August 25th, 2006
All characters are 18 years old or older
The Regime had eventually hunted down practically everyone on their ‘most-wanted’ list of political enemies and agitators, but they were smart enough to realize that there were many, many additional traitors and would-be traitors that they didn’t yet know about. Therefore, when they finally managed to first infiltrate and then round up the rather naive dozen or so members of the underground group of journalists and journalism students known as ‘ the Truth Brigade’, they wasted no time in employing some very brutal measures in order to obtain more information out of them concerning other possible sympathizers or supporters of the group or their aims. And since these so-called ‘Truth Brigadiers’ were merely regular citizens and not some hardened ideologues, it usually didn’t require more than a few hours of inflicting pain to convince them to talk.
Mr. Edwards was an exception. He was just a newspaper publisher, but he hadn’t talked or betrayed any of names of the circle of friends and supporters of his group. He was a man of principle and had held up strongly even under the numerous beatings and electro-tortures that the political police had subjected him to over the 18 hours that they had him in custody.
But his 19 year-old daughter Nancy was another matter. She was just as principled, but not nearly as strong. She had been quickly and thoroughly broken by the hours of whippings, beatings and rape. She had babbled out almost everything they wanted to know and more. But her tormentors weren’t done yet – they had one more bit of agony to inflict on Nancy and her father. ” We’re gonna re-unite you with your bastard of a father,” they told her as they led her into a large cell and attached her collar to the heavy chain that hung from the ceiling.
“Ya know, yer little girl here had been real helpful in tellin’ us all about how you and the other scumbags in yer group of traitors have been plttin’ and plannin’ against yer own government,” sneered Sgt. Paulson as he regarded Mr. Edwards sitting tied and gagged against the opposite wall. “Yessir, yer daughter’s gave you up and a lot of others. I tell ya, when she wasn’t suckin’ cock and eating cum, she was usin’ that mouth of hers tell us everything we wanted to hear. Like the location of that big printin’ machine and like where to find that disk with the names and addresses of all the other traitors you’ve been in contact with.”
Sgt. Paulson laughed as he observed Edwards’ distressed reaction. “Yeah, that really got ya, huh? Well, we’re gonna take ya out in the yard and shoot ya. We don’t believe in keeping old farts like you around. But yer daughter here is another matter. We’ve got all sorts of plans for her, you can be sure.”
With that said, the sergeant went over to Nancy, dropped his trousers and lifted her and pinned her against the stonewall. “Be still, bitch, so’s I can get my dick fitted all nice and snug in that sweet little pussy you got,” he grunted at her. “Ahhhhh, yeahhhh, that’s it. Feels good.”
Sgt Paulson looked back over his shoulder at Nancy’s father. ” You’re gonna watch me fuck yer whore daughter before you die, asshole. And you’re gonna also watch my buddy, Corporal Tiggs fuck her. And if we catch you not watchin’, we’re gonna cut her open and gut her while she’s still alive! So you just sit there and watch the show. Watch how well yer little gal takes a hard cock!”
Nancy was filled with self-loathing and shame. Her inability to withstand the harsh punishments and pain inflicted upon her during her interrogations had result in her betrayal of the other members of her opposition group and even her own father. And the prison guards had forced her father to look on as three of them took turns raping her in all her holes and as they emptied their loads of cum down her throat. She had heard the shots that killed her father; the sharp reports of the guards’ pistols mixed with the loud groan of the black guard named Tiggs as he shot another stream of his semen deep up Nancy’s raw ass. She no longer had a sense of hope or self-worth.
To the guards, Nancy almost mindless subservience served only to make her a more inviting target. They loved how she dully accepted a fat cock being rammed hard to the back of her throat, even to where the balls were slamming against her chin. How she obediently opened her throat and gulped down the numerous floods of jism that they jacked into her waiting mouth.
And when they turned her over, she knew what they wanted and lifted her captive ass, offering it, opening it to the guards’ demanding cock-thrusts. She moved her ass when ordered, moved it like the worthless, betraying whore that she had become.
All throughout the prison, during both day and night, the guards had free reign with their helpless female political prisoners. There was no need to worry about sexual excesses; these women were nothing but a bunch of ungrateful, misguided traitors who had plotted to cause trouble. They deserved no mercy or consideration for their feelings or discomforts. They deserved to be shown their proper place. They deserved to be shown that the Regime now owned their bodies; owned those tight pussies and assholes. The male members of the group were all dead and buried by now; they were of no value or interest to the government. But these prime-age adult females could still be used. With their bodies, they could still repay the Regime for all the trouble that they had caused. They had a choice, of course. A prisoner could refuse and accept a slow, agonizing and gruesome death or she could choose to spend the rest of her young years serving as an unpaid whore, the government reaping either the earnings that she brought in or being able to use her as a tool of pleasure for their various political loyalists. With this as the prison administration’s prevailing philosophy, it was only natural that it would be here that the prisoners got their initiation into the world of sexual slavery.
Sgt. Henry Bains came from a family of ardent supporters of the Regime, but he surely hadn’t taken this job as a prison guard for the pay. In fact, his pay rate was quite low in comparison to other jobs that he could have taken with the government. His brother, for instance, earned almost five times as much at his government job. The real reason that Henry took and stayed on this job was the other benefits, namely the female political prisoners who filled the special cellblocks designated for them. Captive pussy was so much better. He could do almost anything that he wanted, as much as he wanted.
Tonight Henry was getting ready to enjoy a long night of hard fucking with the blond named Carol. Only two days before, Carol had used her podium as a promising young twenty-three year-old associate professor to lecture against the evils of the Regime and it’s programs. Now she cowered against the wall as Sgt. Bains began removing his uniform, his cock steadily swelling in girth and length.
“You and me are gonna get to know each other tonight, girl. Yeah, really, really good. I ain’t no college man or anything like that, but I promise ya that I’m gonna teach ya a lot of things before the morning comes. And don’t you worry, you’ll get plenty of chances to show me how well you’re learning.”
Nancy’s rapid descent to the deepest depths of degradation and humiliation had been keenly noted by her observers; experts at judging when a prisoner had been completely broken and was ready for further shaping and transformation into the complete sexual slave that she is destined to be. The last two weeks of the most savage physical and sexual abuse, Nancy Edwards now longer had a will of her own. Instead, she was one who immediately followed even the most outrageous orders and demands made upon her. Her sore body now responded on it’s own to whatever cock that invaded it; moving, bucking and undulating in it’s dutiful giving of pleasure to whoever was using it. The men had been come back for more, eager to again mount and ride this petite and thoroughly subservient whore who gave them what they wanted.
Now she had been judged ready to be moulded further by the women, the Mistress Guards, who came for her. Knowledgeable, experienced women who were experts at taking broken lasses like Nancy deeper into the world of life-slavery. She had no defences now, no stubborn ego or moral barriers to overcome. Instead of the rough treatment that she had endured from the male guards, these strange new women explored her with their firm fingers and their calm, but authoritative voices. They did not scream at her to please them, they simply pressed down on her shoulders and she kneeled. They wordlessly grasped her hair with a stern hand and she leaned forward to lick their offered pussies and clits. They would turn and bend over and spread their buttocks and she would rim their assholes.
The other female prisoners would be removed from here and transported to the next stop in their journey into forced whoredom. Nancy Edwards would not be going with them. She had exhibited those rare qualities that these emissaries had been looking for; rare qualities that destined Nancy for service to a more select and discerning elite.
Nancy did not question – or even read – the special document that the visiting Mistress Guards put in front of her to sign. She knew that she was expected to sign it, so that was enough. But the Mistress named Vana, the one with the salty-tasting anus, told her anyway.
“This is your confession of guilt, my lovely. This is your admission and your acceptance of your unworthiness. It clearly states that you wish to commit your body and soul – your life, itself – to nothing else except the pleasure of the Holy Sisters and all those whom they would have you serve. In it, you denounce your former beliefs and your former friends and acknowledge that your government was appointed by God himself. And that you are grateful that it, along with the Holy Sisters, has been so forgiving of your past sins and given you the chance to redeem yourself through a life of subservience. Once inducted, thought, there will no tolerance for even the slightest hesitation or disobedience. The penalty is being put into a pit of dogs to be devoured alive, so beware.
“Sign it now, Nancy. Sign it and deliver yourself to us. The Holy Reverend Nun herself has arrived and awaits you. She is so anxious to give you the honour of eating her Holy cunt in celebration of your new life…”
After Nancy finished signing away her life, Mistress Vana’s thick, aggressive, wet tongue invaded Nancy’s mouth, thrashing deeply at the back of her throat. The Mistress groaned as Nancy’s kissed her back, entwining her own slavish tongue with the older woman’s. Mistress Vana’s strong fingers pinched and twisted the girl’s abused nipples as she said, “After you have spent your time with the Holy Reverend and pleasured her, me and the other ladies will visit you tonight so that we can take turns letting you swallow our piss to help you remember us……”
The Holy Reverend Nun might have appeared as somewhat intimidating with her stern face, large stature and low voice, but with Nancy, at least, she was rather pleasant and cheerful. Upon meeting Nancy, the Reverend Nun had simply smiled, pulled up her habit and leaned back in her big, ornate chair and said, ” Come here, my pretty one. I hear that you are one of the special girls whom we always treasure when we find them.” She spread her legs, revealing her naked black pussy. ” My cunt has been wetting itself while waiting for you to kneel down and service it….”
The Reverend Nun sighed at the first touch of the girl’s lips and tongue on her clit. “Now don’t you worry, dear. I don’t expect you to be experienced enough to be able to satisfy me on the first try, but I’m very understanding and patient. So just stay down there and keep doing the best you can. In the future, your training will enable you to eat the most difficult cunts and suck the most reluctant cocks to orgasm with a few minutes if you want to. But right now, your sincere efforts will be enough for me…”
But Nancy was a quick leaner; the Mistress Guards had taught her some of the basics. It was quite a surprise to the Reverend Nun when Nancy managed to bring her up, then over the edge of a very pleasurable orgasm after about twenty minutes of licking and sucking. The Reverend Nun puffed on a cigarette passed to her by one of her hovering subordinates and grinned down at the girl. “Hmmmmmmm….Well, now, they were right about you; you are a quick study, aren’t you? I’m going to love having you service me after you get your training. That was good, but as you can see by the way my pussy is twitching, I’m ready for a lot more of what you just gave me – so get back to work, darling, and see if you’re able to give me some bigger cummings over the next hour or so while I interview the bunch of godless bitches to see if all of them are fit to be assigned to our regular training center.”
The Reverend Nun, smoking steadily and her pussy steadily serviced as she conducted her interviews with the scores of frightened female prisoners, was beginning to tire and her darkening mood showed it. Only the frequent orgasms supplied by the girl between her legs kept her from erupting into one of her infamous fits of irrational temper. Luckily, there were only a few more prisoners to be questioned and judged. Unlucky for Janice, the last girl to be interviewed by the Reverend Nun.
“You are the last one – finally!” The Reverend Nun took one last deep puff on her cigarette. “You trouble-making bitches take far too much of my time. It’s a good thing for you that the Church and the Regime thinks that you’ll eventually be worth something – because if it was up to me……” She stopped herself abruptly, glaring at Janice. ” Put out your hand. Now!”
As Janice put out her hand, the Reverend Nun grabbed it, turned the palm up and used it to extinguish her cigarette.
“Aaaaaaa!” Janice’s cry of pain at least was able to being a slight smile to the corner of the Reverend Nun’s mouth.
“Now that makes me feel a little better,” the Nun muttered softly.
The next morning was busy with activity as truck after truck arrived at the loading docks located at the back of the prison. And the air vibrated with the mixture of shouted orders, the crack of whips and canes and the anguished cries of confused and frightened women. The weather was appropriately overcast, matching the gloomy and depressed mood of the female prisoners who lined up, naked and trembling, waiting for their orders to march single-file into the dingy grey cargo trucks with the words, ‘Institution for the Rehabilitation of Women’ crudely stencilled on the sides. There had been no explanation concerning this place or it’s purpose and that further contributed to the sense of hopelessness and panic that gripped the ranks of the prisoners.
But Nancy Edwards would not be accompanying her former friends and the others to whatever a place this “Institution” was. She was at the loading dock area, but away from the others and in the company of the Reverend Nun and another nun who had come to meet them.
C>The Reverend Nun introduced Nancy to the new visitor. Nancy had never before seen such a nun; the heavy tattoos, the piercings, the outlandishly-colored hair. The pale, whitish skin and those hard eyes.
“My girl, this is High Sister Adriana. Sister Adriana is one of the aides to the Holy Mother herself, so you should feel very honoured by her coming her personally to meet you. The Sister has been charged by the Holy Mother with overseeing all the training of special girls like yourself.”
” Yes, you should feel honoured that the Holy Mother has sent me to personally fetch you and deliver you to her. You know, we have been constantly informed about you, about every little thing that you have done. I agree with the others that you just might be the right kind of girl that we like – after a good deal of intense training, of course. Tell me, girl, have you ever eaten shit?”
In the aftermath of the nearly – apocalyptic nuclear war called WWIII, the States and it’s vast South American colonies was now being ruled by a completely un-democratic elite mostly composed of industrialists, bankers and the military. All facets of civilian life were strictly controlled and the vast majority of citizens toiled along at near poverty when the elite were able to enjoy lives of pleasurable excess.
Of course the elite looked unfavorably upon the slightest bit of dissention from amongst the ranks of the downtrodden or those ‘liberal’ rabble-rousers who mostly tended to be concentrated in the universities and the ‘underground’ media.
These people were quickly ferreted put and apprehended without too much trouble; the regime’s agents and collaborators were everywhere. It was the policy of those in power to make use of every possible resource and in that vein, the more attractive adult females were given the choice between suffering a torturous death (usually being burned alive or slowly garrotted) or being pressed into sexual servitude.
The Regime, always careful to utilize every ounce of it’s human resources, had created a far-flung system of government – owned brothels and ‘sex resorts’ – and it staffed them with those unfortunate female political prisoners who had fallen within it’s foul clutches.
Free-lance prostitutes and whores were a thing of the past; the Regime quickly and brutally disposed of any who would challenge their monopoly on the sex trade.
“These ungrateful renegade bitches have caused the State to expend its time and efforts to battle their treasonous behaviour,” went the Regime’s rationale. “It is only right that these females be used to repay the State for all the trouble that they have caused.”
The Institution for the Rehabilitation of Women was always receiving new female prisoners from all corners of the continent. Most were in the range of 18 to 25 years, but there were a few who were a bit older. The Institution, though, not only trained these former malcontents as sexual slaves, it also maintained it’s own system of whorehouses, sex clubs and large ‘sex resorts’. The money that the captive sexslaves brought into the coffers of the State was enormous, as it serviced the needs of the lowest common worker, the highest elite and the swarms of well-heeled foreign tourists who flocked to the States in order to indulge even in the most perverted ways – and do it legally.
The Institution preferred the prettiest prisoners available. Here, they would be broken, then retrained to serve the State in any manner that the State thought necessary. There would be no escape except by death and the discipline was strict and unforgiving. Over three thousand women were being interned and ‘re-educated’ here at any one time. Once deemed ready, three-quarters of them would be shipped out to serve in the government-run sexual centers located all across the continent and in its conquered South American territories. The other one-quarter would be retained here at the Institute’s vast property to ply their sexual servitude.
But before anything else, the Institute’s resident ‘Counselors’ had to inspect and interview each new prisoner and then designate her to the appropriate Section. The Counselors’ decision was based on the level of the prisoners’ physical attraction, their social/educational background, age and attitude. There were rarely any unattractive dissidents brought in; those had usually been quickly executed or forced into serving as fuck-pigs-in-residence at military barracks. But the Counselors were still very dedicated to their jobs. Of course there was the perk of being able to fuck any girl who he or she ‘interviewed’ in order to more accurately assess her potential. It was a tough and demanding job, but someone had to do it.
“Watch your step, child,” cooed Right Sister Harriet as she guided the tall brunette up the steps toward the waiting Counselor. “We don’t want you getting banged or bruised even before the Counselor’s had a chance to inspect that smooth skin of yours, eh? Now remember what we’ve told you; answer all questions truefully and obey all orders without question. Here, Counselor Bains, she’s all yours. Let me know when you’re finished interviewing this sweetie and we’ll send the new one in.”
“Thanks, Sister. This shouldn’t be taking long. I can already see that this one will be a good fit for the Senior Officers’ Hostel. They tend to like the taller ones with good tits on ’em. I’ll probably recommend that she be sent over to Section C for training; they’ll have her rounded up into good shape in no time. She’ll need to be especially fit to be able to take on those hard-to-please combat colonels and generals who take their leaves there.”
“C’mon up here, bitch and let me ask you a few questions and also take a close look at that pussy of yours to see if it’s tight enough for what I have in mind for you.”
Conselor Bains held his ‘interviews’ one right after the other – with only two pauses in between; first he just had to spend an half-hour letting a particular sweet-looking redhead prove her willingness to please by letting her give him a wet blowjob. The girl wasn’t experienced enough to be able to suck that monster cock of his to a quick cum. But that was okay; he understood that she needed more practice. So after he finally helped things along by jack off a thick wad in her mouth, he made a mental note to have her brought back for daily instructional sessions. The second time-out was taken in order to relieve a little built-up tension by using his oversized schlong to batter the tight cunt of that cute brunette with the ponytail. He loved how he had her crying for mercy under his brutal assault and how he was able to yank on that ponytail while pile-driving her aching vagina. But now it was back to the routine. At least until the journalist named Doreen Post’s turn to interview.
Doreen Post had been quite a celebrity in the news world; her hard-hitting expose-type television journalism had mad her famous and rich. Also a little stupid. She just had to stupid, Baines concluded, to think that she could continue to do feature reports that exposed the Regime’s deep-seeded corruption, human rights abuses and other less-than-positive doings by the government and the elite that ran it. Even though Post’s reports could only be broadcast in some overseas venues, it was only a matter of time before the Regime had stomached enough of her trouble making and came for her.
Baines was impressed; Doreen Post was 37 years old but looked like a young woman in her late 20s. And he could tell that it was all natural, no facelifts or silicon. And Bains was more impresses when Post immediately began beseeching him to please, please not separate her from her 18 year-old daughter who had also been arrested along with her.
“Eighteen years old, eh? Damn, bitch, you really were a whore early on,” Bains sneered at her. “Well, it’s your fuckin’ fault that she’s in here with ya. You should have thought about her before you started runnin’ off your big mouth. Now she’s gonna be an overused whore just like her mother’s gonna be. You know, they’re probably gonna send ya down to one of our whorehouses down in South America. They’re not as choosey about gals with a few miles on ’em like you. Your little girl will probably stay up here. But don’t worry, I promise I’ll make sure that she gets lots and lots of my personal attention before she gets sent out to work her ass. Or maybe one of our prostitutes will want to keep her as a wife. Get her all strung out on dope and keep her eatin’ prostitute asshole and getting her own holes used every night with those huge strapons that the workin’ girls like to use. Hah, hah!”
Bains enjoyed the stricken expression on Doreen’s face as he described what was probably in store for her and her daughter.
“…..Unless…” Conselor Bains let the word hang there, waited for Doreen to jump at the faint sliver of hope.
Doreen fell to her knees, her face pleading up at Bains. ” Oh, please! Please! Please don’t separate us! She’s all I have! It’s so unfair for her to suffer because of what I’ve done! I’ll do anything you ask! Anything!”
Bains chuckled, his mind already mulling over the different possibilities…. “I know you will. What’s your bitch daughter’s name?”
“Kerry. Her name’s Kerry! She’s outside with the others. Please!”
“Good.” Bains signaled over to Right Sister Elaine. “Sister, would you please fetch a Kerry Post from the prisoners outside and bring her in here?”
Miss Doreen Post’s first pleas concerning not being separated from her 18 year-old daughters were not quite good enough for Conselor Bains, so he made her beg again and again again. ” I want to hear you really beg me, you worthless piece of trash! You can do better than that! You better if you want to see your daughter again after today,” Baines had huffed. Yes, this was so much fun!
After a while, he was satisfied and relented – somewhat. He took off his trousers and pulled Doreen close against him. “Look at this super cock of mine,” Baines said to Doreen. “You ain’t never seen a cock like this before, have ya? Here, put your fingers around it and massage it and make it ready. I make every bitch scream and cry when I fuck ’em with it. You’re gonna be screamin’ and cryin’ too. And your lovely daughter’s gonna be screamin’ when I ride her, too. Now, we’re all gonna go downstairs to a little room where we all can spend some time without being disturbed. If both of you can please me like I want, maybe – just maybe – I’ll arrange for you two to stay together….”
Doreen and her daughter had endured the endless gang-rapes from the prison guards when they were first arrested, but none of those fuckings could compared to the ramming that both of them were taking from Conselor Baines. The Conselor had said he would make them cry and scream – and he was right. His megacock was more than a normal pussy and ass would take. He had fucked Doreen first and after finally pumping a big load deep in her protesting cunt, he had made daughter Kerry lick his balls then suck on that monster of a dick until it stiffened and swelled back up to size. Doreen felt so ashamed as she could only watch helplessly as her beloved daughter suffered from Bains’ prolonged attack on her painfully stretched butthole. Then it started all over again. Baines’ portly stature belied his almost superhuman virility. The man needed very little time between cummings to regain his impressive hardness and length and to be ready for yet another long, hard riding of one of them.
The Conselor had finished his latest screwing of Doreen’s daughter only a few minutes ago, flooding her captive cunt with yet another warm deposit of his sperm. Now he was back on top of Doreen and brusquely stuffing that giant sausage meat back into her tortured pussy.
“Thought you both would be able to please me real easy, didn’t ya? Heh, heh, they all think that at first. Then they all beg me for mercy. But you better not beg me to take it easy, if you know what’s good for ya. I want ya to beg me to hurt ya more with this here cock of mine!” He slapped her face hard. “Beg me, bitch! Tell me you want me to make you suffer! Tell me what a whore you are! Thank me for fuckin’ ya raw! Do it!”
And Doreen, knowing that she had no choice, said the things he demanded to hear. “Uhhhhhhh….!! Please hurt me, Sir. Make me suffer. Fuck me hard and make me suffer! I deserve it! I’m just a cheap whore. Fuck me hard…….!!”
“Yeah! Yeahhhhhh!” Her words drove him on to even a harder, deeper fuck-punishment of her cunt. “Buck those hips, whore! Push that pussy up to take everything I give ya! Yeahhhhhhhh…..Mmmmmm..!
The two Post women’s had spent three long and torturous hours being ravaged by Conselor Bain and his giant man-meat, the longest three hours of their lives so far. Their holes were all raw and sore and that indeed made the invasions of his cock torture to them. But to Doreen and Kerry, there was no other choice; it was either withstanding his horrific assaults on their bodies or the almost certainty of them being forever separated and no seeing each other ever again.
But both of them wondered how much more of Conselor Bains’ attention they could stand. The answer came as a shock….
Conselor Bains pulled his shit-flecked cock, still pulsing out another wad of semen, from Doreen’s suffering asshole and pulled Kerry’s head downward.
“You better not let a drop of this cum go to waste, whore,” he grunted at Kerry. “Be quick! Suck it clean, milk all the juice out of it! Uh-huh, that’s a good little bitch….Mmmmmmm. Like the taste of a cock that’s been up your mom’s ass? I bet you do, you nasty cunt. Ohhhhhhh…. such a good little mouth you got on ya….. And don’t you worry, you and your mom are gonna stay together. I’ve decided that I’m gonna keep ya both. Gonna make ya both my private pieces of pussy. I’m gonna be fuckin’ the both of you every night, just like I’ve been doin’! And my wife’s gonna love ya, too! She’s a fat, ugly old bitch but she sure likes puttin’ whores like you through their paces. Maybe we’ll take you to some parties and make ya do a mother-daughter act!”
Sometimes a Conselor’s decision on the best placement for a slave turns out to be just right. Conselor Jones had considered the background, temperament and looks of 20 year-old Prisoner Bernice and had concluded that she would be best suited to begin her service as personal ‘comfort whore’ in one of the Right Sister barracks. The Conselor had noted in Bernice’s dossier that she had spent her high school years at a convent school. How fitting that this prisoner would now have an opportunity to atone for her sins against the Church and State by dedicating herself to providing sexual and other personal services to overworked (and horny ) servants of God. A ‘Comfort Girl’ was always a useful addition to any Sister who didn’t wish to venture into the crowded Prisoner Dens to make a sometimes uninformed choice of female flesh or to cause the inevitable hard feelings that often resulted when a Sister used her higher position to pluck an appealing slave away from the clutches of her respective prostitute or guard overseer.
Bernice’s introduction to the Right Sisters at Barracks No. 3 was an immediate success and it was enough to bring tears to the Conselor’s eyes. Of course there were real tears in Bernice’s eyes at the moment – but that was easily understood. After all, Right Sister Ivanna was a rather intimidating woman to behold -especially when she was so up close and personal. At a towering 6 feet, three inches and with her heavy tattooing and piercings, some even called her frightening. Bernice was indeed frightened as Sister Ivanna and her trusty strapon were giving her a most enthusiastic welcome.
“Just relax, baby, and let your sweet Sister Ivanna teach you how she likes to fuck with her hard rubber cock,” moaned the tall Right Sister as she held a crying Bernice in place and the long artificial dick repeatedly plunged deep inside her with every forward thrust of the Sister’s lean but strong hips.
“All the other Sisters here are going to be loving you, loving you in so many ways – but I promise you that I’m going to love you more and love you harder…”
It was said that nothing ever happened at the Institution without the old woman known as the Reverend Mother Estelle being aware of it. And although very few people had ever personally seen the ultimate power of the Church known as the Holy Mother, it was well known that Reverend Mother Estelle was one of the Holy Mother’s first-cousins and a favorite, talking to her almost daily. In her heavily guarded upper suites that topped the Institute’s huge Central Administration building, the Reverend Mother’s daily routines were a mystery to all except the tight-knit and fiercely loyal inner circle of advisors and personal assistants. Of the Church’s four Reverend Mothers, Estelle was also the most feared, for it was said that only the Holy Mother herself was so ruthless and quick to anger if she was not pleased. It was also rumored that she kept a personal harem of at least a dozen of the more beautiful slavegirls especially culled for her from the many female political prisoners arrested by the Regime. The rumors were true.
The Reverend Mother was a woman with great responsibilities and as such, she needed the constant sootings that only the tongues and pussies of the eager-to-please slavegirls could provide. Her energy was more than that of a woman in her 20s and her body, though wrinkled at over 80 years old, glowed with health. The two or so orgasms that she experienced during her every waking hour served to keep her thoroughly robust and fit for her official tasks. Of course, all of this meant that her slaves worked hard at keeping her satisfied. Those who failed to give the Reverend Mother the cummings that she demanded soon were destined to end up as food for the large dogs that the Reverend Mother kept as pets down in the depths of the huge caverns that ran beneath the Central Administration building. The dogs were quite fat.
It was time for the Reverend Mother to examine and judge the latest addition to her harem. The new girl was a very attractive blonde named Fiona. The Reverend Mother needed to fill a vacancy in her harem, a vacancy that had just opened up within the past three hours.
“Your name is Fiona and you were the personal secretary to the recently-departed traitor, Senator Seinsworth, I am told. Is that true, girl? Answer me, there’s no need for you to be afraid.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“Well, girl, I am one who values personal attention, as you can see. You will be given the honor of helping to keep my clit erect and satisfied. And you will also be allowed to savor the varied tastes of my asshole. Now, I don’t expect you to be accomplished right away – after all, pleasuring one so esteemed as myself takes practice. But my patience is not open-ended, girl, so I advise you to devote your every thought as to how you might better your talents and serve me in the manner that I demand.
“Do not fail at your duties, as that little bitch behind me did. As you can see, I am not the type who is very forgiving. Now come here and take this girl’s place between my legs and show me what your lips and tongue can do. That way I can judge your shortcomings and decide what you need to improve on…”
For those prisoners designated to serve the Regime as ‘whoregirls’, the initial first step was being assigned to a Prostitutes’ Barrack in order to be more fully trained in the art of sexual service and servitude. Here, each new whoregirl was put under tutelage to her own Whore Mistress, who would teach her the proper attitude needed to survive in her new lifestyle.
The Whore Mistresses were all professionals; they were an important element in the Regime’s sex industry. Almost all were drug addicts and thus were never paid in actual monies for their service.
Instead they were supplied with a steady and reliable source of drugs supplied by the Regime; and in this, they were content with their lot and also thoroughly devoted to those who provided them with what they needed.
Given free lodgings in their barracks, these hardened and jaded hookers had a comparably stress-free and enjoyable existence. Furthermore, being given control over a whoregirl was another added benefit; not only for the pleasures that the slave was obligated to provide her, but also for the fact that a whoregirl could be destined to service the Whore Mistress’s customers in her place. In other words, each Mistress had the option to put a whoregirl to work in her place – with the Mistress getting full credit for the whoregirl’s chores as a fuckpig.
Each Whore Mistress, in essence, could be a ‘pimp’, with her assigned whoregirl doing the actual work. So it was not surprising that a incoming group of frightened and cowed whoregirls was a very popular occasion at a Prostitutes’ Barrack.
The new slaves were fought over, traded and bargained for by the Mistresses. Some individual Mistresses owned as many as a half-dozen or more whoregirls; other Mistresses sometimes for their own cartels and controlled whoregirl harems – consisting of fifty or more slaves who worked for them.
The main consideration was the amount of drug-credits each whoregirl could earn for her Mistress. The secondary factor was, of course, the sexual services that these whoregirls were obligated to provide to their Mistress or Mistresses; with the exception of food, lodgings and drugs, the only other consideration for the Whore Mistresses was sex. And here in these dank and crowed Prostitute Barracks, the air reeked of sex and was constantly filled with the sounds of throaty grunts of the Mistresses’ orgasms, the wet smackings of split-ladened kisses and the anguished groans of slaves as their pussies and anuses were stretched and pummeled by fists and forearms.
It was here in the Prostitutes’ Barracks that a new slavegirl learned her true place in life; it was here that she was truely taught the proper attitude needed so survive as a whoregirl for the Regime. While her body healed for the rigors of her initial pain sessions with the guards when first arrested and imprisioned, her mind and spirit was now being shaped here by her Whore Mistress. Here there was no priority other than keeping her Mistress happy and satisfied – given the level of jadedness of the experienced Mistresses, that was not always easy or pleasant. But there was no other choice outside the option of an tortured death, so there was no other choice than acceding to whatever demands made upon her by her Mistress.
Janice, a new whoregirl, had been assigned to Barracks No. 321. Whore Mistress 45897, young and somewhat lower-ranking in the Barrack’s hierarchy, had traded a full two drug-credits for ownership rights to Janice and was now guiding her new whoregirl through the ends and outs of showing the expected homage and respect demanded by a Whore Mistress.
“Wonderful. That’s the way, just concentrate of licking that shoe clean, every inch of it,” young Mistress 45897 instructed of Janice, keenly aware of the interested attention on the both of them by the older Mistresses. “Take your time, sweetie. I’m in no hurry. I want you to work your way all the way up to my cunt, but I want you to do it slowly and appreciate every inch of my feet and legs before I let you taste my wonderful pussy and ass, understand?”
The other Whore Mistresses nooded with approval as they watched No. 45897’s interaction with her new whoregirl. Yes, that was the way to do it. A whoregirl must learn that learn that being able to service a Prostitute’s cunt and asshole and to provide her with her deserved orgasms was a privilege that had to be earned; that to be allowed to give her Whore Mistress pleasure was an honor….
Of course, not all new slaves could be not expected to be as accomplished in the art of pleasuring their Whore Mistress in the efficient and timely manner that was sometimes demanded of them. Those whoregirls who were deemed as ‘deficient’ in this field were assigned to Pleasuring Classes in order to hone their skills. It was not that the Whore Mistresses were always in a hurry, but sometimes one needed her whoregirl to be able to quickly service her to an orgasm so that she could get on with an essential chore – like sleeping, eating or getting dressed. A Whore Mistress usually was addicted to her orgasms as much as her particular drugs. After all, outside of drugs, there was nothing else than sex.
A typical Prostitute, once she owned a whoregirl (or whoregirls), now only fucked a customer (male or female) if she wanted to, not if she had to. Therefore the immersion of a Prostitute into sex was almost total and the need for pleasure was strong and consuming. Some Whore Mistresses needed as many as three orgasms every waking hour to remain content; others, though only required cumming once every other hour – but those were usually the younger ones; the need increased with experience. As a result of this sexual addiction, outside of their sometimes heavy tattooings, most Prostitutes were also characterized by their perpetually and oversized clits.
Whore Mistress 76489’s swollen clit was now beginning it’s familar throbbing as she drew Janice’s face down towards it. No. 76489 had wangled and maneuvered for some time to get an Instructor’s position in one of the daily Pleasuring Classes. She enjoyed the wonderful sense of accomplishment that came from being able to teach new whoregirls the technical skills that they needed to satisfy their Mistresses. In her classes, she deftly instructed them in just how to get their Mistresses pussies to explore their juices within a few minutes. She also provided in-depth training in the art of the more involved and complete forms of sexual servicing of a Mistress’s holes when it was appropriate; there were times when Mistresses needed to be slowly serviced so as to experience one of those hip-arching, pussy-grinding, body-spasm orgasms that left them limp and trembling. Mistress 76489 had demonstrated that she possessed the relative patience and aptitude needed to be considered as one of the best Instructors at the Institute.
“Now pay close attention, bitches,” commanded Mistress 76489. “I want you to observe how my knob responds as my little student here follows my instructions. If she does it exactly like I tell her to, there is no reason why she won’t be able to bring me off within three to four minutes. I don’t expect her to get the hang of it the first couple of times – after all, using a tongue properly takes a few practices in order to get it right. But she’s gonna be able to give me a nice “O” in just a few tries. After you’ve seen her do it a few times, you’ll try it with the assistant who’s sitting behind you. She’ll help you to correct what you might be dong wrong and tell you if you’re doing it right. Now don’t hesitate to ask questions; you want to do well here, I’m sure you don’t want to a whip or paddle to punish you for being a bad student, do we? Remember, at the end of class each of you will have to take your turn eating me to a good cum before I mark you as having passed this class.”
In the three weeks that she had been assigned as a whoregirl, Janice – or ‘ whorejanice’ – had been traded between Whore Mistresses four times; a testament to her attractiveness looks and attitude. Now she was the property of Whore Mistress 65555, a mid-ranking Prostitute who was determined to make whore Janice a long-range development project; one who would whored with care and forethought and eventually traded up in return for three or four whoregirls.
There was already an undercurrent of interest in the girl that made her a valuable asset for any Mistress who owned her. Better to obtain rights to her now before she became that hot commodity that Mistress 65555 sensed that she was destined to be.
Already 65555 had been approached by one of the older, higher-echelon Prostitutes who had expressed an interest in the whoregirl for purposes of marriage. That in itself was testimony to whore Janice’s value; a Prostitute who wished to take a slavegirl as a wife was usually willing to depart with a generous dowry of drug-credits and whoregirls in exchange for a girl she wanted to serve her as a lifeslave.
Most of the ranking Prostitutes kept a couple of the most attractive and desirable whoregirls as slavewives; slaves who were generally taken away from regular duties in the various Sex Houses operated by the Regime and reserved for the exclusive of their particular Whore Mistress.
In a way, being a slavewife could be just as demanding as being whored in a Sex House; a ranking Prostitute Mistress was invariably jaded from her sexual profession, it was not always easy to satisfy her cravings.
The more experienced the Prostitute, the more perverted the forms of sex needed to keep her content and fulfilled. Most often this meant a good deal of the kind of sex rumored to be favored by the Holy Sisters; the kind that featured complete degradation and the more unimaginable perversions. But that was for the possible future; here in the present, Mistress 65555 was readying her whoregirl, whore janice, for her first bit of real customer service……
“Don’t you be afraid, honey.” Mistress 65555 was feeling so good; the girl’s tongue rimmed the inside of her asshole after having had licked and sucked her clitoris to the most wonderful orgasm. “Your first couple of days won’t have to be spent being fucked by dozens of cocks inside a Sex House. I’ve arranged for you to be a kind of ‘advertising gal’. You’re gonna be making the rounds, putting on displays outside the Houses so that it gets the customers’ attention and gets ’em excited and ready to spend their hard-earned credits on the pussy inside. There’s gonna be a good-lookin’ and very hung stud named Carlos partnered with you, so you and him will be puttin’ on a good fuck-show at each stop. Don’t you dare fail me girl, okay? Don’t make me look bad. Now I had to convince Maria here to let you take her girl’s place doing these exhibitions. Maria’s the House Matron and she’s been watchin’ you for a while and says always wanted the chance to see how you would take her strap-on up your ass if she had the chance to use it on you. So I want you to be real nice to Maria and thankful for the opportunity that she’s gonna give you today….”
“Si, I’m gonna love you real nice with my rubber cock, whore.” Maria’s fingers stroked the contours of the huge dildo attached to her strap-on. “Stay right where you are, my lovely piece of tail. Keep that position. It’s perfect for us.” She began to attach and fastened her trusty strap-on. This slave was so cute, Maria had wondered how the slave’s face would look as the huge artificial cock was slowly pressed into her asshole, the expressions on her face as the pain raced to her brain. She had to see it for herself.
“On second thought, let’s go into the other room. There’s a big mirror behind the couch and I want her looking into it while I’m fuckin’ her….”
After enduring the repeated anal assaults from Matron Maria’s giant strap-on, taking Carlos’ thick cock up her ass was not so much a torture for whore Janice. But it still hurt; Carlos was muscular and strong and he was determined to attract the crowds by showing them the kind of hard fucking he was capable of. The deep, brutal pounding of her rectum caused whore Janice to moan in distress and that lured more onlookers forward to watch the scene that was happening in front of the entrance to Sex House 127H; more potential customers who, after being excited by the fervid sex show put on by Carlos and whore Janice, would decide to step inside the House in relieve their frustrations.
Whore Kanice’s Mistress had outfitted her in appropriate ‘ fuck-slut ‘ attire in order that she would look the part, but it was clear by her chained collar and the way Carlos roughly slammed her holes and the way she obediently accepted and gyrated her hips against his thrusts that she was a slavewhore.
“Uh, uh, uh, uhhhhhhh….” Whorejanice couldn’t help but react vocally to Carlos’s continued punishment-fucking. Bent over and braced against the wall, she gasped as he pulled his dick from her ass and jammed it in her pussy and began pounding again.
“Oooooo….Uhhhhhh…Ahhhhhhiiieeee….” More jolting, deep ramming. Her cunt aching, sore….
From the near distance, the smirking, sneering comments and cheering on by the growing sidewalk crowd. Whore Janice’s shame was so complete….
“Mmmmm, you bitch….you no-good little bitch….,” Carlos grunted hoarsely as his thick piece of lard continued it’s hard probing of her sore bottom. Whore Janice couldn’t help but cry out in agony as she felt the man’s cock digging deep into her colon with maximum force. The pain in her asshole was excruciating and she wanted it to stop, but she knew Carlos would not stop until his lust was fully satisfied.
The on looking crowd was really into it now, cheering them on.
“Give it to her, man! Tear that ass up! Show the bitch who’s the boss!”
Finally, after over a half-hour of non-stop fucking of whore Janice’s obliging pussy and anus, a sweating Carlos could hold himself back no longer. “Aaarrrgggh…….” His hips slammed forward, his balls firmly against her buttocks as he emptied his warm load of semen up her asshole.
The crowd erupted with glee. Quite a few of them had open their pants and had been jacking off at the sight. “Damn, the buy sure knows how to fuck,” someone commented.
“Look at her, look at her face. She loved it! Yeah, she’s a real whore, alright.”
The day’s fifth and last stop on Carlos and whore Janice’s outside exhibition tour was at Sex House 1274B. By this time, the girl’s pussy and asshole were raw from all the hard fucking from her virile partner. But Carlos was ready for more of what his slave partner had to offer and once again, in front of another crowd of greedy-eyed spectators, he was jolting her body with his cruel assaults. Each Sex House had it’s own personality, so for this location, whore Janice was exhibited naked and natural. But the fucking was the same, and so were anguished moans that came from her.
“That’s fine, whore. That’s fine. Just keep bent over like this so you can take my dick deep every time.” Carlos, very aware of the pain that he was inflicting on the slave, was intent on putting just a bit of extra power behind each thrust. His own moans were moans of primitive pleasure and wanton arousal that grew ever louder as he plunged into her captive rectum again and again.
The whoreslave named Janice whimpered now with each slam of Carlos’ cock, but from her day’s experience with his fucking style, she could sense that he was getting close to the point where he could not resist from shooting his load. She tried her best, given the difficult bent-over position that he commanded her to maintain, to move more in rhythm with the cock thrusting into her from behind, hoping to spur him on to a quicker orgasm. She tried to relax her sphincter muscles, but nothing seemed to help relieve her of the pain being inflicted upon her raw-sore ass.
The crowd, mistaking whore Janice’s struggles and squirmings as acts of passion, roared with shouts of encouragements. “Oh yeahhhhh, baby! Move that ass! Show us how hot you are!”
One of the Sex House’s big female guards smiled as she observed the exhibition being put on by Carlos and the slavewhore. Yes, the crowd was excited and growing more and more restive watching the stud power-fucking the slave. And after the show was over, the House would get many of them coming inside…..
Given the nature of the Institution and it’s varied Sex Houses, it was not surprising that relationships amongst the myriads of restive and scheming Whore Mistresses created an atmosphere in which few things were stable or permanent regarding ownership of whoregirls. This was especially true for whore Janice. Just within a few days of her being traded for by Mistress 65555, she now found herself imprisoned and bound in a strange room in a part of the Institution in which she had never ventured before. And another strange, swarthy-complexed woman who had entered, undressed, and without a word, begun to lashing whore Janice with a short whiplet.
” Just be still and take it,” the strange woman said calmly as she continued to whip the girl. ” The sooner you are still and accept your punishment, the sooner I will stop hitting you.”
The slavegirl forced herself to be still and lay immobile, sobbing quietly as the visitor kept at her whipping, each blow becoming a bit harder than the last one. ” Yes darling, yes, yes…Keep still for your Mistress. Show her what a good little girl you can be….”
After another fifty or so hard strokes from her whip, the strange woman finally relented. ” There, that wasn’t so bad, was it? You don’t have to admit that you want more of it, but I know you really do – you just don’t realize it yet.” The woman waved off the comment that whore Janice was going to make; it was clear that whatever the slave had to say was of no consequence in the scheme of things.
” I was instructed to obtain you from the Prostitute who ‘owned’ you. I am Miss Sadon and I’ve come to take charge of you. It’s been decided that you have the qualities that my bosses are looking for – whatever that is….. In fact, now now that you’ve been put in the proper frame of mind, a couple of them are waiting outside – very impatiently, I’ll bet – to meet you. Now you just relax while I invite them in…”
Miss Sadon’s two bosses were the type who wasted little time in getting right down to the business at hand.
“This her? This the bitch they told us about?” The portly one asked the questions in a harsh hurried manner, much like the manner in which he was getting out of his trousers.
“Yeah, this is the one, Senor Martinez,” Miss Sadon answered, a wry smile as she watched him begin stroking his cock.
“Good. I see that you’ve already let her know how she’s expected to act. Good, good.” Mr. Martinez stepped in close and roughly flipped the girl’s legs and hips so that she was positioned on her side. “Now let’s have at that little asshole of yours, girl.” He brusquely begin forcing his dick up her anus, hurting her unnecessarily.
“Mmmmm, not bad. Ass is still tight.” Senor Martinez turned to the other man who was already massaging his own meat while he watched.
Senor Martinez began his own hard, rapid fucking of whorejanice’s tormented anus.
“You’re a lucky little puta ,” he said. ” We’re gonna make you a star. Our snuff films are popular all over. People just love watching sweet gringa blondes being ass-fucked by one of our giant-cocked studs before Miss Sadon here cut’s their throats…..”
In the new sex-based economy of the New Order, the role of the Sex Club was essential in that it served those who felt uncomfortable with the typical crude atmospheres that prevailed in the neighborhood Sex House establishments. The Sex Club was a bit more ‘sedate’ in its surroundings and the security for it’s clients. The level of credit/money might be a little steeper, but the advantages of a more attractive offering of slave-whores and of less crowded accommodations were often the major selling points. Also, the Sex Clubs were more diverse in that they were organized to appeal to different levels of class and specializations. Some Clubs catered to the working class, others were designated for the needs of the middle-class and others still more for the appetites of the upper class and elite customers.
There were Clubs strictly for lesbian sex; some for S&M. In the extreme, the Regime had also sanctioned the creation of a more deadly genre of Club entertainment referred to as ‘ Finality Clubs’; establishments that offered the opportunity to live out one’s fantasy of being able to actually not only enjoy the most extreme sex with the slave-whore of their choice – but also the thrill of taking her life afterwards. In spite of the fees charged, the Finality Clubs suffered no lack of customers; in fact, the main problem was keeping up with the demand for enough slave-whores to service the needs of the clients.
The Morass District Sex Club was always full. Located just adjacent to a major industrial working-class district, it operated 24 hours a day, seven days a week. The slaves sent there for service duties rarely lasted more than a few months before they were used up and then sent down to serve in the crass Sex Houses.
Former college students Regina and Susan were just into their first day of duty at the Morass Club – a place very different from the upper middle-class surroundings from which they came. Such big mouths they had when they were ranting and demonstrating against the government only a month or so ago. Now those big mouths were being put to good use. Susan’s mouth was stretching as much as it could as it struggled to fit around that wide cock that belonged to the steel worker who had saved up enough credits to afford the services of two whores at once.
“Uh-huh….. yeahhhhhh…. feels good, whore – but keep on working that mouth down and see just how much dick you can fit in it. Down worry ’bout throwin’ up – your pretty friend here will swallow your vomit for ya.”
The Morass Club’s ‘Orgy Room’ afforded a less crowded atmosphere than those offered in the Sex Houses. Limited to no more than a half-dozen couples at a time and overseen by a Matron, the room allowed more a chance for getting a more intimate fuck out of the slaves. A customer often would ask his captive partner her name and background before or during the enjoyment of her holes. After all, knowing that one was fucking a former student or secretary or businesswoman often made using an debasing her all the more enjoyable.
At the moment, Horance was cuddling up with a cute freckled-faced blond with large tits. Horance was in no hurry – he had two hours’ time reserved for the Room. The week had been hard; working the huge furnaces that helped produce the Regime’s badly needed industrial machinery served to leave a man exhausted at the end of the week. But not too exhausted to take advantage of the delights readily available at the Morass Club. And certainly not too exhausted to give this blond troublemaker the hard fucking that she deserved.
“What’s your name, bitch?” Horance grasped the sobbing slave tightly, feeling the nice contrast of her smooth, tender body rubbing against his rough, hairiness.
K – Katherine, sir. M-m-my name’s Katherine…”
“Why are you here, Katherine? What’d you do to get your pretty little ass sentenced to being a whore here? Tell me, birch and you better not lie…”
“I passed out pamphlets telling about how the leaders were not concerned with the needs of the people, sir……”
“Then you’re as stupid as you are guilty, ain’t ya? ” Horance’s cock was lengthening as it rubbed against Katherine’s thigh. He was almost ready now. ” Well, your ol’ Horance is gonna help ya atone for your sins…..now, a gal’s like you just gotta have a nice, tight little asshole. Why don’t we see how much of my dick I can ram in it the very first time, huh?”
Horance chuckled at the girl’s whimpering as he shoved his thick, wet tongue in her ear while beginning to shift her on the mattress. His shaft was already leaving a trail of pre-cum on her leg and back as he pressed her down.
“You gonna be a sweet piece of ass, Katherine. I can tell…..”
Viewed by status, the Garners District Sex Club was only a little above that of the Morass Sex Club. Its customers were mostly from the ranks of the administrative and office workers who toiled within the vast bureaucratic dens housed in the huge Administration Services office towers nearby. Whereas the Morass Club’s mostly catered to males, the Garners Club’s customers were almost evenly split between males and females.
It was no surprise that women were just as likely to patronize the club; after all, they needed to release their pent-up tensions as much as their male counterparts did. The drudge-work of overseeing the enormous amount of paperwork that helped keep the Regime’s government working and up to date was both hard and pressure-filled. Sometimes only the pleasures provided by a pretty and completely subservient slavewhore was enough to give an overworked civil servant the relief needed to endure yet another long week of relentless bosses and endless forms and mundane documentations demanded by distant, faceless superiors.
A paid session at Garners entitled a client to three hour’s access to whatever delectable pieces of slave pussy he or she wanted, assuming that slave was not being used by someone else at the moment.
This was enough time for a client to enjoy a more leisurely pace in extracting whatever pleasures he or she wish to experience; the thinking behind this being that being able to more completely savor what a slavebitch had to offer worked to keep a loyal employee much more happy and content than the brief, momentary and quick-fading glow brought on by a desperate spate of rutting sex caused by a looming time restraint.
This allowed a customer like Mr. Romer to casually take his time getting to know a captive slavewhore like Sophie. Mr. Romer might be only a nondescript sorter in the Administration Mailroom during his working hours, but here at Garners he could be sexually accommodated like royalty.
Sophie’s face and body was as exquisite as any magazine model and her hands were soft as she obediently stroked Mr. Romer’s rock-hard cock while nervously returning his spit-covered, deep-tongued kisses.
It was so hard for Sophie to keep from flinching as Mr.Romer’s insistent fingers began probing, then slowly working their way inside her pussy. She could her the muted giggles that came from a couple of Romer’s fellow office workers as they looked on this erotic scene.
“Looks like our boy Romer’s gonna be enjoying himself again,” observed the female worker. “I swear, the man must spend almost all his credits in this place.”
“How would you know?” retorted her male co-worker. “Unless you’ve been here just as much as he has.”
As in most things, the sexual and emotional tastes and demands of the male and female customers of the Garners Club tended to differ. And, also as with most astute businesses, the Club recognized those differences and incorporated it’s offerings so as to satisfy the cravings of each group.
The men, as usual, tended to have preferences that were quite simple and basic: tight and willing pussies and assholes to fuck and willing mouths to milk and swallow one’s frenzied sperm loads.
The women clients, on the other hand, often had needs that were more subtle – but at the same time, much more perverse and decadent in their nature. Nothing was more indicative of this than the Club’s rather unique Women’s’ Toilet arrangement.
The Women’s Toilet at the Garners Club was quite popular with the female patrons. And why not? It took a usually thankless and mindless chore like using the commode and transformed it into something that was a most enjoyable and unforgettable experience.
This was accomplished by the Club’s offering of the “Toilet Girls” – in essence, toilet slaves. These Toilet Girls had no other duty except providing their utterly servile mouths and throats for the reception and swallowing of the women customers’ esteemed piss and shit. Any reluctance or refusal on their part guaranteed a most horrible death tied and slowly burned at the stake or in one of the big ovens especially built for the task.
It made using the restroom an experience to be looked forward to, indeed.
This was Toilet Girl Marianne’s first night of service at the Club and it looked like Miss Colette was going to be her very first customer to service. Restroom Matron Estelle was in charge of matching the toilet slaves up with the different clients who lined up quite patiently to make use of an enjoyable restroom piss and shit session. There were two dozen slaves assigned to work the toilets and Matron Estelle made sure that everything went smoothly.
The Matron made the introductions. ” This is our new girl, Marianne. Marianne, you will have the honour of being Miss Colette’s toilet. Miss Colette is one of our best customers, so I expect you to do a great job at taking every brown and golden that she provides you, understand? Be a good toilet and make her happy, my dear – just like you’ve made me happy while training you.”
“C’mon, baby. That’s our commode right over there.” Miss Colette’s breathing was rapid as she wet the side of her toilet slave’s face with her wet tongue. She always looked forward to using the restroom at the Garners Club and her anticipation was heightened even further by being the first customer to deposit her shit and piss in the throat of this sobbing new slave. Miss Colette had had plenty to drink while having her cunt licked to orgasms by the three slavewhores who had serviced her so far this evening. And the big after-work meal that she had eaten was now ready to work it’s way out.
She would take her time and let her urine stream out slowly, enjoying to the sounds made by Marianne’s throat as she struggled to catch all the sharp-tasting yellow liquid spurted out by her superior.
After that, the sounds would be different; coarse, halting sounds of gagging and revulsion as the slave’s mouth and throat laboured to catch, chew and swallow the thick, putrid turds that Miss Colette would pulse out of her ass.
“Yeah, you’re gonna love it, girl. I know you’re gonna do a great job with that pretty mouth of yours. Such a pretty mouth. Just made for eating my shit. Now, after you’re in position, you make sure that you keep your lips tight against my snatch so you don’t spill any of my piss and then fit your mouth right against my asshole when I’m ready to shit, okay? That way, all you have to do is just work your throat and you’ll be able to swallow everything just by gulping. Then you’ll also be able to stick that tongue inside my ass and clean it so I won’t have to use up any of the Club’s toilet tissues.
“C’mon, be quick now – you don’t want to keep me waiting.”
In many ways, a slave’s service as a Toilet Girl was an excellent training regime in the ways absolute subservience. Frankly, there were very few other methods that were as effective as toilet service as a tool to assure the stripping away of almost every remaining vestige of foolish pride and self-esteem. The managers of the more extreme Sex Clubs and the producers of the government-sanctioned pornography industry were particularly fond of using ex-Toilet Girls for their operations; these slaves’ background of total humiliation served to make them perfect for those popular sex shows and videos in which they would humbled and degraded in the utmost ways. And since the concept of having ‘house slaves’ was fast becoming fashionable, many potential owners had begun to look upon a slave’s duty as a Toilet Girl as a valuable indicator of the kind of servile mentality that made a slavegirl ready for service in the home.
One such case was that of 21 year-old Michele.
Michele’s former background as a courier for the anti-Regime underground had initially marked her as someone who to be looked at as a risk when being considered for duties for anything else except as a fuck-whore in one of the lower-class Sex Houses or, worse yet, as a candidate for shipping down to finish her life being used by the crude miners and laborers in one of the many South American colonies.
Michele had been spared being dispatched to such an unpleasant fate only because of her unusually petite, girlish looks and that appealing, tight body that was accented by the most appealing perky and upturned breasts. Michele had been manhandled and rape-fucked by the biggest and roughest cocks around, but nothing seemed to completely rob her of her spirit. But it took only a week of toilet duty in the Garners Club Women’s’ Restroom to begin to strip away the last vestiges of Michele’s sense of self-worth.
The special depravity of hour upon hour spent gulping superior women’s’ piss and foul excrement had gradually left her without any pride, only a vacant and utterly hopeless acceptance of her inferior place in life. Her despair had been noticed; already a discreet inquiry had been tendered to her overseers and quiet talks had been held concerning possible compensation. After all, the wife of a ranking Regime senator was someone who warranted attention when she indicated an interest in something, anything. Like having a cutie like Michele as her own private household toilet….
Michele had no idea that this would be her last day of toilet service at the Club, that she would be taken at the end of her shift and transported away to start her new life as the personal Toilet Girl of the demanding wife of a powerful Regime politician. Right now, she could only tend to her duties, her particular duty at the moment being the using of her obedient tongue to lick and suck a Superior Woman’s asshole clean. Another slave had done the actual piss swallowing and dung-eating and it was Michele’s turn to function as the Superior’s human toilet paper.
“Ummmmm….Oh, yes…,” the Superior groaned. ” Such a nice, warm tongue you have…..Uhhhhhhh. Don’t stop, sweetie. I know I must be clean by now – but why don’t you slip that tongue back up my ass just to make me feel good, mmmm? I’ll see if I can work some more turd down so you can suck it out. Ohhhhhhh…..so good…….so fuckin’ good! Here’s some more shit for you, I think….yeah, I can feel it moving now……..Uhhhhhhhh……can you taste it, sweetie? Uhhhhhhhhh…..”
The rates charged at the Medows Sex Club were higher, but then it was an establishment that tended to attract it’s membership mostly from the ranks of the Regime’s police and other enforcement agencies. Medows membership also was predominately male, although there was a mild sprinkling of females – mostly wives and girlfriends – who attended the goings-on there. There had been some whispers, some vague reports of extreme sadism and other, more lethal forms of entertainment being practiced upon unfortunate slavewhores at Medows, but those rumors had been largely unconfirmed and denounced as dastardly attempts at defiling the fine reputation of the Club’s management. “We’re in the business of providing a safe and comfortable environment for those numerous antisocial females to have the opportunity to repay society for the time and expense of their incarceration and rehabilitation,” said the press release put out by the Club Office. “Any reports of harmful activities being practiced upon our prisoners are nothing but vile slanders being spread by unlawful elements who resent the all the peaceful progress that our wonderful government has brought the people.”
Of course, none of the clientele seemed to be bothered by dark rumors concerning any unhealthy behaviour at the Medows. As far as they were concerned, the only thing of note at the Medows Sex Club was sex – and the almost weekly additions of new slavewhores to provide it.
Wednesday afternoons were the usual time that new sex-prisoners were delivered to the Medows Club. Mr. Reagan, the club operations manager, made sure to be there in order to inspect the incoming cargo of fresh fuck-meat and make sure that they were all of quality and up to the standards that the Medows prided itself on. Reagan preferred to put the new pussy out for customer use on Friday evenings, so the two preceding days could be fully utilized by he and his loyal staff in the most intimate inspection and judgement of the incoming talent. Slavewhore No. 12 was one new talent who would surely pass muster in terms of physical attractiveness. But there were other considerations, of course….
“Well, Yolanda certainly seems to approve of No. 12,” observed Mr. Reagan, talking to one of his more experienced Club Matrons. “What do you think, Ms. Wilson?”
“Oh, Yolanda just has a weakness for tight, young pussies, Mr. Reagan. The girl looks good – but I think that I’ll need a few hours with her in order to give you a more accurate opinion…..”
Slavewhore Bernice definitely showed promise while being inspected and assessed by Arturo, the Club’s janitor. Arturo might be the man who cleaned and scrubbed, but at Medows, all staff was considered part of the family – and Arturo’s opinion would be considered just as much as any of the higher-placed staff members. As it was, Arturo had definitely been right when he deduced that Bernice’s long, trim body would naturally be limber and flexible. Acting on his honed instincts, he had taken Bernice down to the small alcove that had the special wall strappings especially placed for the activity that he had in mind. Bernice, as expected, had groaned with distress as Arturo fastened her protesting body in the rather contorted position that the strappings demanded. She started to emit a different kind of distressed groan as Arturo, kind and thoughtful man that he was, slowly began to push that fat dick of his into her very exposed cunt…
“Ohhhhh….Uhhhhhh….” Bernice’s moan was anguished. Her pussy was so totally exposed and vulnerable in that contorted position that she was fastened in – and Arturo’s fat cockhead was slamming against so many tender walls….hurting…..shocking….. Her back and legs muscles also spasmed in pain….
” Si, puta, si…..such a shallow little pussy you have! I’m gonna keep you just like this so you get every inch of me while I give it to you hard, eh?”
But Arturo wasn’t as cruel a man as one would think. An hour and a half of hard-fucking Bernice in that contorted position was quite enough; after all, he had emptied his gonads at least a half dozen times while enjoying digging his raging cock in the very deepest recesses of the girl’s pussy and ass. He was patient and did not complain when Bernice collapsed to the floor when he released her from her wall shackles – in fact, being the considerate person that he was, he merely climbed on top of her, spread her legs and fucked her again. Arturo included his opinion to Mr. Reagan, the Club manager, that slavewhore Bernice passed the test as far as he was concerned; that she would definitely give the Medows’ customers what they wanted.
“Hmmmmm,” replied Mr. Reagan, when informed of how the slave had endured her time shackled in the uncomfortable position against the wall. ” Do you think that she could function as well if she was given a bit more pain? You know, the kind that some of our more discreet customers like to inflict on special occasions?”
” Well, sir, she did buck her hips just like I wanted her to when I fucked her on the floor afterwards…”
” That sounds promising, Arturo. Tell you what. Why don’t you keep her for the rest of the night down in the far basement and see how she holds up under some of your more ‘forceful’ attentions? Always good to know if we have a natural painslut on our hands….”
Bernice’s body shuddered and winched under Arturo’s hard use of the small leather whiplet. Her pitiful cries and pleadings did nothing to make him relent. But she needn’t worry – before very long, the insistent urgings of Arturo’s cock would become too much and he would be forced take a brief respite in which the pain from his whip would be replaced by the pain inflicted by the cock.
The Medows treasured the patronage of it’s clientele; especially those esteemed members of law enforcement whose tireless and dedicated efforts kept the government and it’s supporters safe from all those misguided and unrealistic souls who meant harm. There was nothing more that the Club’s management liked better that hosting one of the many private receptions given to celebrate a recent promotion or the capture of a particularly important fugitive.
Sergeant Janson’s promotion had just been announced two days before and now he and the other members of the Central City Anti-Subversive Activities Squad were in the midst of a fairly raucous party that would last into the early hours of the morning. The Club supplied the booze and the slavewhores; the policemen had only to bring the money and their cocks. And being men who often were forced to use harsh and brutal methods to acquire the information that led them to the political fugitives that they sought, it was only natural that their sexual ways might often tend to be brutish. Sergeant Janson’s black cock looked particularly brutal to slavewhore Marlene as he walked her towards the small room containing the bed on which he would be fucking her throughout most of the night; as brutal as the way he had already used his belt on her just an half hour or so earlier. “We gonna have a lot of fun together tonight, bitch… I promise you won’t forget it for the rest of your fucking life!”
At the Medows Club, ‘customer convenience’ was a concept that taken very seriously. In the course of attending an orgy or perhaps just spending time with the slavewhore of one’s choice, sometimes the call of nature came quickly; sometimes too quickly for a man to manage to make it to one the the toilets in time. This was not an uncommon problem at the Medows Club, especially given that the preponderance of it’s customers tended to consume a larger portion of alcoholic drinks than at most other clubs. As with any society, those involved in law enforcement here often drank as hard as they played. No one begrudged them this; the importance of their service to the Regime was very much appreciated and any way to relieve their stress was well understood and supported.
Mr. Reagan, the Club Manager of Operations, had arranged to place one slavewhore in each of the larger rooms which accommodated a group of people. This particular slavewhore was not placed there for reason of provided sex. Instead, this slave was designated as a “Piss Whore”; put there specifically for the convenience of customers who didn’t have the time or the inclination to race to one of the toilets to urinate. The Piss Whores were easy to spot, given their trademark ring gags and their being tightly bound and chained to a wall.
Sergeant Janson was having too good a time to be forced to put on his pants just in order to walk down to the restroom located at the end of the long hall. He had just finishing ass-fucking his third bitch of the night and he was ready for more. Looking around the room and seeing captive Piss Whore Felica sitting chained by the door certainly solved his dilemma.
“Better keep that pretty head still, bitch,” the Sergeant ordered. ” Remember that you gotta lick up any of my piss that gets on the floor…”
Mr. Reagan was a man who actually lived for his work. While other staff members left for their homes at the end of their shifts, he could usually be found somewhere on the Club grounds attending to this problem or overseeing some improvement to that operation. Although he had been offered the opportunity to be promoted to one of the highly coveted regional or even national-level management positions on several occasions, he was very content to remain here at the Medows Club. Some speculated that Reagan might have some sickly or particularly need some relative in the area and that might be why he preferred to stay in the area. Others hinted that it might be a case of a lack of self confidence . But they were all wrong. Reagan preferred to stay here at the Meadows Sex Club because of the almost absolute freedom it afforded him in the indulgence of one of his more ‘unusual’ personal interests. Indeed, having some of the Regime’s better cops and enforcers as frequent customers – very satisfied customers; Mr Reagan saw to that – had resulted in a certain level of protection.
In his off-hours, Mr. Reagan liked to hear the desperate pleas and then the desperate cries of slaves as they suffered and died. Though the diligent and creative efforts of his longtime lover, the chief auditor of the Bureau of Prisons, the raven – haired Miss Marlen, there had been certain slavegirls delivered to Mr. Reagan at the Club. Slaves whose names somehow had curiously been dropped from the prisoner rolls or had been listed as being shipped down to the South American colonies ( where most slaves simply disappeared).
Miss Marlen seemed to be a frequent guest of Mr. Reagan at the Meadows Club, mostly staying there with him through the weekends. Most observers noted that they made quite a handsome pair, while others also noted that they seemed to share the same interests and have a lot in common. And they were right, even more that they could have known: Miss Marlen certainly liked the same things as her boyfriend.
Miss Marlen leaned close and whispered to Mr. Reagan. ” Which one do you want to do first? This cute blond who’s working on that cock of yours? That black-haired one over there? Which?”
” I thought it’d be nice to watch you have your fun this time, sweets,” Reagan whispered back. “Why don’t you kill all of them while I watch? I’d really enjoy seeing them scream and beg you while you make them watch you kill one after the other…”
“Mmmmm. Oh, yes. I’d like that very much. Is that butcher knife still in your desk over there?”
” Yes, but let’s wait until this pretty bitch is done sucking me off before you start. Hate to have my dick bitten off…. Heh, heh..”
It was the policy of the Regime to be merciful – at least somewhat merciful – when it came to dealing with the more attractive female political prisoners. Therefore all those condemned ladies who qualified were given the chance to go before an Interviewer to plead her case as to why she should be spared the normal method of execution, of being slowly burned alive. It was not a case of a condemned girl avoiding being executed; it was only a matter of how she would eventually die. Needless to say, most of the prisoners wanted to avoid the hellish end of being roasted. Almost anything would be better. There, in one of the small, dank Interview rooms at the Institution, these girls pleaded to be given the chance to show their sincere appreciation to their captors; to be given the chance to somehow earn whatever mercy that might be bestowed upon them. The Interviewers were always a high-placed female official of the Regime (after all, it was the policy that only females could dispatch another females) and these women Superiors demanded to be convinced of a prisoner’s worthiness for mercy and just how that prisoner would demonstrate her thankfulness for that mercy.
Condemned prisoner Miranda wanted to demonstrate her complete remorsefulness for her past antisocial activities and her worthiness of being spared being burned alive. Her earnestness and sincerity had touched the heart of Miss Renderman, the State’s Interviewer in this case.
“So, child, you do acknowledge that your Superiors have been right all along and that the things that you did and said against them were crimes that deserved your penalty of death?” Miss Renderman needed to be sure of this girl’s repentance.
“Yes, Miss Renderman, I acknowledge all that and beg for the opportunity to show how sorry I am and for the chance to repay all of you for any mercy that I might receive.”
Miss Renderman shifted in her chair to lean back and pull up her skirt. She was wearing no panties, of course.
“Then you must be very anxious to demonstrate how much you want to get down on your knees and lick my wet pussy. To show what a good girl you will be for the remaining days of your pitiful life…?”
“Yes, Miss Renderman, I do. I want so much to show you…”.
Once a condemned prisoner had shown herself to be contrite for her past wrongs against the Regime, she was labeled a ‘Repentant’ and her remaining time on earth would be spent at providing her body to be used for pleasure by her Superiors in any way they deemed necessary. A Repentant’s services was highly sought after by the Regime’s female members; the thought of having one’s every sexual demand fulfilled by a prisoner marked for death could be highly intoxicating. A Repentant was considered to be the ultimate sex slave; to be satisfied by a Repentant was also a matter of taking a part of her life force. The Repentant would never know when or how her death would come – or if her abilities at satisfying every sexual whim of her Superior ladies would serve to prolong her life.
But there was usually one constant: The first stop for a new-declared Repentant would be with Right Sister Coleen in that large basement room downstairs at the Institution. It was practically a tradition now that Sister Coleen would start the new Repentant’s final life journey with her allotted three hours of the Sister’s experienced whip. Then, with her body aching and covered with welts, the Repentant would kneel to service Sister Coleen’s sweating pussy and asshole with her repentant tongue. Then there would be the servicing of all those Superior women who had been invited to witness and participate in starting her out in her Final Duties.
Repentant Miranda’s time had lasted over four months, quite a long time for a Repentant to stay alive. Whether this was a matter of her earnestness and abilities at giving the most intense and reliable satisfaction to the many Superiors’ demanding pussies would never be know. After all, part of the allure of the Repentant program was it’s randomness and unpredictability; of the prisoner not knowing when the end would come. Usually a Superior was granted the pleasure of dispatching a Repentant as a reward for merit or some extraordinary service. Such an honor was not one to be wasted in some mundane violent act; instead the dispatching of a Repentant called for it to be done in a memorable, ironic fashion – something that others would remember fondly and talk about.
Miranda had started to think that perhaps she might be able to live indefinitely. Her willingness to do everything asked of her and her demonstrated abilities at giving some many, many orgasms to all those who used her had given her hope that perhaps, just perhaps her fate be moderated somehow. This glimmer of hope on her part had been noticed and that been what Right Sister Vivian had been waiting for.
The Repentant prisoner Miranda’s last day was spent with Right Sister Vivian and her two close friends, Sharonda and Sylvia. Miranda’s last moments had been spent licking the big black Sharonda cunt to one hell of a quivering orgasm and then Sharonda had pulled the girl’s mouth tight against that pulsing, dark pussy and said,
“Here, baby, you done such a good job that you done made your ol’ Sharonda have to pee! Fit that pretty mouth around my cunt so you can swallow every bit of it as I let it out, okay? Ahhhhhh…. Here it comes…. Keep gulpin’, girl…..That’s the way…. So good, baby….So good…!!”
As Miranda opened her throat to accept all of black Sharonda’s gushing piss, she was unaware of Right Sister Vivian’s silent approach behind her, the big killing knife in her hand.. Sharonda saw what was about to happen and could barely contain her delight; Sylvia realized it too. The end would come so suddenly. With her throat still holding vestiges of black piss in it, it would be abruptly exposed as the Sister grabbed and jerked back her hair. And as the big knife’s cold steel sliced deep into her throat, one of last things that Miranda would remember would be the strange guttural sound made by Sister Vivian. The sound of the Sister experiencing an intense, ongoing orgasm…..
At one time, Dorthy Simmons had a lot to offer society; a talent for writing, a quick, strong mind and equally strong convictions. Unfortunately for Dorthy, the new society in which the Regime ruled supreme wasn’t one which valued any openly-expressed strong convictions or opinions that ran counter to it’s own. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before the authorities came for her. Now Dorthy Simmons, condemned for her refusal to accept the new order and her rather naive public efforts to undermine it, could only cater to the opinions of others. Others such as Right Sister Olivia and her prostitute wife, Evette, two Superiors who would be in judgment of Repentant Dorthy’s willingness and ability to please…..
“Mmmmm.. that’s a very nice tongue you have there, my little repentant girl. Nicely shaped; not too wide and with a fine taper to it. Very good for slathering a clit or fitting inside an anus. Yes, dear you show a lot of promise. What do you think of our little Repentant Dorthy here, Evette? Think that she prove that she’s worthy of our time?”
Evette examined the prisoner up and down. ” Well, the body’s alright, I guess. And I’ve had prettier gals do me real good back at the barracks when I was there – but her face’s okay, I guess. She looks like a real proud sort of bitch to me, the kind who used to look down on me…”
” Now, now, Evette! Don’t be so judgmental! Give the girl a chance! I’m sure she’s going to do everything she can to show you that you’re wrong about her, won’t you dear?”
“My friend is so skeptical of whether you deserve mercy or not, sweet girl,” said Sister Oliva as she continued to examine Dorthy’s promising tongue. “But I’m sure that you’re going to convince her as well as I, that you are the most delectable little pussy-eater. Why don’t you get to your knees now so you can start giving my clit the attention it deserves, huh? Now don’t make me regret my faith in you, sweetheart. I’d hate to have them come to take you to the ovens to roast you like some piece of beef, wouldn’t you? Then after you please me, I’ll let you please my wife Evette here. She’s harder to satisfy than I am, so it’ll be fun to watch you work at it….”
As one of the Regime’s veteran state-sponsored prostitutes, Evette was a woman who had practically seen and done it all. And as such, Evette was not an easy woman to please. Her pussy and asshole had been serviced by the tongues of a thousand women, both free and captive. Her toes had been sucked wetly, her eager nipples thrilled and her shit swallowed by the mouths of countless girls who had begged for the chance. So just how was this new Repentant named Dorthy supposed to be able to pleasure those very experienced, jaded openings and erotic locations of Evette’s body? It was not a case of Evette being non-feeling and difficult; it merely was a case of her being a very hard woman to please. Sister Olivia could do it, of course, and do it quite easily – but the Sister was one whose sexual experiences had equipped her with a knowledge of women’s bodies and how to make them scream in ecstasy and leave trembling lumps of exhausted flesh. But the Sister was the wonderful exception. This young Repentant was not.
Maybe it was plain jealousy that made Evette shift and fidget with frustration and impatience as she watched her esteemed wife put Repentant Dorthy through her paces. Perhaps it was resentment at how this pretty young captive was able to follow Sister Olivia’s most perverse instructions. Was that why she looked away when the Sister shook with her third orgasm while squatting heavily on Dorthy’s face, her head thrown back as she let out a deep, throaty moan of the most intense animalistic pleasure? Was it how the Sister remained seated with her full weight on the girl’s face, smiling, her eyes almost closed as she gently gyrated her hips over Dorthy’s mouth as Dorthy produced muted, wet, smacking sounds as she slurped the Sister’s still-flowing vaginal juices? Whatever the reason, when it was her turn with the girl, Evette’s inclinations were not some much towards getting pleasure as much as it was to inflict the most intense humiliation.
Evette was curt and abrasive with the slave when it was her turn with her. She sapped Dorthy’s face hard, knocking her back to the floor. “You little worthless bitch, I didn’t give you permission to stand up, did I? Keep your ass down there – that’s where you’ll be spending a lot of your time!” As the frazzled Dorthy complied with her harsh order, Evette positioned herself over her.
” You think you’re something, don’t you, bitch? Don’t bother to lie, I can spot it a mile away. The Sister might think you’re special, but I’m going to show you just how low a piece of garbage you really are! Open that mouth, cunt! Open it wide! The first thing I’m gonna do is piss and you better not miss a drop of it! You understand me? Yeahhhhhh, bitch here it comes….. You like my piss, don’t ya? Yeah, all the low-class whores like you like to drink my pee……… Uhhhhhh… Keep drinkin’, bitch. You know, I’m gonna make it a point to find you every day and piss down your lovely throat.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself, ain’t I? ‘Cause soon as I get through peeing, I’m gonna put those filthy lips of yours right up against my asshole and I’m gonna wank myself off while empty my turds into your mouth. And don’t worry if you can’t eat my shit as fast as I let it out – you’ll be allowed to get down on your belly and eat anything that drops to the floor….!”
All good things have to eventually come to an end. Repentant Dorthy’s tenure had last almost a month. In that time, she had become very well-known and very popular. For some reason Dorthy had gotten the reputation of being an accomplished shit-eater. Superior throughout the Institution had begun to seek her out – not for the sexual service that she could provide, but to use her as their human toilet. There had even been a couple of Institution-wide lotteries in which hundreds of people placed bets on how many Superiors could squat themselves over Dorthy’s captive mouth and feed her the shit from their bowels before she could take no more and fall to the ground retching. The winner was Sister Vandermere, who had a tie-bet of eight shit-loads and a tie-breaking time of twenty – three minutes. Dorthy had become despondent and depressed and that in itself was a signal that the time to dispose of her would be soon in coming. Perhaps that what drove Sister Olivia’s wife, the prostitute Evette to seek Dorthy out three to four times a day in order to piss and shit in that accomplished mouth instead of her once or twice-a-day visits.
The end for Dorthy came on early on a Saturday morning. As Dorthy obediently licked Sister Ida’s pussy to orgasm and then gulped down the last the Sister’s stream of warm piss, a sharp knife wielded expertly by the Institution’s head receptionist, Miss McGowen, sliced into her throat. Miss McGowen, who had silently slid in behind the Repentant Dorthy keep a firm, even pressure on the knife as she applied it from left to right in a single motion. Miss McGown had never killed anyone before – but she had always wanted to.
“Ahhhhh….,” Miss McGowen groaned wistfully as she felt the knife cut into Dorthy’s windpipe. Very much like cutting through soft butter, she thought. It felt so good.
“Today will bring new tests and provide you with new experiences,” High Sister Adriana remarked to Slave Nancy. Although another slavegirl was busily slurping her pussy, the High Sister’s demeanor was calm, almost cold. “Of course, it will be likewise for all the other new girls here, but I will be personally attending to your activities – so don’t disappoint me, my sweet one. Just because I have a particular interest in you does not mean that I will tolerate anything less than total effort on your part.”
The High Sister nodded towards the other older woman who lay in the huge bed on which she sat. “This pretty lady here is Miss Claudia, a very close and long time friend who has heard so much from me concerning my dear, cute Nancy; how her tongue pleases and satisfies all a woman’s special places. I must say that I might have gone on about you a bit much, but I’m sure that you’ll do me proud and show Miss Claudia that I haven’t been exaggerating about you. I’m going to stop my little bitch her and take her into the other chamber so that she can finish up what she’s started. You two can be alone in here and just get well acquainted with each other. Don’t make me hear that you have provided my good friend with anything less than the fullest pleasures possible. I’d hate to start of the day having to punish you severely!”
For the other slavegirls also under the High Sister’s supervision, the day would entail many tasks and tests. Some would be new, others would be very familiar. The Superiors were not unreasonable when it came to what was planned and expected of their captive charges. Abuse for abuse’s sake was not at part of the training – except for the normal pain and distress inflicted for the pleasure of the Superiors. These slaves had been selected to be the providers of pleasure and satisfaction to the elite ladies of the Church’s Sisterhood. The fact that they were held in the complex that housed the Holy Mother herself was the prime indicator of the importance placed on their duties. Those who could demonstrate their aptitude for their assigned sexual tasks would be well cared-for and given the opportunity to live on there for the rest of their lives, usually as lesbian slavewives taken in marriage by one or more Sisters, High Sisters or some of the highest-placed assistants or staff. Those who would be unfortunate enough to be judged as failures in their duties would be quickly dispatched off as slavewhores in the South American colonies or given to the Prostitutes or worse, taken to the Roasting Ovens where they would suffer a most horrible, slow death.
But despite all it’s intricacies, the training of these special slavegirls was designed towards a very basic goal: the giving of sexaul satisfaction. And when all things were considered, it was mostly acquiring and perfecting the ability to lick Superior pussy and clit, to tongue – out Superior anus and to unflinchingly drink gallons of Superior piss and to eat and swallow Superior shitloads. All the other facets of submission; the spanking, canings, bondage and mental abuse, were secondary in importance.
Slave Torry was one of those beginning her day with more practice. Helping her achieve a higher level of proficiency at the art of eating pussy were Miss Patterson and Miss Ortiz, two Administration Staffers who were so kind as to volunteer their off time. Torry’s task was to be able to bring a Superior pussy to orgasm within five minutes, an absolutely essential ability when called upon to be the focus of entertainment at any large Superior social gathering, party or orgy.
So far, the slave had been able to eat Miss Ortiz to a quivering orgasm in seven minutes. Not bad, but also not good enough. Now she frantically licked away at the offered clit of Miss Patterson who sat on her chest.
“Now, don’t slather around so much, girl,” Miss Patterson muttered firmly. “Focus at using the tip of the tongue and keep the pressure up as you move it against my knob. Uhhhhhh…..that’s better. Now set a rhythm and keep it unless I tell you to change it
Yes…..Yessss….better. Much better….”
Although she had been repeatedly raped anally when first arrested and imprisoned, slave Dorthy still had some difficulty accommodating a large cock up her ass. Right now, she was suffering under the rude assault of Judge McKeason’s long and rather wide cock as he gleefully went about enjoying himself to the fullest. The High Sister regularly arranged small orgies attended by ranking Regime officials. Such intimate gatherings were considered to be essential in maintaining good relations between the mostly secular government and it’s allies in the official Church. The almost weekly fuck-fests were eagerly attended by all those officials eligible to be invited. Conducted in the utmost privacy, these parties/orgies usually lasted throughout the night and those Superiors taking part always make full use of those compliant slavegirls provided to them.
This was slave Dorthy’s first orgy duty and as a new face, she attracted quite a bit of attention from the guests. The attention that the Judge was giving Dorthy’s tight asshole was just in line with his temperament; his dick crassly pushed it’s way into her rectal in one
merciless shove and began immediately to pound back and forth. He cared not one bit about the slavegirl’s distress; he enjoyed what he was doing and that was that. His ruthless jack hammering against Dorthy’s behind was done with the same lack of compassion that he exhibited in his courtroom when sentencing the many helpless political defendants brought before him. And like all those defendants, poor Dorthy had no choice but to stand and take whatever he was giving her.
High Sister Adriana chuckled as she watched Dorthy struggling to maintain herself as the lusty Judge continued to slam his cock up her ass. Yes, the Sister thought to herself, the girl just might make the grade; become an accomplished slavewhore.
“Now, girl, don’t just stand there bracing yourself, that won’t make it easier on you,” the Sister advised. “Give in to it, girl. Let that big shaft of his do it’s thing. Move your ass, rotate back against his cock. Oh, yes, Dorthy, that’s better. That’s going to make him cum in no time….”
For those slavegirls who were judged not quite worthy of service to the Sisterhood’s elite, but who had clearly impressed the Sisters with their efforts, there was some measure of relief from the more dire fates of other unsuccessful candidates. After all, a slave who had shown that she was sincere in trying to be what was expected of her and had the mentality of a submissive who would do her best to please was too good a commodity to suffer an inglorious sentencing to a Latin whorehouse, servicing a hundred crude miners or laborers a day or ending her life screaming in agony as the gas-fueled fires of the ovens burned away her flesh. There were quite a few forms of service easily filled by those in-betweeners who just couldn’t make the grade.
Slave Beatrice had failed at becoming one of the relatively pampered Sisterhood slavegirls; no matter how hard or how often she tried, Beatrice’s tongue just couldn’t quite manage to bring a Superior to orgasm in short time. While others had dutifully satisfied at least three Superiors’ pussies, Beatrice would be just bringing pleasure to her first. ” That girl has an incredibly slow tongue,” one judge wrote in her report. ” Slave Beatrice is by no means lazy or uncooperative – it’s just that, no matter what, she just can’t move that tongue any faster. But her heart’s definitely in the right place in that she’s sincere in realizing her past antisocial behavior and wishes to rectify it by service to the State.”
And now slave Beatrice would be allowed the chance to service the Regime. Miss Linda was in if the ranking female guards who were entrusted with the protection of the Institute’s Administrative complex. A big, unattractive and hulking woman, Miss Linda had grown tired of getting pleasured by frightened, forced and whipped slavegirls. Miss Linda was ready for a life-partner, someone who would be exclusively hers. Someone who would be there to worship her bloated body; to please her sloppy pussy and ass.
Beatrice, sweet and earnest Beatrice, had been offered to Miss Linda in marriage. The huge woman didn’t have to think twice about it. Having a pretty 22 year-old female who maybe took a half hour to eat her to orgasm wasn’t so bad a deal; after all, in her personal time, Miss Linda was not one to be hurried, anyway….
The marriage ceremony that united the petite slavegirl Beatrice and the supersized, fat Miss Linda in matrimony was well attended -but brief. Miss Linda had made it known that she was anxious to get down to the business of training her new slavewife in the ways of providing her with the many pleasures and enjoyments of permanent sexual servitude. The Rosewood paddle had been a nice wedding present from all the friends and co-workers. And as she steered her slavebride into her small private bedroom, Miss Linda would be immediately putting her wedding present to good use….
In ways of the Institution, every slavegirl had something to contribute to the new society, no matter what it was.
Slave Nina had originally been deemed unworthy as a sexual servant to the Sisterhood and had been sentenced to die in the Roasting Ovens located in the vast bottom level beneath the Administration complex. Her physical appearance had been admired but the Sisters determined that her attitude showed reluctance to accept authority and an unwillingness to acknowledge her past sins against the Regime. In her panic at learning her fate, Nina had frantically appealed to the judging Sisters to spare her life. She had begged on her knees after crawling across the floor on her stomach; she had opened her throat to swallow down the shit of a dozen Sisters at an impromptu gathering; she had collected a half-gallon of the Sisters’ piss in a jar and had drank it all as they watched and jeered. In the end, Nina had debased herself so much that the death sentence was rescinded and she was instead assigned to be shipped off to South America to be a participant in one of the Regime’s newest schemes for repopulating the ranks of the workers who were suffering great losses of life from the heat, tropical diseases and toxic sickness from the Regime’s many uranium mines.
The Regime experts had estimated that for the economic future of the Latin colonies, an additional ten million workers had to be ready to replenish the ranks with the next twenty years. In response , the Regime had set about implementing a birthing program in which thousands of slavewhores and other female political prisoners would be forced-bred in order to bear children. Each woman would be expected to produce at least five or six children before being granted their relative freedom. It was here that Nina found herself relegated to being fucked by a dozen or so carefully-selected worker studs each day until she was judged to be pregnant.
“What’s the matter, gringa? I thought you girls were used to the best up there in the States,” sneered one of the brown-skinned attendants who were in charge of overseeing Nina’s breeding activities for the day. ” Damn, bitch, he only has half his cock up that white cunt and already you’re making a fuss! C’mon, Manuel, you might as well just push her back flat and fuck her. Put it to her as hard as you want, just don’t injure her like you did that Indian girl last week, okay? Ride this puta like you ride me and we’ll have her puttin’ out babies like one of those stupid village wives in the country!”
For those slaves who seemed totally unworthy, death in the Ovens was a likely destination. The Ovens didn’t care how beautiful a slavegirl was. They all burned the same. They all screamed and cried at the top of their lungs as the flames licked, then began to slowly destroy their flesh. The Ovens didn’t care and neither did the women oven workers who were in charge of escorting the condemned slavegirls into the oven and fastening them firmly to the thick, cast-iron posts that would hold them in place for the six flame pipes located around the base.
There were so many touching cries and calls to one’s God or even to some non-present parent as the burnings took their toll. To maximize the agony, the flame output had been designed to delay death for twenty minutes or so. Microphones were placed in order to transmit the horrible sounds or the victims throughout the vast complexes of prisoner holding – pens so that they all could hear the fate of those who didn’t meet the Institute’s standards. A devious method that worked wonders in securing the majority of the prisoners’ complete cooperation.
Sometimes a Superior would get permission to take slavegirl down to witness the Ovens’ operation for herself. Nothing worked better to guarantee a slavegirl’s complete cooperation and devotion than having her see another prisoner suffer and die from the flames.
Madame von Troiss nuzzled her slavegirl’s tearful face as they watched the attractive blonde who was bound in place in the Oven chamber start to writhe with pain from the roasting of her lower legs. The condemned girl’s amplified screams filled the room; louder , then more loud…..
” Mmmmm….,” The Madame murmured against her slave’s cheek. “Isn’t that your friend, the girl you attended college with, my dear? Claudia, I think, is her name. Am I right? Too bad. Such a pretty girl. But so stubborn and defiant. You and I will stay here and watch her suffering – and then we’ll go back to my suite, to my big bed where you’ll show me how thankful you are that I have chosen you to be my devoted bride….”
“Enrico Gaspar was the third-oldest sibling of the Gaspar family group that was in charge of one of the Regime’s smaller breeding farms located in it’s colonial South American territories. As with a lot of other Latins, Enrico secretly resented being just another colonial servant of the North American – centered Regime’s far-flung Empire. However, in his capacity as an overseer, Enrico did have a chance to engage in some sort of revenge against all those pale-skinned Anglos who tended to look upon and treat him and his fellow Latinos as inferior and untalented. His duties entailed seeing that the imported white-skinned female slaves were fucked thoroughly and impregnated so as to provide a future supply of laborers to serve the Regime’s needs – so Enrico made sure that the first baby-making sperm that the most comely slaves received upon their arrival at his South American camp was his.
“Uhhhhhhh….you puta, ” Enrico groaned as he pumped his first heavy load of cum deep within the pretty American blond’s pussy. “You bitch….You going to have your Enrico’s baby, I’ll make sure of that….”
The Anglo girl’s tears only served to spur more convulsing of Enrico’s balls and more semen to fill her.
“Move those hips, puta, and make sure that Enrico’s sperm is all milked out….”
Raul, Enrico and Ria Gaspar were never at a loss for things to do at the Gaspar Breeding Farm’s heavily-guarded and barbed- wired compound. After all, how could things be dull with the presence of over a hundred Anglo female breeding slaves and with more new ones arriving every week? And why should those mostly black breeder studs be the ones having all the pleasure and fun? No, the Gaspar siblings, along with other members of the Gaspar clan, had the right to do whatever they wished here, as long as the monthly pregnancy reports showed that a steady supply of babies would be on the way.
Raul tended to be the most critical examiner of slave flesh. Ria, the oldest and a big, lusty dyke who never could get enough, was not as selective. She just loved pale pussies and those soft pink lips that the slavegirls learned to use so well under her tutelage.
Both were just as obsessed as Enrico with the joys that their positions entitled them to.
“What do you think of this one, Ria?” Raul’s hands slid over the slim and perky body of a frightened 19 year-old slave just imported in the last few days. “Haven’t had a chance to get at this one, eh, Enrico? Well, she looks line a fine little piece, one who’ll put out at least a half-dozen babies in a short time if we keep her busy….”
“I don’t give a shit about that,” huffed Ria as she rudely pried into the slave’s shaved pussy with her big fingers. “I just want to see what she can do for me. Got a nice mouth on her. Think I’ll put her with the other pretty thing that I’ve reserved for myself tonight.”
Ria Gaspar preferred her slavegirls to be between 18 and 20, fair-haired with trim bodies and cute faces. She loved handling them roughly and using them roughly. At one time, Ria ran her own small chain of brothels on the outskirts of Lima, but this was far more enjoyable for her. Her younger brothers might resent serving the Regime’s Anglo patrons, but Ria thought it was an ideal situation. An ideal situation and an ideal opportunity to be able to fulfill every need and experience even her most extreme, secret fantasies. Not that Ria’s fantasies were all that extreme; Ria might be somewhat large in stature and perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but her needs were mostly basic. She loved the feeling of power that came from having a beautiful girl obligated to follow every order that Ria would give and dedicated to satisfying her every sexual whim.
Ria, ever addicted to the heady feeling of power, had a particular fondness for using her harnessed, hard-rubber strap-on. These Yankee slave-bitches were all a bunch of promiscuous sluts, were they not? And being the lowly, nasty little whores that they were, what was more natural than Ria making sure that their pussies got all the attention they could take? Men were so fragile, their cocks tended to so soft after cumming. These poor slave-whores were so deprived! Ria Gaspar’s strap-on didn’t go soft; it stayed rock-hard and it’s slamming was limited only by Ria’s endurance – and Ria, despite her hefty size and advanced age, still had a lot of endurance. In fact, there was nothing she enjoyed more than a sweaty, intense forty minutes of fucking a slave’s cunt and ass.
These poor slave-whores were so deprived! Ria Gaspar’s strap-on didn’t go soft; it stayed rock-hard and it’s slamming was limited only by Ria’s endurance – and Ria, despite her hefty size and advanced age, still had a lot of endurance. In fact, there was nothing she enjoyed more than a sweaty, intense forty minutes of fucking a slave’s cunt and ass. The Anglo cunt named Fiona was about to find that out firsthand.
“C’mon, bonita, don’t be afraid,” Ria cooed to Fiona, firmly steering her to the edge of the mattress. ” Your Senora Ria is going to take care of you tonight. I promise you will scream my name as I give you the loving that you deserve….”
The Gaspars were simple and straightforward people; they ran a human breeding farm for profit and pleasure. The Americanas that were shipped down from the North were simply pretty wombs ready and available for fucking and impregnating. The Masters weren’t concerned about the treatment of these slave-whores. As long as they were kept healthy enough to bear children, these captive females could be used by whatever Gaspar that wanted them and in any manner that they deemed fit.
Nan, only two days at the Farm, attracted Raul Gaspar’s attention. ” Damnmit all,” Raul exclaimed. ” How could I have missed this one? Take her off the waiting line. Who was scheduled to stud her? Oh, Miguel? Shit, that big dick of his can use some other cunt instead of this one. Unhook her and bring her to my cabin…”
Of all the Gaspars, it was Aunt Rosa who had the most unpleasant personality traits. Aunt Rosa’s needs and preferences tended to tilt towards the more painful aspects of sexuality. Humiliation of a cute Anglo slave-whore was somewhat enjoyable, of course – but Rosa needed more; in fact, she couldn’t quite seem to fathom up one of her body-shuddering orgasms without the shrill and desperate screams of her chosen slave-whore ringing in her ears. She had first been introduced to the sadistic arts while employed by her nephew Raul’s drug-running operation. Sometimes one of Raul’s business
partners would get a bit greedy and hold back or cut back on the quality or quantity of the cocaine or heroin that was purchased or sold. Aunt Rosa soon demonstrated her knack for extracting every last vestige of information from whatever dishonest scum who had been foolish enough to try and cheat the Gaspars. She had developed the routine of first making the crook watch as she went about applying her torturous techniques on a favorite member of his family. Especially a pretty daughter. Even the toughest men soon cracked and ended their silence and duplicities after being faced with the sights and sounds of a daughter’s loud agonies at the hands of Rosa Gaspar.
Now it was this breeding farm’s offerings of sweet, pale flesh that allowed Aunt Rosa to continue her adventurous ways of Sade. This was her second trip here this week and along with her long-time girlfriend, Aletta, Rosa finally found a girl that appealed to her. Rosa loved girls with large, full breasts and prominent nipples – especially nipples…..
“Pretty girl, did you enjoy me sucking and biting on those nice pink nipple-buds of yours? I hope you did, because I sure did. Love your nipples, honey. Love ’em so much that I’m going to snip them off and take them home to add to my collection.”
So many things for a new Anglo slavegirl to do if relocated to South America. Music and history, for instance. A slave might not appreciate it at first, but sometimes she might have the opportunity to explore the arts.
Slave-whore Jean was given the chance to escape the unpleasant life of a perpetually pregnant brod-whore confined at a breeding farm by a chance visit by Right Sister Jour. Sister Jour was taken by the yellow-haired American girl’s innocent looks, tight body and her clear, lilting voice. “I am invoking my right to take this winsome young cutie away from this dreary place,” the Sister had intoned. And even the Gaspars knew better than to defy one of the Right Sisters.
At Sister Jour’s quarters, Jean soon learned the history of her new surroundings. Indeed, this new place had served as a 17-century Spanish fortress and their old furniture and martial equipment was still displayed there. The Sister had a fondness of the antique “iron maiden” chamber and loved how it never failed to inspire a new captive to aspire to be the best that she could be. At the moment, Jean was certainly inspired to sing that songs that Sister Jour had insisted that she learn from the old, antique songbooks supplied to her.
“Now sing me another song,” Right Sister Jour ordered. “Sing it for the ears of me and my friend here. Better not miss a note, girl; you know how much these old songs mean to me. Sing loudly and sing well, my dear. Don’t disappoint me and force me to have my friend push the door on you…..”
“Life in the Regime’s South American colonies was hard, frantic and brutal. The system there was in constant need new female slavewhores to service the vast (and underpaid) ranks of skilled and unskilled workers and laborers who toiled in the mines and fields. The Regime had established a system of officially – sanctioned sex houses throughout the territories so that the system of supplying sex could be done in an orderly and controlled manner. Sanctioned sexhouse operators were usually given wide freedom in how they ran their establishments, as long as they managed to give the workers what they demanded. That meant that almost each sexhouse had it’s own way of doing things. Some treated their slavewhores relatively well; others treated theirs as disposable slabs of human meat.
“El Pedro House” intentionally established itself as a sexhouse that catered to the rougher type of customer. Their slavewhores didn’t last as long, but their business was booming as it catered to workers who liked to mix a little bit of ‘mistreatment’ in with the hard fucking of those captive pussies. And to further indicate to potential customers just what kind of sex was being offered inside, the “El Pedro” owners had the novel idea of using a slavewhore as an outside ‘living advertisement’.
“You’ll get only the finest cunt to fuck and have fun with. You can do what you like with our whores. Nobody will ever complain!”
‘El Pedro’ House’s live-in Madam was an ex-prostitute by the name of Cortina, a woman who took her job very seriously – mainly because she enjoyed it so much. Her pay wasn’t all that much but with free lodging and ample food and drink, Cortina was quite content. Part of that contentment was from the fact that she could freely practice her overwhelming lesbian desires to the fullest and practically without limits as long as her compelled slavewhores were not injured or otherwise prevented from their sexual duties. A new arrival at El Pedro Sex House, in Senora Cortina’s thinking, would function much better after being subjected to a few days and nights of proper ‘reorientation’ . The owners knew that this was merely an excuse for Cortina to indulge herself, but they went along with it since she was so good at managing the day-to-day operations of the whorehouse.
Senora Cortina, with her ever-present short riding crop in hand and her pussy practically overflowing it’s juices, always made sure that her newest victim would immediately learn to both fear and serve her.
This new slavewhore from the States, Ariel, had been shipped in just a day before – but already she had felt the wrath Cortina’s trusty crop and tasted the muskiness of Cortina’s offered cunt. Now the Senora was ready to for more….
“Si, sweet bonita, you’re showing that you’re a fast learner. That’s the way, my little puta, kiss my little whip – show your Senora the proper respect that she deserves from you. Kiss it slowly, lick well it with that soft tongue and maybe I will grant you the honor of being allowed to using it on my esteemed pussy again. Hmmmmm…that’s the way……..
“Now I want you to beg me to let you eat my cunt – and I want you to ask me to whip you afterwards. You must beg me to whip you so hard and so long that you pass out. Do your begging very well, dearest, or your Senora Cortina will be forced to hurt you far worse than you can ever imagine…..”
The El Pedro Sex House’s reputation of tolerance for a coarser brand of service not only attracted like-minded males, but also aroused the interest of certain females who were quick to take advantage of the rare opportunity to indulge. The women who came to El Pedro hailed from all sectors of the local society; some arrived with their husbands or boyfriends; others came discreetly, ushered in through the back entrance so thoughtfully provided by the House’s management. Most came not for sex, but to be able to gratify themselves from the infliction of pain and abuse on an especially selected Yankee slavewhore. The unfortunate girl chosen by one of these sadistic women tended to end up longing for the basic cruel fuckings meted out by the sweating, grunting male customers rather than the frequently unbearable agonies at the hands of their feminine visitors.
Marisol pushed yet another long pin slowly, ever so slowly, into the blond-haired Americana slavewhore’s perfect tit. She let a hint of a grin show on her face as the slave’s high-pitched scream filled the small room.
“Ah, you have such a pretty voice,” Marisol said in a soft purr. ” So pretty. And I like your breasts, too. I really love how their flesh yields and accepts my trusty pins when I push-h-h-h them in like this……. Ohhhh, there’s that lovely voice again….”
She stepped back a bit to watch as the captive’s suspended body thrashed and writhed yet another time. For Marisol, this was so much better than any sex. ” And you dance so well, too. I think that I’m really going to enjoy this evening. Maybe you’ll learn to enjoy it, also. After all, I have two hundred pins in the kit that I brought along….”
Sometimes the sex houses recruited regular prostitutes from the area to participate in sex shows requested by a certain guest or put on as a special mid-week attraction to bring in customers. Usually these hard-working street whores were indeed glad to earning some easy money and also having a particularly attractive white slavewhore working hard to satisfy their every demand. The pairing of hard-bitten, experienced and nasty street whores with their compliant, frightened slave counterparts always made for a good show for the rowdy and boisterous crowds of men who watched. Under the loud prompting from the crowd, the prostitutes were frequently urged on to subject their Yankee partners to the most extreme sexual acts; most shows usually ended with finales in which the slavewhores were compelled to swallow the prostitute’s piss; and there was always one or two slaves who pleased the fans as they were forced to open their mouths to accept the turds from the asses of squatting prostitutes.
But not all the interaction between the slaves and their prostitute guests took place onstage. Often, in the few hours before the crowds arrived for the scheduled performances, the visiting prostitutes would arrange to spend time with the slavewhores that had been chosen to service them in the show. For the hardened streetwalkers, this was an opportunity to find out more about their show partners. To find out about the softness of their lips, the elasticity of their pussies and the suppleness of their tongues.
Presently, slave Tammy’s tongue was passing the test; it was indeed supple and amenable as it obediently explored the funky recesses of prostitute Elenia asshole….. “Yeah… stick you pretty white face in my ass, gringa, and lick me deep…. Gonna fart on your face and shit on it too. You’ll get the full treatment!”
Being the owner of a Sex House was not always an easy position. Besides all the paperwork and auditing that was regularly demanded by his Regime superiors, there was also the often exhausting trials and tribulations caused by the presence of so many delectable pieces of slave flesh. It was unfair, having to put up with all that. Some of the owners made a point to avoid the temptations of sexual overindulgence by spending as little time as possible in the establishments that they controlled – but even with the help of a reliable madam on the premises, that was not always a feasible option. Furthermore, a good sex house owner would be remiss in his duties if he neglected to confirm for himself just what a newly-attained slavewhore had to offer to his operation. After all, a smart business owner is obliged to acquire at least some knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of a new employee…
Senor Bernard and his wife were in the process of personally assessing one of the latest additions to their sexhouse. This slavewhore was named Maxine and she was outwardly easy on the eyes; a real looker. But the Senor and Senora needed to see for themselves just what talents Maxine had that would benefit the whorehouse and it’s many customers. Well, no need to worry, it seemed. Slavewhore Maxine’s pussy was still pretty tight and it hugged the girth of Senor Bernard’s impressive cock as he started fucking her for the third time that night. The Senor grunted in approval as he noted how the slave’s lithe body molded with his as he began to assault her hole in the rough, slamming style that he was so good at.
“Uhhhh….That’s it, puta, cry. I like my girls to cry. It shows that they really appreciate the loving that their Senor is giving them…..”
So another day and night would pass down in the Regime’s colonial sexhouses and the hard-working men who enabled the Regime to survive and thrive would descend upon one of the few forms of entertainment and pleasure available to them. To some, the fates of the political slavewhores might seem especially cruel and hopeless; but others would see them as essential contributors to the welfare of the New Order. Rather than spending their time in ill-advised and antisocial activities against their government, they were now redeeming themselves with their captive pussies, asses and mouths; bringing pleasure to those with an urgent need for it…….
“My friends, we have just had a new shipment of girls come in a few days ago, ” the sexhouse’s female huckster called out as she went about her job of attracting customers off the street. “All are pretty Anglo college bitches, straight from El Norte! Bitches who will do everything you want and empty your balls and make you happy! These are real student troublemakers who have always been pampered and privileged and this will be your chance to show them how strong your brown cocks are! Come and line up……”