NEW: Sex, Slaves and Punishment--A Bangkok Slaver Story

[Marlissa]

a.s.s. folks-

It is a pleasure and great honor to post on behalf of a gifted and
admired colleague their latest and greatest.

Why can't I write this well?

You nc nasty tales-types should strap yourselves in for a wonderful
ride...

Sex, Slaves and Punishment
A Bangkok Slaver Story

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 Joytown. 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 belt", 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 wont 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 elsewhere. "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 do not 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. "You should see
someone about that. Go to therapy or something. You
were screaming, your face is covered with sweat. Are
you sure 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 other
stewardess 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 corner 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. Naked, whipped, crying, but
defiant, trusting herself, always facing adversity with
dignity and character. That character is what made it
so tough for her when I sold her to some shit hole sex
club in Joytown. 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 Joytown.
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
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, 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. Devil knows I have known her as well as any
man has ever had a woman. I took her body. Her sex.
Her fears. I used her in every way possible as
brutally as I wanted. Mentally and sexually. Chained
in my apartment she depended on me for the time of day,
and even permission to speak.

"And you? I thought assholes like you could only
exist in Joytown." 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 Candyland."

"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?. 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 is 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 Joytown, 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
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 carried 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 girls ass bent over, 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 unkept 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 crisscross her back making a
waffle pattern in red stripes across milky
white flesh as her head bobs, engulfing my
cock.

"No. Its 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 till it
registered in my face, then added, "Now we can go."



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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 dozen of
times over there. If that is what the 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
its 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. Raindrops beaded on the pair of
coffins. The honor guard gave me the folded
flag. The last few family members drift 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
scapegoat, Joe. The Director is going to pin
it on you. That way if you talk, they can
deny everything 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, your 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, its your lucky day. I want that far
room, the one with a kitchen. For a week. Give us
some extra towels for 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
Joytown 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 to the back of her neck, her breast thrust
out proudly out as she undid the few buttons. Her arms
crossed and the blouse slipped past her face. A nice
chin. Proud yet graceful. Cheekbones 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 slid to the front and
unhooked. Raising each heel 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. And 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 Joytown 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 feels to swing a whip.
Oh, they did the same with Roxanne too. It is 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 girl. Cost me dear. 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, till 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 is not the time to
pursue it. Anyway, I am ready for something else.
Roxanne sees it growing too.

She lays back on the bed. Navy two inch heels drawn
up tight to a curvy rump. Slowly, Roxanne lets 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 from the airport. She
wets two fingers on her tongue and reaching between her
legs pokes into her bottom, pauses and slides 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 works. I am all over her, tasting her,
struggling from clothing reacquainting with each curve,
each nerve. 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 as she was
prepared 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."



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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, 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, but tighter, caressing, but reaching
further, her back her bottom, sliding a hand inside her
jeans, 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 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, pushing
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 into her
scrambled eggs as she reaches 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 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 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. Worked hard for what
little I 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. Her
face beamed in a broad smile.

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



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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 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 Joytown. 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 till 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 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 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 I saw her. The
owners had Sarah booked, they had taken the payments in
advance and now they could not 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. He started include 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."



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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 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 Joytown, 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 till 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
girlfriends thought it good sport also, to have me
naked at their feet, asking if I may stick my head
under their designer gown before sucking of 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. 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 on 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 girlfriends 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 hers, 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
date and time of every man 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 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 crisscrossed with
welts. You could read their age like the rings of a
tree. The healing faint pink of last weeks stripes
lashed over with new angry red whip marks. Now
composed, she shakes hair from 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.
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."



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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 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. Takes the vibrator ride to body shaking
orgasm as I lash at her inverted breasts. Her pain,
humiliation and pleasure are all mixed. 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
not tell, but every night she waits so patiently for
me. She senses it too. Maybe she smells or tastes
another woman. One night 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
questions, 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 whip with many strands. He takes the
crop to the back of her upper thighs. She can't help
but scream in agony, so he gags her and starts again.



Sex, Slaves and Punishment
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." Back
straight, arms folded under whip marked breasts, like a
shark she circles a 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. Its not about male strength anymore.
You and that flabby bastard had strength over me in
Joytown. 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 Joytown. You remember that don't you Joe?"

Yes I remember Joytown 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 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 her own well-being as depending on the happiness
of her 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 Joytown,
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 Ace-
Comments welcome
gent...@hotmail.com
eof

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