down the runway the fear is beginning to
break through, but the combination of a wide smile and frightened
eyes is very sexy, and the audience is quite pleased.  Returning
to the stage, you bow again, and drop to your knees.  Then, in a
bit of improvisation, you fold your arms behind your back and
lower your head, touching your forehead to the floor, and hold
the position, resisting the urge to look up, and fighting back
the sudden terror that you've overstepped, that the improvisation
will displease your captors.  The most horrid images of awful death
pass through your mind in the eternity between your head touching
the floor, and when you hear the applause.

"Nicely done, Kajira", I say.  "Now crawl to me like an obedient
little bitch".  You crawl on your hands and knees to where I
stand, in the middle of the stage.  I move my right foot slightly
towards you and say nothing.  You hesitate for a moment,
uncertain what is expected, then lower your head and kiss my
foot, and keep kissing it, until I say "stop".  "Heel", I say
as I walk to the right side of the stage, and you crawl right
behind me.  I stop, and point to the right foot of the woman seated
at the end of the row.  You quickly kiss her right foot, and then
her left.  "Good girl", I say, and slap your ass.  You don't know
what to do, and the audience buzzes disapprovingly, so I put a
foot on your ass and shove, causing the audience to laugh, and
you begin to crawl along the row, kissing the feet of the men and
women seated there.

When you get to the end of the row, I gesture, and two men jump
up and grab your arms, pulling you to your feet and rushing you
towards a pillory.  They shove your head and hands into the
device and lock it; the handholds are very tight, and the
neckhold is uncomfortably snug, but you can breath, at least
until your legs are seized and seperated, cuffs placed on your
ankles, and the cuffs secured to "O" rings on the pillory.  After
a few moments in which you struggle to breath, the pillory's
height is adjusted so you can breath easily again, but your back
is bent slightly, and you wonder how long you can stand in these
orthopedic torture devices with your back bent like this.  You
hope your stay in the pillory will be short.

At which point I tell you, "Miss Hill, you will be our main event
for this evening, and as such will come at the end of the night.
Until then, I hope you enjoy the preliminary entertainments".  At
this, the men who put you in the pillory force a large red ball
gag into your mouth and buckle it in place.

***************************************************

Installment 7a

"First, my masters and mistresses, a disciplinary delight.  Two
of our slavegirls chose to fight, each knowing they had no right;
their precious flesh is ours alone to blight,
their bodies belong to us, so any fuss, however slight,
requires the erring girls be set right.   So prepare
to see a wondrous sight, here, beneath our spotlights bright.
Two dear young girls, each filled with fear,
will meet and settle their fight for all to see and hear".

Two pretty young girls are led on stage.  They are naked, save
for plastic goggles over their eyes, wide leather collars on
their throats, and leather cuffs on their wrists and ankles.
Their left arms are raised and their left wrists are attached
to their collars.  To the cuffs of their right wrists are attached,
by short chains, the handles of 12 foot bullwhips.  They are stood
about ten feet apart, and their left ankles fastened by 12" chains
to rings a foot in front of them.

"We can't have slaves indulging themselves in private quarrels.
Fortunately you didn't damage our property, but we aren't going
to risk a recurrence that wastes such valuable assets.  So we'll
handle two problems tonight.  You slavegirls - or should I say
you "kajiras" - will fight, for OUR pleasure, not yours, and
when the fight is over, we'll dispose of the loser, so there
won't be any more unapproved fights between you two, and the
other slaves will understand that any fight is a fight to the
death.  They won't be so quick to put our property at risk then.

The rules are simple, slaves.  You whip each other till one of
you can't continue.  The loser dies.  If you don't play, you
both die.  Go !"

The two girls warily move in the small circles that their chains
allowed, tentatively swinging the heavy whips.  This continues
for much too long until I finally say "Some action, sluts, or
I'll whip each of you to death", and slave "A", a buxom
brunette, swings her whip and strikes the hip of slave "B", a
slender blonde, cutting her hip and adding a blush of color to
her milky flesh as the blood began leak.  "B" screamed and lashed
back, her stroke striking "A" across the face and splitting her
cheek; if not for the heavy duty goggles, "A" might have lost
an eye.  She was still stunned by the blow, and "B" lashed again,
stepping forwards into the blow and driving her whip into "A"'s
large, soft left breast and slicing it.  "A"'s  angry return
struck the front of "B"s collar, a potentially fatal blow on a
naked throat, but just an annoyance on the heavy padded collar,
not nearly as effective as "B"'s return, which crashed across
"A"s ribs and knocked the breath out of her.  Before "A" could
react, an overhand lash from "B" crashed down on the top of "A"'s
head, and while "A"'s thick hair prevented the blow from cutting,
it still brought "A" to her knees.  "B" mercilessly lashed again
and again at her fallen opponent, who could not rise against the
rain of blows and found she could put no force into counterstrikes
from her knees.  Bleeding from several deep cuts in her back, "A"
crawled as far away from "B" as she could.  "B" advanced as far
as she could, and stretched as far as she could to reach her
adversary.  She found she couldn't deliver a heavy blow to the
vitals of her dark nemesis that way, and concentrated on the
available target, "A"'s pretty, and prettily outstretched, left leg,
which she couldn't pull out of range, and which was soon bleeding
from several nasty slices.  "A" knew that if she didn't fight
back she might soon be declared the loser, and even if that didn't
happen, if her leg kept getting sliced she'd bleed to death, but
couldn't see how to get to her feet, or how to deliver a damaging
blow from the floor.

Then "A" had an inspiration, and rolling quickly towards her
blonde adversary managed swing the whip so it wrapped harmlessly
around "B"'s slender right ankle while "B" slashed at "A"'s chest
as "A" lay on her back, opening another ugly gash in "A"s breast.
"A" rolled a bit to the side and yanked hard on the whip, pulling
"B"s foot out from under her, and "B" came down hard, her right
knee hitting the hard floor and bringing a scream from her pretty
mouth.  "A" rose to her feet and began lashing "B", who tried
to strike back but her limp stroke bounced harmlessly off "A"'s
leg, and "A" quickly stepped down on the whip with her good right
leg and held it down while she struck again and again at "B"'s
extended right arm until a blow hit "B"'s elbow just right and
broke something, "B"'s scream leaving little doubt that she had
been badly injured.  With "B" now defenseless, "A" pressed the
attack, badly cutting her helpless opponent before the match was
called to a halt.  A man with a small caliber rifle approached
"B", who was curled up on the floor, slid a piece of wood under
her head, then put the barrel to her head and pulled the trigger
twice, the little pops seeming oddly benign until he pulled away
the blood and brain covered board.

Another two men approached "A".  They removed the whip and
released her ankle and brought her limping to me.  I examined her
cut face, sliced breasts, and slashed leg, then turned to the
audience and asked "My lords and ladies, a judgement please, is
she worth keeping ?"  With silence the only response, I signal to
the executioner, who places the board by her feet while one of
the men holding her seized her long thick hair and pulled her
head down to the board.  "NO !  PLEASE, YOU SAID YOU'D SPARE THE
WINNER ! DON'T !  PLEA-", she screamed, before the rifle fired
again.  Then the executioner took his board and left the stage,
while the other men grabbed the freed slaves by the legs and
dragged them of the stage, and other slaves were rushed out onto
the stage to cleanup the blood before the next entertainment.

******************
Installment 7b

While waiting for the next entertainment, I wonder over to you
where you stand in the pillory.
 "Did you enjoy the first act, Kajira ?", I ask while fondling
your breasts.  "A bit pedestrian, I admit, but we'll work up to
something more interesting.  We've got quite a number of
entertainments before we get to you, I hope your current perch
suits you, you'll be in it for a very long time.  I hope you
understand the time and effort that went into bringing you to
the Dear Farm.  Acquiring women is easy, agents at the Port
Authority in New York pick up pretty young things just off the
bus every day, and there's plenty of other sources for supply,
so we don't lack for playthings, but one does want a special
treat sometimes, and we wanted you.  We are all *so* anxious
to play with you, Kajira.  But not till after the other
entertainments; if we'd did you first, the rest would seem
so anticlimatic".

The stage having been prepared, I stroke your hair, and return
to center stage.  "One of the sweetest of scenes is the coming
out of one of our farm bred slavegirls, and we have that for
you tonight, my friends".  At this, two females walk onto
the stage, a collared woman in her midthirties dressed in
garter belt, hose, and high heels, leading on a leash and collar
a girl of ten or twelve in similar attire.  As they turn to
bow to the people on stage the many fresh welts on the woman's
back and buttocks and her thighs above her dark stockings are
easily observed.  As they turn to the audience, bow in unison,
and kneel, the woman impassively looking straight down at the
floor, the little girl also looking down but obviously frightened
and frequently glancing over to her mother, even though she knows
her mother can't help her, I begin to speak:

"Here, my friends, are the former Mary Cannon, who was a graduate
student in Agronomy at the University of Montana thirteen years
ago when she went to collect some soil samples, and found some
dirt she never imagined, since known as PBRF22, which our new
friends may not know means Petite Brunette Female number 22, and
her daughter, PBRF22b, born in captivity eleven years ago.  It's
time that PBRF22b - using the mother's name with a suffix is the
standard way of designating a slave born in captivity to a mother
who has not earned a name, and PBRF22, though a pretty and skillful
sextoy, has been too uppity to merit such dignity; I quite agree
that she's really more blonde, her sire having been a blonde
slaveboy - but I digress.  Today PBRF22b will start her life as
a sextoy, with her mother's assistance.  That is so, isn't it
PBRF22 ?", I ask.  The blue eyes that once belonged to Mary Cannon
are steely, cold, and filled with hate, but remain locked on the
floor in front of them as the lips of PBRF22 say "Yes, Master".

The slaves rise from their knees and walk to a bench, and the
girl straddles it, then lays on her stomach.  Her mother binds
her ankles, then takes the young girl's hands and ties them
together below the bench.  She approaches a table placed near
the bench, and takes a heavy strap, then stands behind the little
girl, her face a steely mask as she looks at me, and I signal,
and she begins to bring the strap down on the smooth, unmarked
white buttocks of the blameless young girl.  The strokes are
quite hard, and the girl, after bravely taking the first few in
silence, quickly becomes more audible, and is soon screaming and
crying, but not begging for mercy yet.  The spanking goes on, her
ass getting redder and redder, until she can't help screaming
"Stop please stop please oh please stop", PBRF22's head turns
almost imperceptibly in my direction, her face still rigid but
her eyes pleading, but I shake my head "no", and she keeps
strapping the little girl's squirming derriere.  "Mommy !  Please
don't hurt me anymore mommy ! Please mommy help me", the little
girl gasps out between her screams and sobs, and her mother looks
at me again, her lip trembling and tears beginning to appear in
her eyes, but I say "Continue" and she does, the young girl's
fine features now twisted with pain and her red face covered
with tears as her red and swollen ass is struck again and again.
Her mother's face is also tight with pain as she fights off the
need to sob, her face wet with the tears she can't control any
longer, but she keeps striking hard at her precious daughters
flaming asscheeks, knowing the awful consequences to them both
if she should stop.  Soon she is sobbing and spanking, and
despite her orders gasping out "I'm so sorry darling I'm so
sorry" in response to the girl's now barely recognizable
"Mommy-Mommy-Please-stop-mommy".  It's a violation of orders,
but no one really minds. Her blows have lost much of their force,
but they still hurt, so I let it continue, until I see PBRF22 is
ready to collapse, and then I say stop, and she drops the strap
and falls to her knees, sobbing, and crawls to the front of the
bench and embraces PBRF22b as well as she can, and the two
slavegirls sob on each other as the mother keeps whispering "I'm
sorry, I'm so sorry" and the daughter touchingly though futilely
tries to raise her bound hands to touch her mother.

I allow this touching tableax to continue for a time, then
say "Part two". PBRF22, doesn't respond immediately, so I
say "Part two, or Plan B".  At this, she rises, somewhat shakily,
but quickly recovering her composure.  She approaches the table
again, and takes a dildo off it, and when she holds it by the
girl's mouth her face has regained most of it's impassiveness,
though anyone watching her through opera glasses, as many of the
audience are, can still see the pain.  When the girl opens her
mouth, her mother inserts the dildo, sliding it in and out and
turning it about, the long latex shaft going deeper down the
child's throat each time, the girl gagging a little but learning
to handle the oral intruder.  After a long period of oral practice,
the woman extracts the dildo from the girl's mouth and moves to
the other end of the bench.  The girl looks back as best she can
bound as she is, but can feel better than see her mother
spreading her pained asscheeks to slide the head of the dildo
against her daughter's anus, and then, as gently as she can,
begin working the dildo into the petite child's virgin ass.
That it's as gentle as it can be isn't much comfort to PBRF22b,
as it feels like she's being ripped, and the child has used all
the restraint she possessed, so she screams as the large dildo
is forced into her.  All those who have chosen to concentrate
on the mother see her wince at her child's scream, but the
disciplined slave doesn't flinch as she continues to move the
dildo back and forth in the child's ass, moving it deeper each
time despite the screams and pleas of the child, until it will
go no further, and she withdraws it and returns to the head of
the bench.  As an enema might have made the anal rape less
traumatic, the girl's rectum was not clean, and though she knows
what to expect, the actual sight of a shit covered dildo in
front of her pretty mouth is more than she could bear, and she
turns her head away and screams "No !".  Her mother bends down
besides her and whispers in her ear, and the daughter turns her
head, her eyes full of tears, to look into the tearful eyes of
her mother, and they nuzzle for a moment, and the mother whispers
to her daughter again, and the girl opens her trembling mouth.
The mother slides the dildo into the girl's mouth, repeating
the initial oral drill, her eyes showing fear, a fear that I know
is concern that the girl might throw up, for her orders are to
keep the dildo in the girl's mouth until the drill is done, no
matter what happens.  The drill is completed without incident,
though the child's face, which started as peaches & cream before
changing to red, now does appear a bit green.

The newly cleaned dildo is returned to the table, and the woman
kneels as I address the audience.  "We have, of course, an
orifice not yet explored.  But since there are so many who feel
it a delight to pop a virgin, that pleasure was reserved for you,
our guests.  Mystery doorprize #1 is the chance to do our little
debutante.  And now it's time to pick our winner", I say as a
large terrarium is rolled into the room, with a slender blonde
slave, her ankle chained to the base of the terrarium, walking
alongside it.  The terrarium has a number of rattlesnakes in it,
and when a large number of ping pong balls are poured into it the
snakes become agitated.

"So, SBLF97, you like to take your chances, do you ?", I say to
the ballgagged blonde.  "You thought you'd take your chances in
escaping the Farm ?  It seems", I say as I prod her ankle
chain with my toe, "that you lost that bet.  But since you like
to gamble, let's go double or nothing.  Usually on a first escape
attempt we'd beat you half to death.  Instead, we're going to
let you draw the winning number for our doorprize.  If none of
these agitated sidewinders bite you before you pull out a ball,
you go back to your duties as a slavegirl with no further
punishments. If they do bite you, there will be no antidote for
you. But because we're so generous, we've given you a little
advantage; some of the snakes have empty venom sacs, so their
bites won't be fatal.  No one here knows which snakes are loaded,
so we'll have to wait about 20 minutes to know if you'll die.
Oh, and", I say as I extract a blindfold, "as fortune is even
blinder than justice, it seems best you make the selection
blindfolded".  I then blindfold the woman, and guide her right
arm to a hole in the terrarium so she can try to find to grap
a ball.  She reaches about blindly, hoping to find one, but
when the snakes begin rattling she pulls her arm back.  I grab
her elbow, and tell her, "Either you bring a ball out of there,
or we'll lay your whole body in there and lock you in.  What
would you think of those odds ?", and push her arm back in.
She feels around some more and finds a ball, but before she
can get the ball out, she's bitten and drops it. "Oh, too bad.
But maybe he's empty.  If so, you'd better find a ball and get
out of there", I say.  She feels for another ball, grabs it
tightly, and pulls it out - but not before being bitten again.

"Very good," I say, taking the ball from her, and directing
a pair of staffers to take SBLF97 to a post on the side of the
stage and bind her to it while we wait to see if she will die.
"And the winner is, #14".
  "That's me", a handsome woman in an elegant leather gown
answers, and a number of men groan.  "Deal with it, boys", she
says.
   "Ah, hell, you don't even like to pop cherry", one of the
men says.
   "But I do like it when a pretty young thing licks me. If
you give me your slave to play with you can have the my
ticket", she says, holding up a ticket with the number 14
on it.
   "Deal !", he says, pushing the young redhead alongside
him towards the winner.  "Do what the lady wants, slut".
    "Charming as always", the handsome woman says as she
passes the ticket to the fortunate man.  "Come with me, dear"
she says to the miniskirted redhead, who starts to follow
her only to be brought up short by an icy glare from the
woman, who snaps her fingers, points to the ground, and say
"Heel", and the redhead drops to her hands and knees and,
crawling, follows the woman from the room.

While this was happening the man has bounded onstage to claim
his prize.  PBRF22b's hands are untied (her ankles are still
tied on either side of the bench), and PBRF22 kneels in front
of the bench and takes PBRF22b's hands in hers, and the two
slaves look silently into each other's blue eyes while the
winner positions himself behind the girl, drops trou, takes
the girl by her slender thighs, and unceremoniously thrusts his
fully erect member into the virgin child, who screams loudly
and continues to scream as the man pushes deeper and deeper,
and when he can go no further uses his grip on her thighs to
move her about, while the two slaves hands turn white from their
tight grip on each other and one pair of blue eyes turn away
from the sight of the other slave's screaming face.  Fortunately,
what had seemed like an eternity actually took only minutes,
as the somewhat abashed man returns to his seat as others in the
crowd shout out "Way to go", "what a man", and other comments,
and someone can be heard to say "well, yes, but it was still the
best fuck she ever had".  The girl's ankles are untied, and she
stands up, shakily, still crying.  Her mother stands very close,
so wanting to hug her, but it's not permitted, and whispers to
her, and the two slaves bow to the people on stage, then bow to
the audience, and walk off the stage and back to their cells.


END

As of 30 Aug 1999, this is all that has been written of 
"Captive Kajira", which is unfinished.
