STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This is a work of fiction. No reference to real persons is
intended. It contains strong, non-traditional sexual imagery
and language. If you don't like this kind of thing, don't read it.
This story may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.
Feedback is welcome. Zebulon@fastmail.ca
(MF, FF, Bond)
* * * * * Start of Part 11 * * * * *
For weeks after the encounter with Mister Duval, Staci
had troubled dreams. The dreams took different forms, but
always involved a brutal rapist who would tie her up and
threaten to kill her if she didn't please him. The rapist
reminded her of Duval. Staci would wake from these
dreams in a sexual flush--heart pounding and crotch wet.
More girls and an occasional dog came and went. More
months passed. Then, one day, a petite redhead with
modest breasts and a frightened smile was put in cage one.
At first she was just another girl. They ignored each other
as was the custom. But after several days she was still
there. That was very unusual.
A tall brunette came and went. The redhead was still in
cage one.
A strange Dom came in with the old man a week later.
She looked at the two girls and shook her head. She
seemed put out about something and talked rapidly in a
foreign language. The old man shrugged his shoulders. The
woman pointed at the redhead, pointed down at Staci,
barked some command, and stormed out.
After she left the old man moved the redhead into cage
five. Staci had a neighbor.
For the rest of the day, neither of them said anything.
That night, after dinner was over and the lights were out,
the redhead spoke. Staci had put herself down for the night
and was getting close to sleep when she heard a sweet little
accented voice whisper, "Hallo, do you want to talk?"
Staci half froze. No other girl had ever spoken to her.
She whispered back, "Are we allowed to?"
"I do not know. Probably not. But if we are very quiet I
do not think they will notice."
"And if they do?" Staci asked.
There was a long silence.
"I do not think I care anymore."
Staci rearranged herself so that she was facing the other
girl. Their faces were about a foot apart. "My name is
Staci. Staci Davis."
"My name is Rhonda. It has been a long time since I
used my last name. I was born Rhonda Mller."
They traded stories. Rhonda said she had been recruited
years earlier, from a mall in Mnchen. She had been on
vacation with her family. She had met a girl at an
amusement park and they had made a date to go shopping
together. Everything was fine until they left the mall. Two
big men grabbed her in the parkhaus. They gagged her, tied
her up, and tossed her in the back of a van. The girl she had
met just watched them take her. She was sure the girl had
set her up.
Staci's heart was racing while listening to this account.
Rhonda said she had been taken to a very evil man who
had hurt her and made her do awful things. He had trained
her to be a sexual slave. She had tried to resist, but in the
end it had made no difference. Afterwards she had been
taken to another man who was even more evil than the first.
He was the one who had wanted her in the first place. He
was very rich. She had lived with him for almost four years.
And then he had died or been killed, Rhonda wasn't sure
which.
That's why she was here. There was some kind of
argument between two other men who both claimed her.
As far as she knew it wasn't clear which was right, but she
was stuck here until the matter was settled. She hoped the
Frenchman would get her. He had been kind to her. The
German was a pig who would probably hurt her the way her
dead owner had.
Staci asked how he had hurt her.
"Wait till the morning," Rhonda said. "In the light you
will see some of the scars. For every one you see there
were thousands of hurts which did not leave scars."
Staci had noticed scars earlier that day and cringed at the
thought of how they got there. She told Rhonda her story.
She talked a lot about her life before Ms. Turner and only a
little of what had happened to her. She was still
embarrassed by the whole affair and it was painful to recall.
Rhonda didn't press her for details. After a long time of
whispering back and forth they fell asleep.
In the morning Staci got a better look at Rhonda's body.
She had a trim muscular form. Staci wasn't surprised.
Every day when she exercised she noticed the little redhead
had exercised as well. She seemed to work harder at it and
her routine went on over twice as long as Staci's. On closer
inspection Staci realized Rhonda's body wasn't terribly
scarred, but there were some rough looking wounds here
and there. A couple of bad scars on one arm that looked
like they were made by a knife and a smaller irregular scar
on the other arm. There was also a burn on the back of one
leg and something that might have been a bullet scar in
her lower back. Staci almost wept. They talked about it
after lights out.
"Yes, it was a gun shot. My owner liked to get drunk
and play with guns. One day he started shooting up the
room. I was frightened. I tried to run out and he shot me in
the back. I think he was trying to miss, but he was drunk.
He would not let me go to the hospital. So I had to wait for
a special doctor to come. I almost died."
Staci shuddered. She told Rhonda a little more about
what had happened to her at the auction. Rhonda was a
wonderful companion. She listened without judgement.
She was empathetic. They fell asleep that night holding
hands.
Over the next three days they became close. During the
day they quietly ignored each other and napped a lot so they
could stay up longer at night. During the night they talked.
Staci talked about her life and Rhonda taught her all about
the life and rules of a Mart slave. As they talked they
quietly touched. The human touch and companionship were
things that Staci had missed dreadfully. Much more than
she had realized. And this was so much more comforting
than her brief encounter with Herr Duval.
On the fifth night they were lying under their blankets
facing each other. They were holding hands as they talked.
Rhonda said she had a confession to make.
"Go ahead," said Staci.
Rhonda took her hand back and said. "You know that
girl I met in the park? The one who had me kidnapped
"Yeah?"
"The reason I had met her. That is, the reason why I
wanted to go shopping with her . . ." Rhonda seemed very
embarrassed.
Staci guessed what she was trying to say. "You're gay,
aren't you?"
There was a long frozen silence.
"I like both men and girls," Rhonda finally replied in a
small voice. "The girl in the park was very nice. We were
going to shop together. And I hoped we might end up at
her apartment." Rhonda paused and pulled her blanket over
her head. She quietly blurted out, "I have been punished for
doing something against God. I deserve everything that has
happened to me." She was crying as she talked.
Staci reached out and took Rhonda's hand back in her
own. "Listen to me. . . . Listen. You didn't do anything
wrong." Staci could see Rhonda's moist eyes looking over
at her from under the blanket. Her eyes reflected what little
light filtered in from outside. "It wasn't your fault," Staci
continued. "You certainly didn't do anything bad enough to
deserve this. . . . Now, let me make a confession to you."
She felt Rhonda's hand grasp hers more tightly. "You
remember when I was tied down at the auction and all of
the slaves were assaulting me?"
"Yes."
"There was this one girl. Her name was Christina. She
was the only one that was nice to me. It was like she
understood how bad I felt and was trying to make it easier."
Staci bit her lip and thought about how she wanted to say
this.
"Yes?" Rhonda prompted her.
"Well, for a little while. It was almost like I wasn't being
raped. I . . . I enjoyed it a little. I was bringing her
pleasure, and I actually enjoyed it."
"You did?"
"Yes, and there's another thing."
"Yes?"
"I haven't told you much about Deborah Turner. When
we were getting ready for the auction she used to have me
stand naked in front of her and she would beat me off until I
came."
"She beat you?"
"No. I'm sorry that's just an expression. She would play
with me. Masturbation. You know, touch me down there
until I had an orgasm.
"Yes, an orgasm. I understand masturbation."
"We had to get ready for the auction. But after a while I
really enjoyed it. God help me, I really looked forward to
it." It was Staci who was now grasping Rhonda's hand with
force.
For a long time neither said anything. Then Staci began
opening up and pouring out all of her memories and feelings
about her association with Deborah Turner. Everything she
could remember. Everything that she had held back, even
from herself, suddenly found an outlet. Her tears flowed
like she hadn't cried since she was a child. Afterwards she
felt much better. Rhonda's hand was on her face, stroking
her cheek.
"You know," Staci said, with a nervous laugh, "I've been
here since the beginning of the year. And I've only had sex
once in that whole time."
"I haven't had sex in almost four years," Rhonda
answered.
"Four years? But I thought . . ."
"I was trained to be a sexual slave, yes. But you
remember a slave takes her pleasure only at her Master's
will."
"Uh-huh."
"My Master was only interested in drugs and pain, not
sex. Or maybe for him the pain was sex. But for me it
was not. It never was."
'Four years,' Staci thought. 'Four years of torture and no
sex.' She was keenly aware of the small soft hand on her
cheek. Almost without thinking she reached up and took it.
She guided it over to her mouth and kissed the fingers. She
turned the hand and took the thumb into her mouth. Gently
and lovingly she began to run her tongue along it. She
heard Rhonda sigh. Her eyes were closed.
Staci continued working on the hand. She moved a little
closer and reached through the bars with her other hand.
Worming it under the blanket she reached in and touched
one of Rhonda's breasts. The nipple was already tight. She
let her fingertips run little circles around the breast and glide
tenderly over the nipple. Rhonda started moaning in
response.
Staci felt a hand at her own breast. It felt good. She
released the hand in her mouth and moved a little closer
still. Rhonda did the same. They were soon embracing
through the bars. The cold steel didn't discourage them.
They kissed as tenderly as their situation would allow. Staci
felt a small hand at her crotch. She lifted her upper leg a
few inches. The little hand slipped in and began working up
and down the warm slit. Staci was already quite wet. And
the feel of the little fingers on her clit was maddeningly
erotic.
Rhonda had thrown off the blanket. She lowered her
face down to Staci's breasts and carefully licked circles
around each areola. She sucked a nipple into her mouth and
gently clenched her teeth around it. She squeezed slightly
so the hard flesh would pop up even more and then whipped
her tongue over and around the hard little bulb. It felt
wonderful. The fingers at her slit were working her clit in
time with the whipping tongue. Staci was suddenly on the
edge of an orgasm.
'Too soon, too soon,' she thought. She reached over and
put a hand on Rhonda's cheek and whispered. "Stop, I'm
going to come, if you keep that up."
The redhead's face popped back for only a second. The
fingers never let up. "Good," she said, and then went to
work on the other nipple.
Staci felt herself on the edge. Her leg muscles were
rippling. The feel of the mouth at her breast was
overwhelming. The little redhead certainly knew what she
was doing. Staci shut her eyes and let her fingers run
through Rhonda's hair. And then it came. Her whole body
tensed, there was a little explosion of sensation in her
breasts, and her clitoris seemed to open like a flower. The
climax flowed over and through her as she vibrated against
the bars of her cage. The fingers at her crotch and the
tongue at her nipple seemed to ride the wave of pleasure--
rising, falling, tumbling over and over and down into and
endless pool of tranquility. Staci was drained. It was the
best orgasm she had ever had.
She would have gone to sleep then and there, but the
thought surfaced, 'four years.' She wouldn't sleep until she
had returned the favor.
Rhonda tried to prevent her. "It does not matter," she
said. "It will wait."
"No," Staci replied. "I want to. Please let me." Their
faces were inches away.
Rhonda kissed her on the lips and said, "OK."
Staci kissed her back deeply. It was Rhonda's turn to
close her eyes. She kissed the small girl's breasts. Staci was
sorry she wasn't as skilled a lover as Rhonda. She licked the
skin around the nipples and sucked on the little buds. They
were taut and crinkled against her tongue. Rhonda had
smallish breasts but very prominent nipples. Staci's hand
snaked down between the other girl's legs and found the
crevice warm, wet, and inviting. She was already aroused
and Staci thought it wasn't going to take much to bring her
off. But she wanted to do more for her than just that.
Staci moved down still further until her face was level
with Rhonda's pubic area. It wasn't going to be easy
through these bars. She slid an arm through a couple of
spaces down and brought hand up against the redhead's ass.
She pushed the pelvis gently up into the bars so that the
girl's pussy was as accessible as possible. She had to twist
her head a little and angle her chin through, but she was able
to get her tongue working on Rhonda's clit. She seemed to
really enjoy that. Staci brought her other hand up over her
head and used it to massage the redhead's face and breasts.
As she felt Rhonda getting closer, Staci was able to slip her
thumb into the crack in her ass and use it to stimulate her
anus and cunt. She felt Rhonda's body tensing. She was
actually grinding her body against the bars in rhythm with
Staci's licking.
As Staci rubbed Rhonda's face she moved her hand.
Rhonda's mouth was open and Staci felt the other girl flick
out a tongue and lick her palm. Rhonda sucked some
fingers in and was licking her tongue over them as she
started to come. Staci felt a little burst of heat and liquid
against her chin. Then Rhonda was churning against her
mouth and hand. Staci could feel the warm breath heaving
against her slick fingers. She removed her hand and went
back to a breast. The skin seemed to be covered with goose
bumps.
Rhonda's orgasm lasted almost two minutes.
Soon after they were both sound asleep. They awoke
only when the old man delivered lunch. They had slept right
through the breakfast baskets, that stood untouched just
inside their cage doors. The old man smiled at them and left
lunch without collecting the uneaten breakfasts. He
assumed they would be hungry enough to finish both.
They were.
That night they talked and made love again. There
wasn't much new to say, but the loving was even better than
the night before.
The next morning Rhonda was gone. All that was left
was her blankets. The old man would come and clean soon.
Staci reached in and pulled out the blankets. She could
smell Rhonda's sweet musk on the fibers. She pushed her
own blankets into Rhonda's cage. 'Let him clean those.' In
another week or so the old man would give her fresh
blankets. Until then she would sleep on these, breathe
deeply, and remember.
* * * * *
Sushiro Yoshi had retired. The company was no longer
his and he looked forward to writing his memoirs. It had
been a good life. He had managed to go from a half
starving orphan to the founder and chairman of one of the
premiere investment firms in Japan. He wanted to set it all
into print. His literary agent suggested publishing the book
in English as well as Japanese. The idea appealed to him.
But his own English language skills were hardly up to the
task. Besides he didn't want a mere translation. He didn't
trust an English ghostwriter. He wanted a sensitive
rewriting into English. And he wanted complete control of
the content.
One of his slaves, Nori, was quite fluent in English. She
had spent half her life in England, but she had no literary
training. He stewed over the problem while working on his
manuscript. Then he called in his Slave Mistress and had
her set up a recruitment contract through the Mart. There
was no rush. He wanted quality. Knowledge of Japanese
wasn't necessary. Nori could translate. But excellent
writing skills were essential.
The order was processed by a Mart representative
working out of a rare book exchange in Hong Kong.
The order found its way to a number of interested parties
including Madam Zeldona who owned a string of Dom
establishments throughout northern U.S. and Canada.
Normally she wouldn't have bothered with a special order.
But the price being offered by the buyer was very tempting.
And she had just gotten a call from the manager of her B&D
bar in Toronto, The Coven. There was a college student
trying to get an interview for a school newspaper. The girl
had been working all of the lesbian bars, male bath houses,
and B&D joints in the city. She wanted to do some kind of
expos and no one was talking to her. But she was
persistent and came back every couple of days. She
probably thought she'd eventually wear someone down.
Her manager was asking for advice on how to handle the
girl.
Madam Zeldona called the manager back with some
questions. 'Was the girl pretty?' Hardly a raving beauty, but
quite attractive. 'Could she write?' The woman didn't
know. Madam Zeldona told the manager to stand by. She
called Hong Kong and had a little chat. Then she called the
woman in Toronto and told her she'd be there in two days.
* * * * *
"That's her," the manager said as the young college
reporter strode up to bar. The manager and Madam
Zeldona had spent the past three afternoons sitting in the
little office, which overlooked the main barroom. They
stared down through one way glass as the determined
looking girl with long brown hair talked with the barman.
He was a retired Mart enforcer who had spent his money as
quickly as he made it. Now he was relatively broke, but not
unhappy. He worked the bar, oversaw security, and
generally enjoyed life. He was extremely popular with the
staff and patrons of The Coven. In his previous six
encounters with the young reporter he had proven an
amiable but impenetrable obstacle. Today that would
change.
The manager excused herself and left to meet the girl.
As the barman spoke the girl's hard features softened. He
pointed to a side door and the girl hurried out. The barman
looked up at the one way glass and winked into the
mirrored surface.
* * * * *
"I have discussed your request with the owner," the
manager was explaining, "and she has agreed to grant you
an interview."
"Thank you very much, Mrs. . . .?"
"Call me Nan."
"Thank you, Nan."
"There is a condition."
"Oh? What?"
"She doesn't want to bother unless you are worth the
bother. She wants proof you have superior writing skills
before she will talk with you."
"No problem. I can get my portfolio."
"I'm afraid that won't do."
"No?"
"There is no way of knowing whether anything you bring
back is your own work or someone else's."
"I wouldn't lie about a thing like that."
"So you say."
"So what kind of proof do you want?"
"The owner wants you to write something here, now.
She'll read it. If she likes the style and thinks you have
sufficient talent she'll tell you everything you want to know
and then some."
"O.K., just let me run home and let my mom know I'll be
late."
"We don't have time for that."
"Well, let me just call."
"I'm afraid the phones are out."
"Maybe I can run out quickly and find a pay phone."
Nan stared at her severely for a long few seconds and
said, "Maybe we'd better forget the whole thing. The owner
isn't someone who likes to be kept waiting for minor
inconveniences. I told her you struck me as a professional
and that's what attracted her to your project in the first
place. I'd better go back and tell her you're just a little girl
who'll have to run home to report to mommy every few
minutes." Nan turned and started to leave.
"No. Wait. Please."
Nan turned back.
"I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression. I am
professional and I'll make myself completely available to
your employer if she'll let me have the interview."
Nan favored the girl with another long stare. She was
just under average height, a little on the thin side but with
larger than average breasts. A narrow face with pleasant
features. Exactly as she had told Madam Zeldona, no
raving beauty but a nice looking girl.
"All right. You have a couple of hours. Write about
yourself. Do an autobiographical sketch. And write it as if
you were going to get it published. The owner wants to see
if your writing has the necessary quality and flair to make it
to print."
"What should I write with?"
"Can you use a word processor?"
"Of course."
Nan led the girl to the little cubical where the
bookkeeper worked. Anything of a sensitive nature had
been cleared out. The computer files had been encrypted
and locked away. Nothing was left which might represent a
security risk. Nan called up the word processing program.
"Can you use, that?" she asked.
"No problem," said the girl. She sat and got started.
"I'll be back in exactly two hours." The manager left,
locking the door behind her.
* * * * * End of Part 11 * * * * *
STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This story may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.