Confessions of a Slaver

Confessions of a Slaver

Chapter 8

With my secure “training facility” completed, all I had to do now was identify my next prospective slave, then abduct and break her.  I had a lengthy list of potential buyers, all of whom had been vetted through various means, so I wasn’t at all concerned about the end result yet.  For now, I would just immerse myself in the hunt.

I had a general idea of what I wanted:  Fairly young, preferably in her teens but no older than early to mid-20’s.  The younger ones tended to bring more at auction, and I preferred tight skin to wrinkles anyway. Innocent looking, but aware of her own sexuality.  Maybe a cock-tease, a college student, intelligent and educated.  One of those rich, stuck-up bitches, maybe.  Someone who paid attention to her appearance, just because I got a thrill out of changing the way they looked, watching their reactions when they’re forced to shave their heads, get their tits and cunts pierced, make themselves up to look like whores.  I even considered looking for a hard-core, man-hating feminist to transform into an obedient, cum-drinking slut.  Ethnicity, hair color and the like didn’t matter, though the thought of using race as a tool in breaking a slave was intriguing.  Although all my previous experiences had been with at least semi-willing participants, that didn’t mean they couldn’t be humiliated or taken beyond their breaking points.  I remember one such slut – a big-titted, Southern-bred white bitch – who was finally broken when she was forced to lick her own scum off a big, black cock that had just given her a hot semen enema.  One of my extreme plans was to someday force a devout Muslim or Jewish cunt to suck off a pig, but that was way in the future.  So, getting back to the hunt…

I did quite a bit of research before settling on a mid-sized college town 1200 miles and several states away.  My only significant concern was that transporting what would in effect be a kidnapping victim across state lines could bring the full resources of the FBI into play.  All I had to do was be careful, though, both in completing the snatch and transporting her to where her old life would disappear and her new one begin.

To make this plan work, I needed the assistance of my two slaves.  I had no doubts about their loyalty; they were totally dedicated to serving me, and to do otherwise was unthinkable.  After their years of servitude, they couldn’t even imagine of being disobedient or disloyal.  However, they were becoming a bit too comfortable with their relatively privileged lives lately, and needed to be taken down a notch or two to remind them of their status.  It was my fault, because I know I’d become too familiar with them, but that didn’t make any difference.  They’d have to be reminded.

Their retraining began two days before we were scheduled to leave on our “hunting trip.”  It started with my two slaves staging a girl-on-girl session on live webcast (on the free, teaser portion of my dedicated pay site), culminating with a naked wrestling match.  Viewers worldwide (I’d advertised, so there were over 80,000 of them, plus those invited to attend in person) were treated to live, streaming video of the loser getting violently fisted by the winner.  For the next 12 hours, the loser would serve as the winner’s slave – under my direction, of course. 

Cuntlicker – the loser – served a stream of clients during this period, ranging from young teenagers to elderly men (and women) as old as their 80’s, including several dogs, without a break to eat, drink, rest, or piss.  My favorite moment, though, was something Tittyfuck thought of all herself.  After Cuntlicker finished up the latest string of young, virile males, two dogs were brought in – a female Boxer, and a male Great Dane.  While the Great Dane mounted her like his bitch, Cuntlicker was presented with the Boxer’s splayed legs and ordered to start licking doggy cunt.  The Boxer was in heat and, even though freshly-fucked by another dog, didn’t object to Cuntlicker’s ministrations.  All the while, Tittyfuck gave Cuntlicker instructions – lick from her asshole to the top of her cunt, suck the cum out of her, lick her asshole, suck her tail like a cock, suckle at her nipples. 

As far as I know, it’s still the only video out there of a female canine having its cunt licked by a female human, and as of my last check, had over two million hits.  I moved it to the pay-per-view section of my web site, and it’s been one of my biggest money-makers.

Once the twelve hours was up, though, I decided it was time for my slaves to change roles.  Cuntlicker suddenly became the Mistress, and Tittyfuck dearly for what she’d done and had done to Cuntlicker.  After a lengthy session with my selection of whips, which left her a welted, bleeding mess, Cuntlicker announced that she’d spend the rest of the night impaled on the punishment pole, serving as a public urinal.  Tittyfuck blanched, a near-frantic look on her face at its mention.  Her last session with the punishment pole, nearly three years ago, was a horror she’d never forgotten.  The mere mention of it was enough to bring her to compliance.  I reminded Tittyfuck that while she was serving as Cuntlicker’s property, she truly belonged to me and anything Cuntlicker did to her would pale in comparison to how I’d punish her if she didn’t serve satisfactorily.

The punishment pole was a device of my own design.  Nothing about it was comfortable, from the cold, galvanized steel triangular seat (imagine sitting on the edge of a pyramid), to the mechanized restraints, to the anal and vaginal dildos covered with rough, protruding electrodes. 

Tittyfuck carefully positioned herself on the device, lowering slowly so her labium were split to the left and right of the sharp edge of the “seat,” the tiny (for now) dildos barely penetrating her cunt and asshole.  Cuntlicker walked around and secured Tittyfuck’s ankles to the adjustable struts, then locked her wrists to the back of her collar and fastened another restraint around Tittyfuck’s waist, holding her firmly down onto the painful device.  Using the remote control, she slowly raised the leg struts until Tittyfuck was grimacing with pain in a full splits position, then activated the dildos.  Narrow at their heads, but tapering outward in correspondence to their length, they slowly began pulsing in and out of Tittyfuck’s holes, gradually extending further and further, opening her cunt and asshole more and more with each stroke.  Every so often, the capacitor in the unit would discharge, sending painful electric shocks through the electrodes of the dildos impaling her.  My invitees, all of whom were drinking beer heavily, each emptied their bladders into her mouth as the night progressed.  In between pissing, they were given the opportunity to use Cuntlicker, since she didn’t have anything to do while Tittyfuck was secured to the pole.

Six hours later, I decided it was time to release Tittyfuck.  The dildos had extended to their full length, opening her cunt the size of a newborn baby’s head and her asshole the diameter of a baseball bat.  She was delirious, her belly swollen with piss, and nearly unconscious.  Keeping her there wouldn’t do anything but cause physical damage, and she was too valuable a commodity for permanent harm.  The first thing I had her do after releasing her was to empty her own bladder into Cuntlicker’s mouth – a fitting, humiliating end, since at least some of what she pissed was originally swallowed by her at Cuntlicker’s bequest.

With both slaves exhausted and abused, I put them to work with their daily calisthenics.  No ordinary exercises, these were specially modified to work the “important” parts of their bodies to exhaustion.  After a brisk – seven minute per mile – six mile run shackled to their treadmills, they burned their thighs with 100 repetitions of my own version of squat thrusts:  After dropping to the pushup position with their legs shoulder-width apart, they raise their asses and slide their feet forward, then thrust rearward in a fucking motion so their asses stick out further than their feet before returning to a standing position.  After that was what I call “crab crunches,” where they are positioned on the ground, face up, on their hands and feet.  With their legs spread wider than shoulder width, they tighten their abdomens and thrust their groins upward.  The motion, coupled with the position of their feet, causes their cunts to open and close with each stroke.  Five hundred repetitions of this exercise were followed by splayed-leg mountain climbers (with the feet kept widely apart), bicycle crunches, and another six mile run.  For their cool-down, they were given a variety of stretches and light exercises to do.  It was a solid three hour workout, without breaks, and they were covered with sweat by the time they were done...not to mention cum (doggy cum in Cuntlicker’s case) and cunt slime.  But their ordeal wasn’t even half over.

I’d already invited the local college’s football teams – varsity and JV, as well as the practice squads – over to partake of my slaves’ offerings.  Although sweaty and already visibly well-used, none of the ballplayers was put off by my slaves’ appearance.  Of course, none of them were aware that at least some of the cum dripping from Cuntlicker’s cunt originated in a dog’s balls. All told, over 100 students came to know – in the biblical sense – each of my slaves over the next several hours.  Still, there were twelve hours left to their ordeal.

Although my slaves had several hydration breaks – usually urine consumed directly from the source – since we began, neither of them had anything to eat.  It was time to correct that.

“Dinner,” I announced, sitting two stainless steel bowls on the floor.  The contents were anything but palatable – leftover vegetable scrapings, gristly meat, semen, cunt hair shavings, toenail clippings, used toilet paper, and congealed menstrual blood, among other things, all pureed in a blender.  Just for fun, I added some Syrup of Ipecac in Tittyfuck’s dish, and Ex-Lax in Cuntlicker's.  As disgusting as it looked, smelled, and I’m sure, tasted, my two slaves gobbled their disgusting mush down like it was a gourmet meal.  Their faces covered with the nasty glop, they took turns licking each other clean.  It was while they were doing this that the drugs kicked in.

Tittyfuck was first, a pained, sick look coming over her face as she grabbed her abdomen and bent forward, retching until the food came back up as projectile vomiting, spewing across the floor and splashing on Cuntlicker’s legs when she didn’t move out of the way quickly enough.  Moments later, it was Cuntlicker’s turn, as her bowels emptied in a watery, foul-smelling liquid.

“Tittyfuck, get over there and start licking up Cuntlicker’s mess.  Cuntlicker, you do the same with Tittyfuck’s!” I commanded loudly.  They’d both eaten small amounts of both vomit and shit before, but it was always their own – or in some cases, my shit if I had them lick my asshole clean after taking a dump.  Never had they been forced to lick up anyone else’s, nor so much.  And, to top it off, it was all being webcast live!

After it was all over, both told me this was the most disgusting, humiliating thing I’d ever demanded of them.  Cuntlicker threw up three times and Tittyfuck twice while lapping up the other’s mess, and of course, that just made the mess they had to clean up that much larger. 

By the time they finally finished, their 48 hour retraining period was over, and I’m sure they both expected an opportunity to get cleaned up and rest.  Maybe even a shower, or a bubble bath – a luxury I reserved for birthdays and special occasions.  I had no intent of letting them cleanse themselves, however.  I felt they needed a little more reminding of their status as nothing more than property.

I had them shackle each other – they smelled too rancid for me to get near them – and then had them crawl into separate dog crates, which were already loaded in the back of my van in the garage.  The crates were military style, with a barred door and solid aluminum walls with several circular ventilation holes in the floor, ceiling, and walls.  From a distance, nobody would notice the contents, but anyone getting close – baggage handlers, for instance – wouldn’t be able to miss the naked, abused female each contained.  That was fine with me – I wanted them humiliated.

You might think it difficult to have two naked, caged females shipped as baggage, but all you have to do know is the right people and which palms to grease.  Having been in the business of shipping “unique” property for several years now, I knew.  My shipper was a small firm I’d identified when they were a start-up company nearly a decade earlier, a Fed Ex wannabe, but considerably more discrete.  They advertised as a transportation company “offering extraordinary services for the distinctive client,” and about the only thing they didn’t ship was drugs.  It was just too risky.

Even though the claimed to not be into drug shipments – and nothing I discovered disproved that claim - I never had them pick up a shipment at my house.   There was a semi-abandoned industrial area across town which I used, and I’d barely offloaded my cargo and moved my vehicle out of sight when the shipper’s van showed up.  Their services cost a lot – more than the first class ticket I’d be taking to the same place – but they were worth it.  I filled out the paperwork and paid in cash, signing the addendum allowing the shipper’s employees to use my slaves in any manner desired, as long as they weren’t let out of their cages or permanently harmed.  I always allowed them to play with my toys, so always received exceptional services from them.  With that, I helped slide the cages off the loading dock and into the truck, then watched while it drove away.  They’d be traveling by ground, and would be held at the shipper’s regional hub near my final destination until I called them with a specific address.

That was my next step.  I already had the airline reservations, but needed to find a place to stay for several days, maybe as long as a couple of weeks.  If it was just me, or a pleasure trip with one or both of my slaves,  I’d have selected a nice, four- or five-star hotel.  However, I knew that such places tended to be a lot less discrete, and I’m sure having two caged, naked women delivered to my room would attract more than a bit of attention.  No, a nice place wouldn’t do for this trip, no matter how much I enjoyed the amenities.  I needed a seedy, no-tell motel.

A quick trip through the Internet found what I was looking for, and a check of the local newspaper and police records showed that, while it was a cheap, seedy place, there were few reported problems of a criminal nature there.  The last thing I needed was to find myself in the middle of a police raid.  My fight left the next day, so I called to arrange for a taxi to take me to the airport (picking me up at an apartment complex several blocks away).

My travel arrangements made, I took a quick shower before checking my web site’s online account status.  I had a third party billing agency, which sent the funds to a blind account set up in the name of one of my former slaves, and from there to an account in Tittyfuck’s legal name, which I had access to.  Although the entire two days of activity had been webcast on the free portion of my site, I wasn’t all that surprised to find that nearly 6,000 people had signed up at $39.95 a month.  After the billing agency’s cut and my fees to the ISP, I’d net just over $200,000 for that month on just the new memberships alone.  More than enough to pay for my latest excursion, though I expected it would eventually pay for itself.

Careful as I was, I used false documentation at the airport and paid cash for my ticket.  This was several years before 9/11, so security wasn’t nearly as complex or controlled as it is today, and I was able to board with no problem.  Back then, First Class passengers seldom received more than a cursory check.  Once aloft, I reclined the plush, leather seat and relaxed as much as I could.  I wasn’t able to sleep, though, my mind racing as I mentally reviewed my plans.

Comfortable as the flight was, I was glad when it was over.  After retrieving my bag from the carousel, I took a short cab ride to the motel I’d decided to establish my base of operations from.

As I alluded to earlier, it was a seedy dump, but not one rife with criminal activity.  This was vital to me, because I couldn’t afford to have cops nosing around.  Getting a room wasn’t a problem, because not only had I already made reservations (in another false name), but the place was nearly empty.   My request for a rear-facing room, off the street, was easily accommodated.  I’m sure the clerk figured I just wanted to be away from the street noise, but the reality was that I depended on the relative privacy such a room would offer.  There were no customers either above or on either side of me; if necessary, I’d been prepared to rent the adjacent rooms, but that turned out to not be necessary.  Walking through the parking lot from the office to my room, I had to step over a number of broken beer bottles other rubbish.

The room itself was just as squalid as the rest of the motel.  Oh, it was fairly clean, but cheaply furnished and poorly maintained.  There were a number of unidentifiable stains on the dingy gray carpet, and the place smelled of Lysol air freshener.  The furnishings consisted of a double bed, a chest of drawers, a tiny desk and a chair, all fabricated from the same blonde-colored laminated wood.  On the chest of drawers was a small television (no cable), and in the top drawer was the obligatory bible.  The bathroom contained a commode, sink, and shower stall.  There were two towels and a washcloth hanging from the towel rack, and one single bar of soap.  Not exactly what I was used to, but it was perfect for what I had planned.  Dropping my luggage off, I walked down the street to a nearby Denny’s restaurant and used the pay phone there to call my shipping company to arrange delivery.  A few cups of coffee and a piece of apple pie later, and I was back at my room.

I’d stripped down to my boxers and undershirt and was watching some inane television show when there was a knock at my door.  The shipment had arrived.  I didn’t really have space for the cages in my small room – nor the desire to explain their presence to anyone – so I had the deliveryman open the van so I could let my slaves out myself.  I was sure the company would find a use for the cages.  Heck, maybe next time, I could rent these very same ones.

My slaves exited their cages slowly and gingerly.  After nearly three days of being cramped up in a tiny box with no respite, their muscles and joints ached.  However, that didn’t excuse them from any of their duties – like when I told Tittyfuck to offer the deliveryman the use of her mouth as a tip.  I’d have made her offer her cunt, but doggy cum had been fermenting inside it for a half week, and I didn’t want to inflict that on anyone.

Once the deliveryman had been taken care of, I allowed my slaves to enter the motel room.  It was still daylight out, but there was nobody around at the back of the building…and even if there was, I’m sure an opportunity to use one of my slaves for a few hours would ensure a closed mouth.

I hadn’t noticed the stench my slaves exuded until the door was closed.  I could handle many noxious odors, but this one nearly burned my nostril hairs off.  I ended up leaving them in the room together for a few minutes while I walked across the parking lot to the adjacent convenience store.  Returning a few minutes later with a small jar of Vick’s, I used an old trick I’d learned from a friend who cleaned sewers and wiped a small glob under my nose.  The only thing I could smell was the Vick’s.

My slaves, however, weren’t nearly as fortunate.  They were quite repentant for their earlier familiarity with me, but their penance wasn’t quite over.  I had them lay on the floor in a 69 position and clean each other’s cunt and asshole, then take turns giving the other a full body tongue bath.  It didn’t do much for the stench filling the room, but knowing they were sucking days-old cum from each other dropped them even further into humiliating degradation.  After two hours of tonguing each other, I allowed them to share a shower, warning them that if either wasn’t completely clean – in and out – to my satisfaction, they’d both suffer the consequences.  I’d never seen the two of them move as quickly as I did when I told them to get their skanky asses into the shower;  nothing but elbows and assholes, as the old saying goes.

Since they hadn’t had real food in nearly a week, I felt obliged to give my slaves something to eat.  Once they were suitably clean, I allowed them to get dressed so we could go out.  I hadn’t packed much in the way of clothing for them – a couple of well-worn, thin cotton dresses and a pair of sandals each, plus a few extra items for “just in case.”  Once dressed – it didn’t take them long – the three of us walked down the street to Denny’s for dinner.  I ordered a burger and fries for myself; they each got a dinner salad without dressing, and a glass of water.  They gobbled down their dinner like it was a gourmet meal, though; I guess that’s what hunger does.  On the way out, I grabbed a couple of candy bars.  I wanted to try something, and they seemed just the thing to use as a reward.

When we got back to the room, I told my slaves we were going to have a little contest.  It would be in two parts:  First, they were going to put on a show for me, trying to make me choose which one I wanted to fuck first.  Whoever put on the best show – as decided by me – would earn a candy bar and first fuck.  The fucking would come after the second part of the contest, though.  Part two involved each trying to make the other cum first, by whatever means at her disposal.  Whoever came first was the loser, and the other person would get a candy bar.

The first contest was…well…no contest.  Cuntlicker was, without a doubt, the sluttier of the two, and watching her squat over me while she flexed her cunt muscles, causing her hole to open and close on command like a wet, willing mouth just about made me cum in my pants…or would have, if I’d had any one.  Her display apparently got to her as well, because it took less than sixty seconds of having Tittyfuck’s mouth latched on to her before she came with a loud scream.  So, each of my slaves was rewarded with a small bar of chocolate.

As promised, since Cuntlicker won the first contest, she’d get dicked as part of her reward.  I even let her crawl onto the bed, not for her comfort, but because I was going to pork her from behind and didn’t think my knees would hold up on the floor.  I fucked her quickly and with a vengeance; I hadn’t had a piece of ass since I shipped them out, and my balls were aching.  Normally, I drained them into one or the other of my slaves at least twice a day – often more.  I hadn’t beaten off since junior high school, and wasn’t going to start now.   So, I came fairly quickly, blasting three days of accumulated semen up her wet, spasming cunthole before turning her around to clean me off with her mouth.  While she was sucking me clean, I had Tittyfuck position herself underneath Cuntlicker’s splayed thighs and lap my cum from her swollen cunt.  Then, when I’d had enough, I shoved them both off the bed and snuggled down in the blankets for a good night’s sleep.  My slaves would sleep on the floor.

I awoke rested and refreshed the next morning, though I can’t say the same for either of my slaves.  Tittyfuck hadn’t had the opportunity to cum last night – taking care of it herself without permission was a major no-no – and laid awake most of the night, hoping I’d wake up and use her.  No such luck…I was exhausted.  Cuntlicker didn’t sleep very well, either, as she never did well on floors.  Although this one was carpeted, it didn’t provide much padding, and she just couldn’t get comfortable.

I sent Cuntlicker out to get me a newspaper, coffee and a couple of donuts – my slaves seldom ate breakfast – and while she was gone, took pity on Tittyfuck and drained my balls into her bowels.  Okay, so it wasn’t pity at all and purely for my pleasure, but she did get one small orgasm out of the deal.  I’m not completely uncaring about my slaves’ sexual needs, you know.  I even allowed her a bit of nourishment, sucking my semen and her own shit off my cock when she was done.  Cuntlicker got back just as Tittyfuck was finishing her clean-up job.

I let the slaves alone for a few minutes, allowing them to kneel quietly on the floor while I perused the newspaper.  It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for – some temporary wheels.  If the person who placed the ad wasn’t lying, what she had was a five year old plain white cargo van with relatively low mileage.  I had Tittyfuck get dressed and go call the seller from a payphone.  She returned a few minutes later to tell me that we could go see it immediately. 

Well, I had no intention of being seen even looking at, let along buying, the van.  I knew what the asking price was, and Tittyfuck was a pretty good haggler (she’d once saved me 60% on some very special electrical work I was having done), but I doubted her sexual prowess would come into play on this deal.  I gave her enough cash (I paid cash for everything when I could) to meet the asking price, and told her that it needed to be in good running condition and have current license plate tags.  Whatever she negotiated under the asking price would be split between her and her sister slave, to be used on new clothing.  They both became excited at the thought of being able to purchase new clothes, jumping around and squealing like pubescent adolescents.

A taxi was called, picking up Tittyfuck at the corner gas station across the street and taking her to the van owner’s location.  She returned two hours later in the van, with $500 left from the money I’d sent her with.  The van was as advertised, clean and with current plates.  The owner even left the insurance and registration cards inside, which would be important if we were stopped for some reason.  Not that I was planning on giving the police any reason to stop us.  Tittyfuck mentioned that the owner reminded her twice to get the title and registration changed as soon as possible, something I had no intention of doing.  When we were done with it, the van would be sanitized and abandoned. 

It was time for step two – or was it step three or four – in my plan.  I had to find an appropriate subject for “procurement.”