- Art of Enslavement - (closed for RainingHeat)

[Lord_Poseidon]

It felt good to be Tom Delany again. In many ways, his life finally contained all the things he had always wanted. He had found peace in the arms of a caring woman, who had enough love to last for both of them. The next step on the road was to start a family, with all the things and responsibilities it required. New friends - honest people, who liked him for what he was, and not what he did - had picked up from where his old friends left off. He was slowly setting into his own way of life, a life of balance and safety. People around him envied him his apparent success, but they also estimated his worth based upon his personality.

They commended him for his intelligence, loved him for his compassion. He always approached his duties with a strong sense of discipline and determination. His high ideals and principles had secured him a reputation as a person, who did not shy away from arguing about a cause he cared about. At the same time, his pleasant and forgiving nature made it easy for him to forge lasting relations with others. Though he rarely laughed, he was not completely rid of humor, and his ability to time a witty remark usually rewarded him with warm laughter and recognizing smiles from others.

Even so, it was as though people around him did not really know him at all. Nobody ever talked about it, but there seemed to be a general understanding that Tom Delany kept others at bay. Why he did so, however, was a puzzle to everyone. His behavior was a foolproof shield that prevented even his close friends from entering his sacred domain. It was a charade he had spent years perfecting. Truly, he had his own private reasons for building a perfect world around himself. The more he practiced being positive, the more his own confidence grew, and it made it easier for him to smile at the world.

Like right before, when he had greeted the woman next to him. He had smiled at her, and talked to her in the most friendly and inviting voice he could produce. He even sought eye contact with her, which was something he rarely did with strangers. There was something about her that compelled him to be nice, not because he really wanted to talk to her, but because he had to make a good impression. He had no idea who she was, but he was unwilling to take the easy route and ignore her, no matter how tempting it felt. What if she turned out to be his colleague? Surely, silence wasn't the best way to start a partnership.

His life had changed so drastically over the years. The smell of muddy soil and rotten trees still lingered on in his nostrils, as a bad reminder of days long gone. He knew those memories would never go away. They were his curse, and yet, also his blessing. They had made him who he was, and they had inspired him to aim higher. His success in life was not a result of a desire for money or power; Not a question of being the best or the smartest around. He never even put up a struggle to get himself the girl of his dreams.

In Tom's world, it was a matter of being different. It was his destiny to change, to be better than the rest. Better than the fools he had left behind in the schoolyard of his youth; Better than the punks of his old gang; Better than the people he had once loved and regarded as family. He had to get away - had to put his past behind himself - if he wanted to survive. It was the only thing he could do. The ability to adapt to his surroundings and fit in was the very foundation of his new life, just like his ability to keep out of sight had been the key to surviving his childhood.

Now he was about to take another step on his journey to the top. It was the most important move in his career, maybe even the most important decision of his life. The job was well-paid and full of potential, especially for a man of his relentless need for results. It was a fantastic opportunity for him, and he felt compelled to reach for it with both hands. Still, he couldn't ignore the uncomfortable feeling of doubt in his stomach. Everything was so strange and new to him, and it didn't help the slightest to see the woman turn her eyes down and leave the room in a hurry. It was not a reaction he was used to anymore.

There had been a time where people openly avoided him. His appearance had always been hidden under a layer of attitude and accessories, and it was not before he had been forced to change that it had occurred to him how handsome he actually was. His tall, square face ended in a thin chin that gave the otherwise masculine features of his face a much needed touch of softness. The eyes were the same, big and brown, but rested below a slightly pronounced brow ridge. His nose was pointy, but neither too big nor too small. He had grown to like his own appearance, and it furthered his efforts to keep things the way they were. He always shaved with great care, styled his hair in a tight haircut and applied makeup to cover up undesirable details in his skin. It was routine, but it infused him with a sense of self-worth that paid off exceptionally when he used it to his own advantage.

Only, this time it had not worked. The woman had not even cared to respond to his polite greeting, and it confused the thoughtful man greatly. All he could do, was to watch her turn her back at him and walk away. He had noticed a touch of panic in her retreat, but he had no idea where such an emotion could possibly stem from. Maybe she was not even meant to be on the same floor as he? Had he unintentionally caught her doing something she was not supposed to do? Was she up to something, or was she just not used to someone showing her attention? It was impossible to say, really.

He stole another glance at the document in his briefcase, allowed himself the time to study the list of objects, which the meeting ahead was meant to focus on. It was a strange list. Each object was presented with a detailed description of it's history and age, but there was no images or names to complete the impression. They all seemed to be of a more recent age, and it gave him reason to think about the identity of the potential buyers. It annoyed him that he had not been able do a bit of research before the meeting, but his contact had refused to share any details about them. He found it odd, of course, but it was easy to dismiss his contact's lack of cooperation as an attempt to test his abilities as a negotiator. He was clueless about the buyers, so he had to improvise.

Tom had expected to fail the interview at ConnectEVE. It would have been logical for the representative to dismiss him as both too young and too inexperienced to fill in the position he had applied for. ConnectEVE was only for the best in the business, and his recommendations basically were not good enough. But just when the paper-pusher at the other side of the table had opened his mouth to give his application the final kiss of death, fate had intervened and an old face from his past had showed up to save the day. Someone he held in high esteem. It was his father's old friend, John Pratchett Senior.

He had not believed his ears when old Pratchett had claimed their meeting was not a coincidence. The revered businessman and millionaire had planned for them to meet again after so many years. Pratchett had called it an old man's quirky way of honoring an old friendship, and he had given Tom no reason to doubt his honesty whatsoever. Although the reunion brought up undesirable notions of his own past, it was hard for the young man not to feel flattered about the millionaire's interest in his education and skills.

Tom still recalled how Pratchett had asked him to take a walk with him outside the building. They had talked about old memories for a while, but then the conversation had steered toward the question of his employment. The secretive smile on the other man's face had grown, and he had asked him what he believed his talent was worth. The question had puzzled him at first, but his confusion quickly dissolved when the old man began to laugh. This high-pitched, innocent laughter that Tom remembered so well from his childhood. It still sent shivers down his spine, but for the first time ever, it had no visible effect on him. Rather, he had remained silent and waited for the other man to speak up.

"I've always liked you, Tom, just like I liked your father. It may not mean a whole lot to you, but I have always regarded you like a son. Now that your father is not around anymore, I feel compelled to help you. He was always so proud of you, and I understand why. It won't be easy, but if you are just half the man your father was, then you can make it anywhere. I know you'll fit in well here, because ConnectEVE is so much more than your average business company. We are like a big family, all the way from the bottom to the top. But unlike other families, we here at ConnectEVE see to the needs of others too. We are compassionate and resourceful. We trade and deal with various services. We strive to do our very best to help wherever - and whenever - we can. That is why no one can reject the help we have to offer. Always in secret, always at a price. Money is our blood, but discretion is our life. Talent and loyalty are both rewarded equally here. There is always room for another member of the family."

It sounded just like Tom had believed it would. Pratchett's voice had been deceptively gentle when he had told him about ConnectEVE. It was like the elderly board member was doing a commercial voice-over for the place, and it made him suspicious. He had felt tempted to ask his father's friend if he was still involved in illegal activities, but there was something that held him back. The corporation's unstained image made it easy to ignore the contradicting feelings in his gut. He just couldn't believe such a huge corporation would sell stolen goods. Besides, even though the job was important to him, he would never stay around if it somehow went against something he believed in. He could always quit, if he felt like it.

He put the document back into the briefcase and straightened up in his seat. It had only been two days since the interview. Pratchett certainly didn't waste any time, that was for sure. His contact had told him to show up at the sixth floor of Hotel Liberty and wait for one of his colleague to help him through the meeting. He had waited outside the conference suite for about three ours now, and he was starting to get impatient. Just how long was he supposed to wait for someone to show up?

 

[RainingHeat]

Three hours. She had been told, he needed to wait three hours, before she showed up. It was a test, of sorts, to see how he would react to things not going "according to plan". In this area of the business, nothing really went "according to plan". One had to be able to think on their feet, to adapt, it was what had gotten her to where she was now. She had that uncanny ability to think fast, adapt, and she had the most required, sought after ability, other than her looks that is, to read the Buyer. To watch, observe, and most importantly, to gather from what she saw, just what the Buyer really wanted. It was a delicate art, she had. A delicate talent. That was one reason why she was on her feet, while others, like her, were on their knees...

But let's talk about her first....

Blonde haired...

Green eyed...

http://i211.photobucket.com/albums/bb160/RainingHeat/blondegown.jpg

Alex was the epitome of a beautiful woman. Which meant, to be brutally honest, she was also the epitome of a stunning, and highly desirable possession. Her looks were classic. Long honey blonde hair, sage eyes that sparkled in the sunlight, long legs, sleek torso, ample curves where curves needed to be. Men were drawn to her, they always had been... even when she was young, a teenager, in school, before she left home, before she ran away. Men wanted to touch her, and again, it felt like they always had. From her teenage boyfriends to her step-father, it seems that men wanted to possess her. She would have been the perfect trophy-wife. Men wanted her.... enough said. These desires, were often articulated, both before, and after, she had "joined" The Company. Offers were often made. Offers were, currently, always rejected.

Alex was good at what she did. The Management, knew that. The Management did not want to loose her. Even at a price. At least not yet.

Alexandra Sommers. She had just turned 22 years old. She had been with The Company, since she was 18. Young yes. But she was not employed in the capacity one might think. She was not "employed". She was owned. At first, she had not even known the official name of The Company. Alexandra had been nothing more than a drug addicted teenage runaway, trying to survive on the streets of LA, when she was picked up. Well, that was not entirely true, but she was a runaway, trying to survive, that much WAS true. Drug addicted, no. But that was the story she told. She had left home when she was 16. Alex just could not take it anymore. Her step-father had crossed the line one too many times. She was tired of fighting, tired of not being believed, tired of being scared, tired of being abused. Tired... of life.. It had to better elsewhere. Her life at home so bad, the street looked like a picnic to her. And for 2 years, Alex had managed to live, and not sell her body for money. She lied about her age, lived in dives, got petty jobs at the local Mickey Dee's or cut rate convenience stores. Until she found a job she thought was a better deal.. she had been.. wrong... When She was finally picked up by the police... she was nothing more than a homeless teen to them. She had gotten kicked of the run down apartment she had shared with a couple other runaways she had met on the street, they had seen her as a burden finally, given she wouldn't sleep with them or any of their friends. The cop, a "Scout" for The Company, saw the potential to make a few bucks. No one would even notice her missing. No one cared, of that he was sure. He was seasoned. He knew who would be missed and who wouldn't. That was often how women came to be in the "employ" of The Company. Runaways. Homeless. Abused. Needing help. Picked up by the local police. Only to be sucked in and sold for money. The Company had "scouts" in police departments and social services, all over the states.

The Company did not just sell sex. They left that to the brothels of Vegas. The Company sold women, as one of the many things they offered for sale. They sold women for sex, for maid service, for whatever the Paying Customer wanted. Women were just one of the many options The Company sold. And this cop, well, he made a pretty penny on Alex. Again, she was the epitome of a beautiful girl, a gorgeous woman. To this day, she had no clue how much that "pretty penny" had been. She no longer cared. She did at one time. But that time was long since gone.

Her "training"... that she remembered. That she cared about. It had been nothing short of a nightmare. Days and nights filled with fear, pain, and learning. But Alex, she was a smart cookie. She learned quickly what was expected. How to not suffer the pain, the humiliation, the total and complete terror that most of the other girls suffered. There was training, and there was taming, and there was breaking. Alex was trained. She was not tamed. And she certainly was not broken. Both these facts, she kept well hidden. She knew what she had to do. This was another talent she had. The walls she han built around herself, to hide behind, were not easy to break down. Her training lasted only a few weeks. She had learned that the Trainers were not the most... well, not the sharpest tacks in the drawer. Many of the girls, it took months to get them ready for sale. And again, to be honest, the girls were not exactly brilliant either. The Company had figured out, thru trial and error, that most Buyers wanted well trained girls. Some, actually very few, wanted more... wild... in their slaves. None would pay for a raw girl, that was entirely too dangerous. It would only take one to escape, and tell the right "people" before it all came tumbling down. The Company, tho, had tendrils everywhere, it seemed. The right "people" would be hard to find. And the girls had been trained to think that if it ever was mentioned, they would be dead. Brain washing, in this reality, was very easy. The Company had decades of "how to brain wash a person" to learn from, thanks to the many religious cults they observed. It was as easy as copying how cults did it. Cults were the experts in this kind of thing. Now, the Company was too.

This particular "product" was marketed 2 ways. Private sales. And warehouse sales. Private sales were exactly that, the Buyer and the product, and the Product Manager, and Alex. Simple. And pretty much clean for all intents and purposes. Warehouse sales were entirely different. There were multiple available "product" and multiple Buyers. Not quite as clean....

Warehouse sales.... usually consisted of "product" that had not sold recently. High turnover was required in this particular line of sales. Product that had been in possession of The Company for some time were a liability. There would come a time for a clean out. It was time for a "best offer" sale. It was time to bring in new, fresh, "product" so the older had to go.

On the day of the warehouse sale, the doors would swing open, and for a moment, a fresh breath of air would flow in. Many of the girls had not seen any kind of freedom since they had been "captured" and "employed" by The Company. There was always a selection, always. There would be a couple of blondes, actually more than a couple. Blondes were in high demand. A couple of girls with dark chestnut brown hair, perhaps one or more with red hair, which was another highly desirable color. Lastly there would be girls with manes of midnight black. The Men would file in. It was always a horror show when they did. Product Managers often had hard time keeping control when The Company had one of these warehouse sales. The Men, the potential Buyers... some stared, some cursed, others said lewd, disgusting things. These Men were not prescreened like Private Buyers were. Not to the same extent. They were chosen to attend, yes, but not prescreened. There was always, touching... fondling of a bared breast... a nipple pinched or twisted... hands groping backsides, fingers testing for tightness of asses, wetness of cunts, testing for the girl's level of arousal. For some, it was just a way to get off, get a cheap feel, altho just to get in here, was not cheap. An entrance fee had been paid. Sometimes, one would lean in for a deep kiss, tongue violating lips, or to suckle a nipple, tasting, biting, garnering a response from the helpless girl, a moan, a cry, a begging (if ungagged) to stop, or maybe to continue. That was allowed. But that was it. If one wanted to go further, you either purchased the girl for yourself, or you purchased a trial period, where the girl, and the Buyer, would be taken to a private room for upwards of an hour. If the girl had been deemed a virgin, intercourse was not allowed, but most anything else was, including oral. If the girl were already broken, than intercourse was indeed allowed and encouraged.

Private sales had the same rules, actually.

Some Men liked a girl already broken in. Some wanted only virgins.

Often, Pairs or Groups of Men would purchase a girl, after trying her out for the hour. She would become the pet of such a Group. Most of the Men were married, the wives never knew. Most of those girls lead miserable lives, used only for sex, and often at parties or gatherings, where she was mounted and used by many Men.

It was not pretty.
It never was.

Alex had never endured a warehouse sale herself. Not as a girl for sale at least. She had participated in several, and hated it. But she had never been offered for sale in one. She had been offered via private sale. And it was there, that she had shown a cunning intelligence, and an uncanny perception. Her talents, and not sexual talents, has shown thru. She had actually spoken to her potential Buyer. Had gauged who he was, and easily determined his personality. She had determined that, instead of herself, that the girl known as Kelly, was a much better fit for this particular Buyer. Both the Buyer and Product Manager had to agree, after the Buyer met Kelly.... And the Man ended up purchasing Kelly, and gave a generous bonus to the Manager on top of it all. He appreciated the guidance that Alex had given him. The entire transaction went off without a hitch. Smoothly, and without the drama that these transactions often experienced. As time went on, it was discovered, that both the girls for sale and the Men and Women looking to purchase, were comfortable with Alex. She had been offered to others for sale, and in all cases, another girl was found to be much more compatible. It wasn't that she was avoiding being sold herself, it was her uncanny ability to speak to people, observe people, and, she knowing the girls as well as she did, to match the right girl with the right Buyer. And in all cases, a bonus was given, and the transaction was drama free.

The Company now used Alex as a partner with the Product Managers, to select girls for private Buyers. Alex would speak to the Buyer, and always, would chose one, sometimes more, girls, for the Buyer to peruse, or even sample. And without fail, the Buyer would purchase. Repeat Buyers, who had purchased before Alex became involved, commented that this experience was much better than the last, and again, bonuses were given. Returns also dropped dramatically. Returns had never been a good thing for the Company, but were a necessary evil. But with Alex involved, they were less and less. It was a winning combination, and Management knew that. Many Buyers offered to purchase Alex. Always, they were turned down, as mentioned earlier. Always. Alex was still kept in the with the "product". This way she was always interacting with them, getting to know the new product, always ready for the next sale.

This particular day, she was meeting a new Product Manager. She only knew his first name, Tom. She was not allowed to call him by his name tho, only Sir. Buyers, were always called Mr. X or Mrs. X.. or Sir and Madam. Never by their first names. And "Master" was not allowed either. Alex was technically properly of ConnectEve, which is what was etched into the slim silver collar that she wore around her throat. The only one she was allowed to call Master, was John Prachett, the CEO. She honestly did not know his name, not officially. She knew it from listening and observing, but technically, it was not something she "needed" to know. He was "Master" that was that. But Alex did not see him all that often, so it really didn't matter. She dealt almost exclusively with the Product Managers.

There were 7 Product Managers currently, all men. This new one would be the 8th. Business was booming. Alex, to be honest, did not particularly care for the PMs... Most were sadistic bastards who got a great deal of pleasure in the buying and selling of these girls. Yes, that's right, the Product Managers purchased girls as well, and Alex was part of that process, just much less involved. She observed for the most part, watching the girls, getting her feel for them during the transaction. She did not even speak to the Sellers during that time. She kept the girls calm, while the transaction negotiation was going on. It often involved an exam of the girl, by the PM, and then the talk of money. Without Alex there, it had always been a pretty ugly experience. But again, she had that knack of calming the girls down, kinda like a den mother. Yep, that was Alex... And more than one PM had been "fired" because of how they treated the incoming girls. These girls were not to be "touched" sexually, until examined by the Doctor, etc . Alex had told the Master's representative of the 2 PMs who raped the girls, despite the rules. This guy was the replacement for one of the fired PMs...

Another enslaved girl had lead him into the waiting area outside the large conference room at the Hotel where the Company often did business. Very discreet. The Company owned the entire 6th floor. That girl belonged directly to Mr. Prachett, unlike Alex, who belonged to "ConnectEve"... Funny, Alex had even matched them up. That had been one of her first tests, before she was allowed to start matching Buyers and product, after that first fateful meeting. She had passed with flying colors. Mr. Prachett was duly impressed.

It was now 11am. The meeting had been scheduled for 8am. Again, she had been told to make him wait. When she approached, she looked like any other "regular" person. Dressed in a nicely fitted black skirt, a pale green top that hugged every curve, it was meant to show off her figure, as well as her eyes, and black leather boots (a reward she was allowed for doing such a good job), her long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. She carried a briefcase, inside was some basic information about this new PM.. Name... age... and a basic background. One thing was highlighted tho... "Special Treatment.. per Master" that told her that Mr. Prachett had a special interest in... Tom.... why, she did not know.

"Good Morning Sir" she quietly greeted him, extending her hand to shake his. "I am sorry for being making you wait, busy morning. Let's step in and I can go over who I am, and what is expected of you.... " she stood aside to allow him to enter the room, the door swinging open automatically.

 

[RainingHeat]

The room was large, with one wall entirely of windows, looking down over the city. ConnectEve had a room like this in every major city.. LA... New York... Seattle... Chicago... Detroit... Boston... Atlanta... Miami... All in the same Hotel. Always the 6th floor. Very consistent.

The view was always magnificent...

A large conference table dominated the room. And of course the large, leather chairs. Scattered about were a couple of sofas, and more comfy chairs, like one may find in their den. Alex knew this room well. She had been here many times. Often the buying and selling went on in this very room. The first phase of it at least. The Buyer or Seller was then taken to the Company, to finalize the deal. Pre-screening of Buyers happened here. As did the first meeting of her and the Product Managers.

Something else that often happened in this roo...? Not always, as there were rooms specifically for this purpose, but sometimes, would be the testing of the product. If deemed not virginal, and the... Company... deemed that the employees needed a little "pick me up" the new girl would be brought here to be tested. Used. Alex had witnessed it on several occassions. Again, she was there to keep the girl calm, because new product often panicked in this kind of situation. Whether trained or new, when faced with the idea of pleasuring several men, either at once or one after the other, it was a scary, no, terrifying thought.

So, as Alex invited Tom to sit, at one end conference table.. For a moment, she closed her eyes, remembering what had last happened on that very end of the table. The girl's name had been Bethany. There had been 5 PMs and 2 of the Accountants that particular day. It had been hours....

With a slight shake if her head, Alex sent that memory back where it belonged...

"First of all, Sir, I am Alex. I do not know if you were told about me or not" she began as she sat down opposite of him, "Alex is short for Alexandra, and you may call me either. I am Company owned." ... It was funny how that just rolled off the tongue. Company owned. Not employed like he was... owned..."And I will be your partner for all transactionsn involving this particular product. My question to you is, do you know what this product is, or do you need me to explain"... She never really knew what the new Product Managers were told. It all depended on who they had spoken to when being hired and whether or not it was deemed better to tell them outright, or let her show them...

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

Tom could feel the frustration grow inside him at an illogical pace. He glanced at his wrist watch and tried to reassure himself that everything was going according to plan, even though he knew it was a lie. It was not uncommon for business meetings to get rescheduled at the last moment possible, but there was something about the situation that did not make sense. It was different. He was used to waiting, there was no need for him to get upset. He had learned early on in his career that one had to be patient if one wanted to survive in the business world. Schedules had a tendency to get tight, and one simply had to be careful to avoid stress and the consequences thereof. He had endured his fair share of prolonged meetings in the past, just like he had been forced to sit through endless business dinners with uninteresting people.

- Why was it taking so long!?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. The disturbance caused him to look up, and it was only a matter of seconds before he spotted the source of the noise: A woman was walking toward him from the far end of the corridor. He took advantage of the distance between them and let his eyes wander over her figure in a discreet way that mirrored common curiosity. There was nothing unfriendly about his gaze, but it was hard for him to hide the fact that he was, indeed, assessing her.

She was quite a sight to behold, almost aggressive in her determination to cover the distance between them. She was well-dressed, with a touch of class and value that left nothing to the imagination of the viewer. The tight fit of her top complimented her body greatly, as did the skirt and the black leather boots she wore. Her hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, and it indicated some level of self-control, even restrain. Nothing in her appearance seemed to be careless or rushed, she even carried a briefcase quite similar to his. It all pointed in the direction of a businesswoman. Still, Tom knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving, so he couldn't stop wondering who she actually was.

When she finally came close enough to greet him, he shook her hand lightly and furthered his effort not to glare directly at her. This close, she looked even younger than he had estimated her to be when she first came into view. He returned her greeting and felt bad about his lack of manners. It should've been he, who extended his hand toward her in a friendly display of good faith. Instead, he had just stared at her like she was an animal on the way to be sold at the market. Now that was a silly thought, wasn't it?

He followed her invitation and went inside the room without asking any questions; Not that he didn't have any to ask, but he figured it was not the right time to be inquisitive beyond reason. Good conduct was alpha and omega in any kind of transaction, and he knew he had to play along to remain on good terms with everyone. He just had to trust that the woman was indeed the person he was meant to meet at the Hotel.

Once seated comfortably in one of the luxurious chairs at the end of the conference table, he reached inside his briefcase and found the list of products. He got extremely surprised when she introduced herself and revealed several surprising facts about her job. What did she mean about being 'Company owned'? Was that a clever way of bragging about her seniority in ConnectEVE, or just an awkward attempt at telling a joke?

“I am Tom Delany, Tom for short. It's nice to meet you, Alexandra.” The warmth in his voice was honest, and he smiled at her the best he could. It was a fact that the introduction and first impression were equally important in any line of business that dealt with humans. This occasion was no different, but there was also something else he had to address before they could proceed any further... “But please, there's no need to call me Sir. Surely being partners also means we are equals. I am flattered that you feel compelled to call me by that title, but it is ultimately not mine to claim. Save it for the bosses and the dinner parties. As for your other question regarding the products...”

He paused and looked at the document in front of him. It was probably the worst piece of work he had ever seen, but maybe it was supposed to be that way? Was it all part of the test, or was there something he was missing?
Running his right index finger over the text of the first few items on the list, he refreshed his memory and then turned his attention back to the woman at the other end of the table.

“Well, the list provided by HQ does not really help me at all,” he admitted and raised an eyebrow to emphasize his confusion. “The descriptions are poor, there's no names or images... But from what I can gather, we are dealing with some sort of antiques or rarities? I must say, it's been a while since I read anything as imaginative as these descriptions. Take this, for instance: Age: 24. Condition above average, used sporadically. The product has sturdy legs, a soft surface and is good to lie on. All in all a proof of good craftsmanship. I personally believe it's a chaiselong of sorts...” He shook his head in open disapproval, but then continued: “And then there's this one: Age: 19. Mint condition. The product is tall and light, with a smooth surface and artistically fine details. Good for display or use at home. Does not need polish to maintain... If I didn't know better, I would assume we were not talking about pieces of furniture and old figurines, but something else entirely.”

He had noticed an underlying sense of something disturbing in her question, something he couldn't define in words. Why was it even necessary for her to tell him about the wares? What details about them did he not know? The frustration from earlier was gone, but it had been replaced by a tiny knot in his stomach.

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

(a quick editorial note, RainingHeat and I are the same Writer, just 2 different Literotica names)

He was a bit different from the other Product Managers that she dealt with. She wasn't quite sure what the difference was yet. But it was there, almost staring her in the face. She had felt it the moment she had approached him.

“I am Tom Delany, Tom for short. It's nice to meet you, Alexandra.”
“But please, there's no need to call me Sir. Surely being partners also means we are equals. I am flattered that you feel compelled to call me by that title, but it is ultimately not mine to claim. Save it for the bosses and the dinner parties. As for your other question regarding the products...”

It was cute, how the new PMs would balk at being called "Sir". Well, not that she had broken in many new PMs. This particular job did not tend to have a high turnover rate. She honestly had no clue how much the PMs were paid, but she knew it was a six figure amount, again she was good at listening and observing, and she knew bonuses were paid on sales, let alone the extra money that came from very happy Customers, all thanks to her. Her own "bonuses" of course were not monetary. Anyway, she had met and "broken in" 2 new PMs before Mr. Delany. Both hired because the market for the product was increasing faster than the Company had anticipated. Seems the buying and selling of well, women, was quite the lucrative market. The Company was expanding into Canada, Mexico, South America, and planning on offices in the UK and Asia as well. Again, Alex listened and paid attention. The thought chilled her to the bone, to be honest. But for now, she had no say in the matter. Or any way of halting this... progress.

“Well, the list provided by HQ does not really help me at all,” he admitted and raised an eyebrow to emphasize his confusion. “The descriptions are poor, there's no names or images... But from what I can gather, we are dealing with some sort of antiques or rarities? I must say, it's been a while since I read anything as imaginative as these descriptions. Take this, for instance: Age: 24. Condition above average, used sporadically. The product has sturdy legs, a soft surface and is good to lie on. All in all a proof of good craftsmanship. I personally believe it's a chaiselong of sorts...” He shook his head in open disapproval, but then continued: “And then there's this one: Age: 19. Mint condition. The product is tall and light, with a smooth surface and artistically fine details. Good for display or use at home. Does not need polish to maintain... If I didn't know better, I would assume we were not talking about pieces of furniture and old figurines, but something else entirely.”

He was astute, she thought to herself. And observant. And obviously intelligent. The other 2 newer PMs had thought it were cars that were being described when they read the same documents, totally ignoring the mention of "legs" or being good to "lie on". The question was, what did Tom think? Would he draw the same, incorrect conclusion? Neither of those 2 new PMs had thought it thru. They had guessed, instead of reading, instead of paying attention, instead of thinking. Sure both those PMs were still with the Company for the moment. Both had managed to redeem themselves and were working out. But Tom, he was different, as she observed before. He was a bit guarded, she noted. Was that what was different about him? Guarded? Yes... definitely guarded. He was not going to show what he thought. He was actually thinking and not about to draw a conclusion yet, and as she watched him, she realized that he realized he did not have enough information. Smart. Very smart. One had to think on one's feet when buying and selling in this world. One always had to keep all options open.

Alex nodded to his words. She paused, taking a breath. She did not have to read the documents herself. She knew them well. She had already read his as well. Not that it contained alot of information. The Company did not feel the need to divulge too much to her. She was nothing more than a possession after all... Choosing her words carefully, she began...

"What you are looking at is merely a sample. Full documents are provided once a meeting is set up between the Buyer and the PM. These documents will include product descriptions, first names, always just first names, last names no longer matter, age, how long the product has been in our inventory, a low end and high end price, notations on health, disposition, attitude, intelligence, and sexual experience. And of course... " She stopped there to let him absorb what she was saying .. " 2 pictures, one clothed and one naked."

"We have found that pictures do not do the product justice, however, so the pictures are more for identification purposes. Pictures are not shown to the Buyer. The Buyer sees all product choices in person. Either one at a time, or in a group... that decision is between the Buyer and the PM"...

She knew he was taking this all in. She could see it in his eyes. Guarded was a good word for him. His eyes were almost cold. Alex began to wonder a bit more about him. She had expected some kind of reaction, if not in his face, definitely in his eyes. But... nothing... yet...

"Allow me to finish, and I can then answer any questions you may have, Sir... our product, in this division, which is the largest and most profitable division for the Company..." she had only just been given, and trusted, with this information actually..." is the buying, and moreso, the selling, of.... women." she had to pause, to allow that to sink in. "You will find the age range to be from 18 at the youngest to 29 at the oldest. You will find all nationalities. And additionally all shapes and sizes. You, will be responsible for a stable of product, usually 15 total... and this stable is replenished as product is sold. It is expected that you inspect and have intimate knowledge of your stable, and that is where I come in. I work with all the PMs. I know the product well, I interact with the product, and I can help you with bringing together your Buyer, with the right product... But that, we can discuss as you become more acclimated."

Intimate knowledge. She did not tell him what that meant. Not yet. He would find out soon enough. Many of the PMs loved that one "perk" to their job. As long as the girl was not deemed a virgin, she could be used. Most PMs ... well... fucked... all the girls in their stables in one capacity or another. Virgins, were, well, they usually ended up on their knees, since mouths were never considered virginal. She would show him all that. He would see it all. He would be observing other PMs as part of his training.

She had poured him a glass of cool water and as she paused, she passed it to him across the smooth table surface.

Alex then got to her feet, turning to look out at the view, a view she could stare at all day if they let her. "As for calling you Sir, that is not negotiable. Understand that I too, was one of the product. I now work to sell the same. But I am not an employee" she turned back to him, lifting her chin slightly to accentuate the silver collar about her neck. "I belong to the Company... Sir.... Now I know you must have questions, I will answer any and all that I can."

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

There was something about the way she looked at him that made Tom nervous. Almost like she kept her eyes fixed at him to look beyond his words and see what was going on in his mind. The discomfort he felt caused him to fall back into a distinct pattern, which he had trained relentlessly ever since he decided to leave his past behind. The pleasant smile on his face faded away and was exchanged for a more neutral expression. The uneasy feeling in his gut had increased, but he took great care not to let it show. It was hard to maintain an expression rid of emotion, and it was impossible to do it completely. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be subtle hints of emotions left for the trained eye to discover. Insignificant changes, like the slight contraction of tiny muscles around the mouth or the flicker of an eye, could very well reveal what sort of emotion a person was going through. Nevertheless, it was something he was good at, something that kept him safe from the prying eyes of others.

He returned her inquisitive look and waited for her to say something. It was impossible to know how she would react to his theory, but he was determined not to say another word until she had shared some information with him. He had not showed up at the Hotel to play petty mind-games with her. Still, it was hard for him not to think about what he was missing in his interpretation of the product-list. Fact and fantasy seemed to melt together so easily when he thought too hard about it.

When she finally opened her mouth to speak and uttered the first few words, it seemed as though the answer to all his questions was within reach. Sadly, it was not the quaint revelation he had hoped for. The list was fake, and as such, it was meant to be poor. She spoke of names - first and last - and Tom took it as proof that they were dealing with products of high quality, products renowned for their maker or design. But the touch of relief he felt at the thought of being right was only brief.

As she went over the details a proper document would contain, he realized his theory was falling apart. He started to worry slightly when she mentioned the product's health condition, as it was a term one would mainly use in regards to living beings. There was not enough time for him to digest the different characteristics she mentioned next, and his mind went completely blank when he heard the two words “sexual experience”. He was in a state of disbelief, and it made it extremely difficult for him to uphold his stern attitude toward her. What she said next about the photographs ultimately mattered little to him. He was too busy dealing with his emotions to worry about it.

She asked him not to interrupt her until she was done talking, and Tom felt no dire need to argue against her logic. If anyone was running the show, it was her, and he accepted it, because he had nothing to say. The only thing he cared about was to let nothing slip through the cracks in his personal shield, while he tried to analyze the things she revealed to him. He was not stupid; he was able to reach a conclusion based upon the details, and it painted a nasty picture in his mind. By the time she dropped the bomb on him, he had already figured it out by himself: ConnectEve was dealing with women. They were selling women.

Suddenly, it all made sense; the secrecy, the hotel, the testing – and now this woman, who was telling him what his job was really about. The job offered by his father's old friend was not what it had seemed to be. The realization did little to comfort him, but it nevertheless put an end to the tension in his stomach. As odd as it was, it calmed him to know what was going on. It felt good to know that he had been right to assume Pratchett was still up to no good. Not that it really made any difference now. He was stuck where he was, and he knew it.

With understanding came silent resignation – and then, anger. Anger at being fooled by someone he had trusted; anger at allowing himself to walk into a clever trap such as the one he had fallen into. How could he be so naive to think that it would be easy? ConnectEVE had obviously not made him wait to test his patience or his ability to deal with stress. It was a clever ploy to fool all their potential employees. Thinking back, he recognized the pattern: lure a new member to a quiet location, offer them money and reveal enough information to make him or her a liability to the group. The clever ones would accept their destiny, simply because it was their only option. The fools would just disappear, one way or the other. The secrets would remain secret. He had seen it all before, albeit on a lesser scale.

What kind of person was this woman in front of him anyway? She appeared so calm, so cool and collected. It occurred to him that his initial impression of her as a businesswoman had not been completely off. He had, however, never expected to see a woman speak about selling humans in the same way as she did. She acted extremely professional, and she spoke about the job as thought it was a simple matter of selling kitchen equipment. Maybe it was as simple as that for people like her!

… people like her?

He closed his eyes and barely noticed it when she rose from her seat and went to look at the world outside. There was no way he would find rest inside the imaginary safety of his own mind. The thoughts were too numerous, the fury too great. Who was he to judge anyone? He knew there was only one reason why he had been able to guess the whole picture, and it was a reason he disregarded. Could he honestly say he knew nothing about the world she alluded to? Had he not seen it in the past as well? Was he free of the possessive anticipation he once clung so strongly to, or would it resurface when he least expected it... and if it did, would it then breathe life into repressed desires from a time long gone?

The sound of her voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to look at her. She revealed yet another secret to him, lifted her chin and gave him a better view of the jewelry she wore around her neck. Apparently, she was not his equal. Not in the common sense that defined a partnership. Her words “company owned” finally made sense. She was, in fact, owned by the company. A slave to her superior's quirks and ideas. Was that the reason why she was acting so professionally?

She was quite right in her assumption; he had a lot of questions, but they were not really directed at her. There was only one person, who could answer his questions, and that man was John Pratchett. He felt tricked by his father's old friend. Now he was right back in a game he had left five years earlier. It was a life he believed he had left behind, and he had sworn he would not go down that road ever again. Then again... this was different. It was two steps above his old league, and as such, it held tremendous opportunity for success. There was a time where he would have accepted such an offer without even thinking about it. From that perspective, Pratchett had been right; He and ConnectEVE was a perfect match.

“For now, I only have one question and a simple request.” He turned his attention to the glass of water in front of him. Then he pushed it aside, rose from his chair and went to join her at the large window. He watched her in silence for a moment, tried to word his question correctly. He had changed – had he not? He was done with the kind of business the woman represented. The days of guarding and driving showgirls and hookers were over. Besides, it was one thing to help women sell their bodies for pleasure; selling women as a commodity – a possession – was something else entirely. It was cold and calculating... how did they even get their hands on the girls in the first place?

“Do you like your job, Alex?” He left the question hanging in the air for a moment, allowing her to consider his tone of voice and his facial expression. There was nothing hostile about it, but it was easy to sense the anger underneath his words. He stepped a bit closer to her before he continued: “Do you enjoy what you do for a living? What compels a woman like you to sell her own kind? Fear? Necessity? You say you belong to the company. It's a fate I do not envy. You are a slave. But I wonder what makes you special enough to avoid being traded for a sum of money? That is what I really want to know right now. What goes on in that convoluted mind of yours? As for my request... I would like to take a closer look at that choker around your neck.”

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

“For now, I only have one question and a simple request.”

Now that was different. There were usually a myriad of questions. Some a bit more... rude and invasive .. than others.

She did not just hear him as he moved, the soft sound of the glass across the table, the shoof of the chair on the rug, the almost silent footsteps as he moved to stand beside her. She felt him move, the nearly imperceptible vibration of his steps, the gentle intake and exhale of breaths that disturb the calm air. She had learned to listen, to feel, to perceive. When one is blindfolded during training, that was how you knew where the Trainer was. That was often how you knew what direction the whip strike was coming. Or the crop. Or the hand. Hearing and feeling were more accurate than seeing at times.

“Do you like your job, Alex?” “Do you enjoy what you do for a living? What compels a woman like you to sell her own kind? Fear? Necessity? You say you belong to the company. It's a fate I do not envy. You are a slave. But I wonder what makes you special enough to avoid being traded for a sum of money? That is what I really want to know right now. What goes on in that convoluted mind of yours? As for my request... I would like to take a closer look at that choker around your neck.”

"That, Sir... is more than one question" She quietly pointed out, even tho there was a hint of .. what was that, teasing??.. in her voice.

"Let's begin with the request"

Alex lifted her head as she turned to face him. The collar was sparkling silver. It was not tight. It did not cut off her breathing, or inhibit her eating. There was space to allow for two fingers to easily slip between the silver and her throat. Much like a dog collar is measured for a dog. In fact, that is exactly the procedure used. All the product had collars. Most were plain, for the moment. Awaiting the request of the Buyer as to what to etch upon that pristine surface. Upon the surface, etched neatly were 3 simple words:

Property of ConnectEve

That was it. Some Masters copied that simplicity. Others wanted the girl's name upon it, be it the name the girl came with, or one they chose themselves. Others wanted ... pet...or slut.... or even... mine.... engraved into the steel, silver, or gold collar. It all depended on the Buyer, of course.

Alex found herself holding her breath as he stepped closer. It had been a very long time since any male had been that close to her, to be honest. She was not to be "used" unless permission were given by the Board of Directors at The Company, and getting that permission was daunting to say the least. So honestly, Alex had not been touched since she was 18 and had been purchased from the cop. Well, since her training began actually. And she liked it that way. She saw what was done to the other product. Saw it all too often. And... he was the first to ask to see her collar up close and.. well.. personal.

She could feel the heat of his body.. could feel the tickle of his breath as he leaned in a bit closer, and when she felt his fingertips brush along her skin as he touched it lightly, it took all her self control to not jump, but instead stand completely still. She even held her breath. And she wished she could slow down her now wildly beating heart. Why was she reacting like this? Why was she feeling a tingling deep inside, almost an inner warmth... Was it just that no one had been this close in so long? Or could it be due to the small fact that she found him to be incredibly attractive. Alex could not remember the last time she had looked at a man and did not see a ... well.. monster.. given her past experiences. But Tom... was ... different.

And.. everything she was suddenly feeling was making her uneasy. Very uneasy. There was something... about... him... She had to gain control, she had to. Deep breath... another deep breath... and finally, when the moment had passed, and it felt to her like it had been an hour, when in reality it was a mere minute or two, she was able to calm herself enough to address his other questions. Questions she had NEVER been asked before. The other PMs cared less about her to be honest. Other than she made them more money via the bonuses. The newer PMs, well, Tom was not anything like they had been.

“Do you like your job, Alex?” “Do you enjoy what you do for a living? What compels a woman like you to sell her own kind? Fear? Necessity? You say you belong to the company. It's a fate I do not envy. You are a slave. But I wonder what makes you special enough to avoid being traded for a sum of money? That is what I really want to know right now. What goes on in that convoluted mind of yours?"

There was one phrase that hit her, and hit her hard, as he had verbalized his questions."You are a slave" That wording.. that phrasing was not used all that much at The Company, to be honest. Alex figured it was their way of "rationalizing" what they were doing. She really had only heard that kind of phrasing by the Board of Directors. And even then, it was only when she was called in to report about a particular sale, and that was not often. That usually only happened when they were not satisfied with the report the PM had sent along.

The answers were pretty simple, at least on face value.

She swallowed, again choosing her words carefully... "For me, this is not a job, so do not mistake it as one." There was so much more she could say about how all this made her feel. But did that matter to him? And why tell him any of that, that was a show of weakness and Alex could not afford to be weak. In order to simply stay sane, she had to remain strong... guarded...

Yes... guarded... just like him...

"I am exactly what you stated" tho she would not repeat the phrase. She could not. It would tear her apart to have to repeat it. "No, I won't say it... I won't" she repeated over and over to herself, the words never making it past her lips...

"I do not enjoy what I see. I do not enjoy what I am part of. But I have no choice. And as far as being compelled to sell my own kind. What kind is that? Human? Humans? Or do you mean... yes... you mean women. That's what "my kind" is.. " she paused. He was no different than the other PMs was he. How did Master Pratchett find them? Find men so much like himself? Who saw her "kind" as nothing more than property to be bought, sold, used at their whim? "I do not sell women. I have no hand in the exchange of money. I am merely the liason between the Buyer along with the PM, and the... prod... " she paused.. "the women. I assess all the girls after training is done. And during the initial sales meeting, I help keep her calm. But more importantly, I meet the Buyer beforehand as well, and after assessing what they are looking for, I will match the Buyer with a... product. One that will fulfill his needs and hopefully, the woman's needs will be met as well." She always hoped that. She always hoped that the girl would not have a horrible, miserable, terrifying life. She knew many did. She had no control over that. But she was good enough at assessing the Buyers that she knew the ones who were... well... scary... depraved... or worse. There had been more than one instance where she begged the PM to NOT sell any girl to the Buyer. In fact, there were 4 such instances. And Alex bore the scars of all 4 of those times. She was not there to discourage a sale. She was there to encourage a sale. She learned that lesson, the whip biting deeper each time. And during each punishment, Alex, amidst her own screaming, would say the girl's names, over and over again. It was her way of getting thru the beating. Stacey... Melinda... Anna... Hailey... She knew that Stacy and Anna had... well.. died.. shortly after the sale... The PMs had a habit of talking when things like that happened. And by the grace of all that is Holy, the Buyers had not returned. Not yet at least. As for Melinda or Hailey, she was not sure about either of them. Tho she was sure the lives they were living was most certainly a nightmare, based on what she could perceive from the Buyers...

Was product damaged? Yes... Did product die? Absolutely.... It was not suppoosed to be discussed except at the highest levels, but of course, often it was. And it was something that terrified Alex. But it was also something she, herself, was not allowed to discuss... Those poor girls....

"As for why I have not been sold, again I am the liaison between the girls for sale, and the Buyers. I am good at assessing temperament and desires. And I am good at matching those qualities up. The Company found that they make more money that way, happier Buyers are repeat Buyers. Happier Buyers refer other Buyers. And as you, I am sure know, it is all about the money".....

Alex turned from the Window, taking a deep breath...

"Your stable has been established. Currently there are only 6 women. Once you are more comfortable with the process, your stable will be increased to 15. My afternoon is booked, but this evening, perhaps about 6:30, we can meet and I can go over the girls you have with you. Will that be acceptable? We can meet at the restaurant downstairs in the lobby. It is often used by Buyers, as well as Executives. You can observe what you see. And we can speak freely there without worry of the general public hearing us."

Alex gathered up her files as she spoke. "If you wait here, Ginger, the girl who showed you in, will show you to your next meeting. There is paperwork to be gone over and signed and the like.... and Sir... " Alex paused.... letting her eyes meet his, and for the first time, lingering there.. "if this is not for you, the best time to state that will be before you sign the required paperwork. Yes, for you this is a job, but once in, it is very difficult to leave."... Now why did she say that? She had never added that last line with the other new PMs... He's too smart to want to be involved in this, she thought to herself... too... different..... She could not get quite the read on him as she could with others.

If he were here as a Buyer, she would actually have a tough time pairing him up with a girl. Tho that would be coming soon enough. One of the biggest perks, at least to most of the Men who worked for The Company, including the PMs, was the fact that they get the choice of a girl of their own, if they choose to. It was not required and Alex knew of a couple that had not taken that perk. Again, she paid attention and listened. But most did. And she had paired them up. Who.... would she pair with this newest PM, should he stick around????

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

Tom watched the woman in front of him in complete silence. Even though she had pointed out his mistake in a quiet tone of voice, he still managed to pick up on the subtle humor in her words. He would never openly admit or accept if, of course, but they both knew she was right. He had asked her not only one, but multiple questions; All of them were similar in nature, all originated from one single idea in his mind, and yet... when looked upon bit by bit, they were very different from one another. Under normal circumstances, her remark would've brought a smile to his face, because it shed new light on her personality. There was obviously more to her than what her use of dry business-jargon revealed, and that fact alone increased his interest in her as a person.

At the same time, it annoyed him to be corrected by someone like her, who represented a business that reminded him of his own past, his own flaws. Today had turned out to be an oddity in a very long period of otherwise simple days, and he did not appreciate how his world had suddenly been turned upside down. His hard-earned trust in others had been abused by someone he once knew, and with that thought still lingering on in the back of his mind, her words did not amuse him the slightest. Sticking true to his image, however, he did not let his disapproval show at all.

He followed her with his eyes, as she lifted her head and turned toward him. There was the item that had sparked his interest earlier, locked around her neck and clearly visible to anyone, who cared to take a closer look at her. From a distance, it looked like nothing more than a piece of fine silver jewelry: deceptively plain and simple in design, but full of ambiguous messages underneath the surface. An uninvited stranger would not be able to tell the difference between the silver collar she wore and a similar one bought from a jewelry store downtown. But Tom knew the difference. To him, the collar was a reminder of old times.

He had seen something like it before. All the girls at Club Zix wore collars slightly similar to the one around this woman's neck. Only, the collars worn by the girls in that club were made of thin straps of leather locked together by rings of bronze. But the basic notion that the collar granted a third part limitless control over it's wearer, was true in both cases. Some girls had their names stamped on the leather, but the majority wore plain collars that only indicated their affiliation with the club thanks to the design. After all, names were mostly unimportant to the clientele of a place like Club Zix; it was all about the stimulation of desires and the rush provided by such action.

“So this is the mark of ConnectEVE... or should I say your mark?” His question came out silently, while he looked over the letters etched into the surface of the choker around her neck. He stepped closer to her, ignored his usual concern over personal space and felt how his body brushed lightly against hers. It was difficult to interpret what she thought about the situation, as she appeared almost ignorant to his indiscreet approach. He leaned closer, titled his head slightly to get a better view of the collar and took in the sight of her neck. Regardless of it's dark secret, he had to admit the jewelry complimented her beauty in a truly unique way. He concentrated on his breathing, tried to keep it quiet and controlled, because he did not want her to think he was taking advantage of his position. A lesser man in the same situation would take certain liberties and do his best to get a better view of her... offerings. Tom was of a different material; he was confident in his own strength, he knew he was above such perversity.

But his honest intentions did not prevent him from reaching out a hand toward her neck. The movement came to a sudden halt, and his fingers hovered above her skin for a short moment of hesitation. He had not touched another woman in such a intimate location since he had become involved with Debbie. The thought itself was enough to make him reconsider his request. Strangely, the thought also enticed him to look up at the woman's face. She was - by all definitions - very pretty, and looking at her from such a short distance only certified that fact. It was an innocent conclusion based upon physical traits and nothing more. Although there was nothing uncouth about his request, it was not a common thing to ask of a stranger like her. His fiance would not understand his reasons. She was completely oblivious to the shadows where this other woman spent most her life doing the dirty business of a huge company.

To be fair, Debbie's ignorance was part of her appeal. She was sweet, silent and innocent like a young child. Her life was the quintessence of harmony; she had her own little flower shop in a more quiet part of the city, she had simple hobbies and always did her best to please her surroundings. They were a perfect match on so many levels, and Tom knew it. The routine of the little bubble, which they lived in, infused him with a kind of stability he had never felt before. He was content with what he had, as it gave him the opportunity to evolve further. On the other hand, it also tested him greatly. Debbie was not the first love of his life, and he was certain she would not be his last either. It filled him with shame to look at other women, but it was absurd to forsake his own curiosity just to feel good about himself.

He had touched plenty of young women in the past, and he knew what to do and what to avoid. Besides, he was not really touching Alexandra. The neck was regarded as an intimate location by many, yes, but the way Tom's fingers ran along the edge of the silver around her skin was more akin to a physician's careful examination of an old injury. She was his business- ... well, if not partner, then at least... advisor? Was that not what she had implied earlier? She was there to help potential buyers find a suitable product, something that catered to their specific taste and needs. Yes, it was probably safe to say she was an advisor. Not that it really meant anything compared to how she felt about her job. If she turned out to be in denial of her part in the company's illegal activities, then she was most likely beyond salvation. Then again, he was not there to assign guilt or cast judgment.

In fact, he was not even sure why he was still present in the room. Running away was the natural response to everything she had told him, but he had not done anything close to that. Instead, he was studying the collar around her neck to determine what relevance it had to his own past. Perhaps he was merely trying to figure out what to do with all the information she had shared with him? Or... maybe the truth was far too complex for him to even comprehend at the moment. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he did not even notice his fingers slipping beyond the collar's hard edge and onto her skin. The new sensation at the tip of his fingers brought him out of his inner monologue. Her skin was smooth and quite soft. Well, she was probably a couple of years younger than him, so it was not really a big surprise.

Tom withdrew his hand, took a step back and turned to face the large window. He kept his eyes fixed at the impressive view, but his apparent interest in the plain, white building across the street was merely a charade on his part. He was actually waiting for the woman next to him to speak up. They stood like that for a while; side by side, but still disconnected. The silence in the room seemed to grow in strength as he waited for her to answer his questions. But then, almost out of nowhere, she broke the silence between them with an interesting statement. She followed it up with several other remarks of equal weight and substance.

She claimed she did not regard her involvement with ConnectEVE as a job, and the way she said it convinced him of her honesty. It was interesting to hear how she struggled to express her opinion on the matter. Perhaps she was not experienced in answering questions that dealt with herself and her ideals? It was not possible for him to analyze every aspect of her reply, but certain details in it really caught his attention. It seemed his remark from earlier had offended her. He had referred to her in a rather discriminating way, yes, he had even called her a slave. She made no excuses, but it was hard to believe she was as innocent as she claimed to be. She described how she assessed the girls and the buyers, mentioned how she matched them up together and how she kept the girls calm before they were shipped off. Surely, her detailed account of her role in the company more than implied she was responsible, one way or the other. She appeared concerned about the girls' wishes, but it did not make sense to him. Rather, her claim filled him with contempt. Only a hypocrite would rationalize the devious act of matching a slave with her master. Even so, Tom remained silent.

She changed the subject, told him about his would-be stable of women. Supposedly, he was in for an easy start, if he decided to accept the despicable offer. Was there really anything for him to consider? He despised these people and their deranged idea of supply and demand. Did that make him a hypocrite as well, or was he simply having doubts about his own moral? Not even the tiny voice of reason in his mind could find an answer to that question. What it could do, however, was to ask another, very simple question:

- If he was so dead-set on refusing the offer, then why did he still worry about it?

He heard her invitation, heard how she instructed him to wait for Ginger to show him to his next meeting, and still he did not answer her. Despite his silent rebellion, he could not escape the look she gave him, and their eyes locked together in a strange feeling of cohesion. Then - at the high point of the moment - she warned him. Her words were silent, but the message they conveyed gave him another glimpse of the person underneath the professional attitude she clung to. It effectively took him by surprise and brought his defenses down for a brief moment. What did it even matter to her?

“Look, Alexandra...” He licked his lips and did his best to put the words together in a way that made sense. But more than anything, he struggled not to let his ambivalent feelings show. This woman's fate was peculiar, and it made her extremely fascinating in his eyes. But that was not really enough to outweigh the things she had supposedly done. Although... if everything she said was true, then she was not really the bad guy, was she? “I don't see any reason to discuss what you have just disclosed to me, but I agree to your suggestion that we should meet later. Your concern is touching, but hardly necessary, so save it for someone else. Tell Ginger I will not be needing her assistance. I have a meeting at the other end of the city, and I somehow doubt she would want to come along for that trip. Also, I would like you to hand over whatever documents you have on the six girls in the stable. I will need it for my... meeting...”

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

“I'm sorry, Sir, but I can't let you in without seeing proper documentation first. This is an exclusive club, and we have a reputation to maintain. Imagine what would happen if the press managed to violate our privacy policy and pester our members with questions!” The neatly dressed man behind the counter gave him a firm, but not unfriendly, look and apparently believed it was enough to end the conversation for good. Tom smiled pleasantly at him and searched the receptionist's face for any sign that he was nervous. He had already rejected him twice, but it would take more than a wannabe-butler to persuade him to give up. Why was he so stubborn?

“Look, I don't care about your membership cards, or the breaches in your security. I don't even care about your attitude-problem. What I do care about, is the fact that John Pratchett is going to miss out on exceptionally important news, just because you can't keep check on one, flimsy list of guests!” Tom took a breath of air and watched as the facial expression of the man changed from slight superiority to deep uncertainty. Everyone knew the name of the resourceful head of ConnectEVE, and the fact that Tom kept referring to this man finally seemed to have it's desired effect. “You will either let me in right away or be forced to tell him in person that you are to blame for his next catastrophic loss of money! And don't give me that innocent look, because I can smell your corruption from this side of the counter...!”

It was a gamble, but it was a pretty safe one too. There was no way Tom could know anything about the man's level of devotion toward the rich members of the club, but it was no big deal to buy the silence of a waiter or receptionist. He knew it had paid off the moment the receptionist closed the journal in front of him and reached toward a tiny bell hanging on the wall behind him. It chimed loudly as he struck it, and the sound almost immediately summoned a waiter from beyond the large double door at the far end of the foyer. The receptionist looked quite sour, but managed to keep his mouth shut while he gestured for Tom to follow the waiter into the club's main section.

The club was extravagant, to say the least. Full of expensive decorations, rich men and young women. It had large couches along the walls and multiple staircases leading to the upper floor, where the private rooms were located. The moment Tom stepped into the main hall, his ears were met with the gentle sound of classical music and silent chatter. His eyes sucked in every detail and strong color of the place, as he tried to keep up with his silent guide, who seemed to know their destination instinctively. Perhaps the waiter had just been eavesdropping on his little conversation at the reception... well, who cared?

His lucky gamble from earlier was nothing compared to the amount of work it had required for him to find the club in the first place. Once he had received the requested documents from Alexandra, he had left Hotel Liberty with only one thing in mind: To locate John Pratchett and get answers, no matter the cost. The idea was alright, but it wasn't long before he realized how difficult the task would be. It had been six year since he discarded his old cell phone and burned his books. The decision had left him broke and on his own, but his determination had never failed him. As fate would have it, he now needed the unique value of old friendships. Everyone knew everyone where he came from, and some of his old relations were bound to know the new habits of Pratchett. That was how the world worked.

In the end, Tom had decided to let go of his pride and visit one of his old rivals. It was an odd approach, indeed, but it was desirable compared to the complicated scenario of seeking out one of his old buddies. Friends demanded explanations; rivals only demanded money. Sure enough, 'Korea Cho' was just the man he needed. He was not much older than Tom, but a serious injury had forced him to retire and start up as a pawnbroker instead. So, he was more than willing to share everything he knew about Pratchett - at a cost. It was a price he was willing to pay, and now the information had led him to this club.

“Tom, my boy! Come and join us!”

He had barely stepped into the private suite, before he heard the familiar voice call out to him. His heart skipped a beat, and his stomach turned into a knot; but the sensation drowned in the righteous anger that suddenly welled up inside him. The strong feelings gave him enough strength to compensate for his surprise and within a few seconds, he knew exactly what was going on, and how the place looked like. The room was large, square in shape and richly decorated with fine pieces of art on the walls. It had a tiny bar in one corner and a bunch of soft armchairs in another. A large, circular table in the middle of the room clearly served as the crown of the exquisite collection of items.

He noticed seven people in total: Pratchett was seated at the table, with two men flanking him. They were both strangers to Tom, but he figured they were either trusted friends or business-associates. Two other men were standing nearby, partially hidden in the shadows, and he believed them to be bodyguards. He could see it in their eyes, the way they watched him as he stepped closer to the table. The last two people in the room were female; the two young women were preparing drinks and other refreshments in the bar.

“Come now, don't be shy! Get a drink, take a seat!” his father's old friend gestured wildly at a chair opposite of himself and flashed Tom a charming smile. The smile he received in return was forced, but it didn't seem to matter to him. He looked at the two men around him before he continued: “I must say I am surprised to see you here already. I suppose that proves something about your ambitions. I mean, it took these two gentlemen several months to get a pass to this club – yet here you are already, barely one day into your job as product manager! Tell me, son, how did you like your first day at work?”

“Can we talk in private?” Tom's voice was cold, and he did not make any attempt to sit down. His silent rejection of the older man's offer received just the attention he had suspected it would, but he held onto his reserved attitude with ease. Pratchett looked unimpressed, but his two friends exchanged uneasy looks.

“Privacy is a matter of opinion, Tom.” Pratchett's attitude remained unchanged, but the curious look in his eyes was easy to spot. He gestured at the room around him, almost embracing every living being around them in the process. “To me, privacy is the same as being surrounded by good friends, allies... and women. It makes me feel safe. That does not mean I do not support safety. I mean, I would never discuss business surrounded by strangers. Talking about business.... allow me to introduce you to James, head of marketing, and Jonasson, head of internal affairs.”

Tom shook hands with the two men as Pratchett introduced them and mentioned their rank within the company. It took more than fancy titles to startle him, but making a good impression was important to him, especially since he knew what was going to happen eventually. Once the formalities were out of the way, he finally took a seat right across the multimillionaire and tried to calm down.

“Can't say I'm surprised about your sense of privacy. I'm just wondering why you did not tell me anything about the wares ConnectEVE sells during my interview? I mean, was it so hard to be straight with me and tell me you sell women like a butcher sells meat?” Just asking such questions made it hard for him to keep himself in check. He reached into a pocket of his jacket to make sure he was still carrying the documents he had received from Alexandra.

“You might want to stop yourself right there. ConnectEVE does not “sell women”. We find and help young women in need. I admit it requires certain qualities for them to apply, but we offer them a much better chance at life than where they come from. Trust me when I say this, Tom. We help them with education and health care. We administer contact between them and potential employers. Our staff is well trained as well. That is why I knew you would fit in so well. After all, you have some experience in that field -”

The final line in Pratchett's aggressive propaganda became the point of no return for Tom. He rage he felt at the man's comparison was overwhelming, and he jumped to his feet immediately. His chair turned over in the process and hit the floor hard, but the spectacle was nothing compared to the sound of his hand colliding with the surface of the table. There, locked tightly into his fist, was the document that Alexandra had surrendered to him. A list of names, descriptions of the poor girls, which he was to sell, if the old idiot in front of him got his way. He was trembling, couldn't focus, and the only thing he managed to say was:

“It was not the same...!”

“But you know it was, Tom. If you think about it, you will soon realize it was the same.” Pratchett paused for a short moment, in which he ran his fingers through his gray hair. “I will be honest with you. Do you remember Laila's Liberty? Or the brothel at east block? Girls, girls, it's all about the girls, isn't it? Most of them adored you, because you are so special. Jessica would not let you leave, because you was such a good guardian. But there comes a time where you can't protect them anymore. All the people that came down to get a poke or something more... When things were best, we had one bodyguard keeping check on three girls at the same time. I know you liked being wonder-boy, the hero who roams the night and comes barging in to kick some abusive freak-ass. But that time is passé. How profitable do you think it is to keep all those men and women? So yes, we help women these days... for a price. You will find the process of selling makes things so much easier. No more complaints about unwanted pregnancy or broken nails. No need to worry about keeping them safe and sound and healthy. It takes time, yes, but you will learn to appreciate your job eventually. The Tom Delany I knew -”

“The Tom Delany you knew is gone. He does not exist anymore!”

“Calm down, Tom. Surely you are the same little brat I used to play baseball with in your parent's backyard. Some things stay the same. Your qualities have not changed. That is what I meant when I said you would fit in so well with us at ConnectEVE. After all, years of experience in a certain business does not just fade away. It sticks with you in body, mind and... well, other places.” Pratchett lowered his voice, as though he wanted to keep his next statement between the two of them. Given the surroundings, it was not really possible. “And unless I'm wrong, I know just what you want: You want compensation. You want a dolly all to yourself, don't you? Just like in the old days. You want someone young, with a tender and firm body. Tamed, but still smart enough to answer back even in the face of danger. What I mean is... your positions has a lot of perks. We from the board do not meddle in what you do with your stock of goods. As long as you play nicely, we do too – for the sake of everyone. But it goes without saying we can't allow our dealers to mess with everyone. Take our little rat king, what is her name again? Alex. Yes, that's it... Alex. She makes good money, so we can't have our dealers fuck her out of her mind, can we? It would simply not be... profitable.”

“You make me sick...” Tom shook his head in visible disgust at what he heard and did his best to support himself against the edge of the table. He filled his lungs with air and struggled to regain his composure. But all that was left in his mind was the anger and a surge of panicking emotions, which had formed as a result of the other man's hint toward his past. “How dare you compare your filthy business with what I did back then!? I'm through with all of that. I have a life now. I don't need this. I went out of the game years ago, and I will not let you drag me back into it. This will be the last time we speak; Don't try to contact me again!”

“I have to disagree with you, Tom.” Pratchett leaned forward in his chair and locked his fingers together in front of his chest. It was difficult to interpret the smile on his old face, but the tone in his voice was easy to understand; Whatever came next, it would not bode well for Tom's future. “Your courage is admirable, and it's partially the reason why I want you on my team. Trust me, you'll have yourself a real neat seat around the big table in only a couple of years if you work hard. When that happens, you won't even have to think about any other women than the ones you want for your own entertainment. Sit down and I will tell you why this is an offer you can't refuse... How is that pretty thing you keep for a pet these days? What is her name? Beckie? Debbie?”

It took a while for Tom to accept how his situation had just become worse. It had been a futile endeavor to demand answers from his potential boss. Not that the answers had been lacking information, in fact, it was quite the opposite. At the moment, he couldn't even remember what he had hoped to achieve in the first place by going head-to-head with his father's old friend. It was frustrating to realize he was being forced down a road he did not want to follow, but it was much worse to realize Pratchett had not changed the least.

Tom had never officially worked for John Pratchett; their relation was based purely upon the friendship between two crooked men. Tom's father was not as smart as his friend, but he was by far the better person of the two. Pratchett was relentless in his pursuit of money and power, and this intense struggle brought him through many incarnations of the criminal world. From smuggling weapons for gangs to execute detailed robberies for the mob, Pratchett had tried almost anything that drew the attention of the authorities. He always managed to escape the blind eye of the law by using less intelligent people as cannon-fodder. But it was his continuous involvement with the brothel's and nightclubs that gave him the undefined title as 'King'. Most of the places were good establishments with strict codes of conduct and health for the staff, all in the name of the clients. Strangely, it had never occurred to anyone that Tom would fit inside the strange environment of Pratchett's brothels, so he had started his career as a simple errand-boy for his own father. Later, his talents had been discovered by Jessica Hunton, the most influential female in the business. It had opened a lot of doors for him, but it also threatened to become his undoing.

“Okay. I will listen to what you have to say.” Tom picked up his chair from the floor and sat down a second time. There it was again, this same resignation he had felt when Alexandra had told him about his job. The little fit of panic from earlier had released it's hold on him, and for the first time since entering the suite, he felt the soothing sensation of calm running through his body. Pratchett would probably try to shake him by telling him what he knew about his fiance. It was a typical mob-approach to dealing with difficult people, and it was actually quite fitting for a man, who had devoted his entire life to crime. Question was whether or not Pratchett was willing to go down that road with the son of an old friend. It was not like Tom was completely harmless either. “But tell me first: How is JJ's leg doing?”

The triumphant smile on Tom's face said it all; So did the reaction of every other person in the room. But before he got the chance to say another word, he felt a sudden pain at the right side of his head, and he knew the punch had hit him real good...

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

“Look, Alexandra... I don't see any reason to discuss what you have just disclosed to me, but I agree to your suggestion that we should meet later. Your concern is touching, but hardly necessary, so save it for someone else. Tell Ginger I will not be needing her assistance. I have a meeting at the other end of the city, and I somehow doubt she would want to come along for that trip. Also, I would like you to hand over whatever documents you have on the six girls in the stable. I will need it for my... meeting...”

She quickly recognized that "tone of voice". It was quite easy for her to discern. The Dominant from the passive or submissive. There were also some men who were, well, neutral, to be honest. She had met plenty of those types, both Employees, and among the Buyers. The girls sold to the neutral men were either very lucky, or very unlucky, depending on the man himself. Some girls, perhaps, were enjoying life as the "significant other" of a neutral Buyer. Others, on the other hand, were not that lucky at all. Inexperience could be a nightmare, to say the least. But that was not something she really wanted to think about right now. Now Tom, well, he was a bit harder to read than most. She could hear that Dominant undertone to his voice, and to his choice of words. But not demanding, not overbearing, like some men she had known... But she could sense that he was one who was used to being ... listened to... that was how she would characterize it. One used to being listened to. That was a bit different that just merely one who was used to being obeyed. You could easily say "yes Sir" and do what was commanded, without really "hearing" what the hell was going on.

Alex nodded to him, not answering verbally. There was no need... well, actually, there was one thing she wanted to say before parting ways for the moment. As she handed him the documents on the girls, she met his gaze once again, and held it within hers. It was not something she did often, meeting and holding the gaze of a .... Superior. In fact, she had been punished for doing exactly that during her training. Now that she worked with ... well.. the Buyers and the PMs, she just had to be more... discreet about it. "I just want to make sure you understand, the paperwork does not detail... everything ... about your stable. It is always better to meet each one... one on one... to gauge for yourself the potential for each ... girl. You must know the product intimately, in order to sell effectively."

Those words almost made her sick. It was the tag line that Pratchett had come up with. "You must know the product intimately, in order to sell effectively". Who knew what he was referring to when he coined that particular phrase. He could have been speaking about the foreign sports cars they sold. Alex didn't know the details, only that it had been his tag line, adopted by the Company as a whole. And she hated saying it. Hated the idea of it. But she was good at hiding the distaste, no, it was disgust, that she often felt. Her face, her eyes, remained silent to her real feelings. And here she was, greeting another Product Manager, another Man, who will make money, and a good sum of money, selling people like... well... her.

He had asked how she managed to do this for a "job". Sell her "own kind" meaning women of course... girls... She, would very much like to
ask him the same. And maybe she would someday. Maybe... she would... "So tell me Tom.. how do like it? How do you like selling lives for cash?" Yes, maybe she would ask him someday...

But that, was for another day.

"Ginger will show you out. Once you get the proper IDs, you will have free access to Headquarters, the Warehouse, the Selling Floor, the Stables, and the Hotel. But until then, you must be escorted."

And with that, Alex turned and left the room. By the time Ginger arrived, and it was only a moment later, Alex was gone.

She had not been lying when she told him her afternoon was booked. She had to meet with PM Darryl for a potential sale. Then with PM Brian for another. Darryl was still fairly new, he had made 2 sales so far, this would be his 3rd. His stable had just been increased to the requisite 15. Aex found him to be rather bland, to be honest. Kinda pudgy, a bit nerdy. Certainly the nerdiest in his high school, she was sure. And other than being a bit, condescending, sometimes feeling "entitled", he was nothing special. Pretty neutral for the most part, with a bit of a "I'm the smartest man in the room" demeanor. He was proving to be a decent salesman. Fast learner and good at thinking on his feet, and not adverse to "enhancing the truth" when talking about the product. He was also not adverse to demonstrating, or allowing a sample of the product, as well. In fact, Alex knew that he got off on watching sampling. Alot! And... once he makes this 3rd sale, he would be able to take a girl for his own, one of the perks mentioned earlier. The girl would most likely have it pretty easy as long as she obeyed and pleased him. Alex could sense a bit of a temper in Darryl, he didn't like to be told no, or that he was wrong. She already had a girl picked out for him, actually. Her name was Cherry, of all things. She had just turned 20, had lived on the street since she was 15. Cherry was not her real name, it was a nickname that had stuck, she had told Alex that. The Company was OK with that, mattered not to them. She was sold to them as Cherry and stayed, Cherry. She was just experienced enough, sexually, that Darryl would be very pleased. But she was tame enough as well. A good fit.

Brian, on the other hand, Alex did not care for at all. He, was one of the Senior PMs. He was a Dominant thru and thru. And he was a great salesman as well. He made money hand over fist, selling everything from those super sports cars, to luxury yachts, to the occasional diamond jewelry, to, of course, women. And even tho Alex really didn't like him at all, they worked well together. It had taken a few "collaberations" before he realized how good she was working with the product and matching product and Buyer, but now that he trusted her in that regard, they indeed did work well together.

And, this particular day... Alex finally managed to match Jane up with a Buyer. Jane had been abit ... difficult ... to say the least. She came to the Company when she was 24, which is older for being acquired. Alex knew a few details about Jane, but not how she came to be a possession of ConnectEve... She did know that at one time, Jane had been married. It she thought, perhaps it had been her Husband who had sold her into slavery. But, bottom line, Jane was not the most well trained girl. She was a bit defiant. Tho, show enough strength, and she would obey. Jane was not exactly the smartest either, but again, show enough strength, and she would obey. What she was.... was stunningly gorgeous. With her long, flaming red hair, and piercing green eyes. And Alex, had finally met a Buyer who was strong enough to handle the wildcat that was Jane. Strong enough physically, and mentally... and Dominant enough. He was intimidating to say the least. And as soon as he saw Jane, he had to have her. It was the perfect match, Alex was sure of it. And she was even more sure of it when she watched as he sampled Jane.

The sample room provided consisted of the bed, a sofa, a table, along with various toys to... well...use. From vibrators, to dildos, butt plugs and ball gags. A bullwhip, a riding crop, a paddle, handcuffs, rope, chain. And hooks for fastioning to. And, last but not least, an X frame in one corner. If the Buyer wanted something that was not in the room, it was quickly provided.

This Buyer was perfectly pleased with the sample room, and the door was closed behind him. He had been informed of the cameras. He knew he was being watched. He was sampling, after all. Jane did not get the pleasure of the bed, or the sofa. Nope, she was taken to the X frame and chained there, arms and legs splayed. Alex usually did not watch samplings. But this one, well, Jane had been so difficult, she was interested to see how this... turned out. This particular Dominant used several of the toys provided. The vibrator was first. It was as if he were massaging her, as he moved it along her throat, letting it dance against her skin... slowly trailing it downwards, over a bared breast, product is always naked, of course, tickling at the pinkened nipple, first one, then the other. Teasing. Listening to her groan, he intently watching her as her body begin to quiver, just a little... and he smiled... a very deviant smile to say the least. The vibrator then descended, over a taut belly, lightly touching the skin, until it rested between her spread legs, in the soft nestling of her pussy, against her clit. Arousal came quickly.... Alex could see it on Jane's face, hear it in her desperate moans, her hungry pleadings... only to be denied.. the vibrator taken away... then back again, arousal. This was the game he played, starting first with that vibrator, and working to the dildo, the butt plug, her moaning getting louder... more insistent... Nipple clamps, tightened, then loosened, followed by touch... fingers, pinching, twisting, lips kissing, suckling, soothing, then teeth biting down, the clamp put back in place.... Hands, grasping, squeezing, probing, a slap against skin, another gasp of pleasure, pain... crop.. bullwhip...marking her flesh, striking, she crying out... more hands... fingers... lips... mouth... until finally, after what felt like hours, he pressed himself into her as she shook on that X frame, his cock free of his jeans, his body rocking hard into hers... she unable to really move other than tremble and shudder as he took her, her pussy filled with his invading length, he thrusting deeply, hard.. fast... over and over, his mouth at her ear, what was he saying, Alex didn't know... but by the time he was done with his sampling, Jane was begging to cum.

"Make sure you tell me if a bonus comes your way" Alex whispered to Brian before leaving, feeling a bit flush herself. It had been awhile since she had watched a sampling like that.. Brian, well the PMs, always handled the money negotiations... Her work here was done. "Absolutely" he answered back. Alex knew he'd be getting a Company Bonus for selling Jane, she was that difficult. But what she wanted to know was, if any bonus came from the Buyer. That always told her that her decision and choice had been spot on.

Now that the sales were done, she needed to get to her private room, a small perk she had been granted, to get ready for the rest of the afternoon and evening. First, there was a long, relaxing shower. Damn, did that feel good. Once done, she sat, legs curled under her, on the bed. There was nothing spectacular about the room. Basic. But she more than appreciated it. Most of the time she slept in the stables. But the room was at her disposal if, when she wanted. She had a copy of the same documents she had given Tom. A listing of his stable. She really didn't need to read it, she knew all the girls quite well. But she did make a few notes to herself regarding the girls.

He had, as stated, 6 girls for sale. They ranged in age from 19 to 22.

Aimee...from Indiana... was one of the two 19 year olds that he had. Long dark chestnut brown hair. Cute, perky one might say. Fair skin, brown eyes, full lips, great smile. The perfect little body at 5'5", petite... about 115lbs, with 32B breasts and a trimmed pussy. She was a bit naive, and still a virgin. She was the only virgin he had for sale at the moment. Alex liked Aimee. "Girl Next Door" "Innocent" "Girlfriend material" was what Alex penned next to Aimee's name.

These were just notes to talk to Tom about, ideas for selling, opinions on temperment, etc.

Felice was the other 19 year old. She had shoulder length blonde hair, in long curly waves. Blue eyes. Smooth, flawless skin. She was from the midwest, Kansas to be exact. She was tall, at 5'9", 130lbs. And she was curvy, with 36C breasts. Alex thought of her as a farm girl, the kind of girl all the farmhands wanted. The off limits farmer's daughter. She was intelligent and witty. And very well trained...

Jordan ... 20... short dark brown hair, brown eyes, 5'6" 128lbs. From Boston. Athelic, with curves in all the right places. 34B breasts, shaved pussy.

Lyssa.. 21 ... from Michigan....Long black hair. Black hair was a bit rare, and a wanted feature. Lyssa had just finished training and was just being offered for sale. She was quiet, almost reserved. Not a virgin, as Aimee was the only virgin, but Lyssa had only been with 2 men. The first had been her high school boyfriend, the 2nd was her trainer. That happened. The trainers would use sex as either punishment or reward. Unless of course that particular trainer just liked what he saw. In this case, the trainer, Boris, liked what he saw in Lyssa and took use of her. It was allowed, as long as the girl was not virginal. Lyssa was 5'6" tall, 121 lbs, 34C with a trimmed pussy. Tho she was slated to be shaved clean later in the week.

Nancy... 21.. a heavier girl. 5'7" 148lbs.. 38DD breasts. Shoulder length dark sable brown hair, curly. Darker skin, tanned. From Florida. Very sultry voice. Alex liked her, she was sweet and compassionate.

Caitlin.. 22.. midlength red hair.. past her shoulders. Green eyes. From Ireland. Had been in the US for school. Her irish accent was nothing short of adorable, and very desirable... 5'8" 132lbs 36D, great breasts and hips, her shape was what many would call perfect. She even had a smattering of freckles to make her all the more attractive.

Alex made her notes, not that she really needed them, but it did help to organize her thoughts. Once done, she took a glance at the time. "Damn it... now I'm going to be late"... Not late for her meeting with Tom, that was still 2+ hours away. No, she had another meeting, and it would not bode well for her, of all people, to be late. She was allowed the freedom, tho always monitored, to leave the Company and actually be out in public. Again, she was monitored, she had to have permission, and report her departure and arrival times. This was one of those times. She would be leaving the Hotel, where her room was located, and proceeding to... the Club...

Dressing quickly, she picked a deep burgundy red silken dress, that clung to every curve like a second skin. The color was spectacular against her fair skin and her long blonde hair, falling loose down about her shoulders, bathed her back in a golden glow. The red of the dress highlighting off the shine of her hair. The skirt fell to the knee, but was slit up each side, nearly to the hip, showing plenty of smooth, supple thigh for the eye to see. She wore matching red heels. A brush of gloss on her lips, a bit of color to her cheeks and she was ready to go... and she had to hurry... again, she didn't want to be late...

The Club... that's what Alex, and everyone else at the Company called it.. simply, the Club.... Owned and operated by.. ConnectEve of course. Private members only. And not just employees and the like from the Company, but also Buyers, and their, clientel. The strange thing about this place was, it was very very... well... posh. And very very proper. Yes, the girls working there were... well... not employees. The girls working there were actually owned by several high-ranking members of the Club. None of the girls were for sale, not publicly, but it was not unheard of for a private sale to be had. And none of the girls, outside of Alex, were "Company" owned. She was ... pretty much... one of a kind for ConnectEve... The Club, in general, was not for buying and selling. It was for socializing and relaxing. In fact, even sex was frowned upon, at least in the public rooms. There were private rooms for that activity.

Her next to last meeting of the day, and to be honest, the most important, was at this very Club, with Mr. John Prachett, and his Guests. She had been summoned to discuss the product, plain and simple. And she was deemed the best resource for such a discussion. There had been a time she may have wondered why she was being summoned to such a meeting. But Alex knew better than to even bother to worry about that anymore. She could handle herself. Most likely, again, she listened and paid attention, this was a meeting to bring in some new high level investors. She was there to not only discuss the product, but to be shown off. She was there to demonstrate the training and the results, let alone discussing just the girls. Alex had been to a meeting like this once before. She had thought, and thank goodness she had thought wrong, that she'd end up being bedded, by more than one man that particular night. But that had not been the case. It was strictly business. She had been called upon to serve... drinks... and she had been commanded to entertain... by dancing. She had done both, perfectly and without question. And, most likely that was why she had not be made to entertain any in bed.

"Thank you, Eric" she smiled at the "wanna-be butler". He was a nice man. He made alot of money being nothing more than a door-man. And yes, he too had a perk waiting for him at home. It was not someone Alex knew, Eric had been with the Club for a very long time, long before Alex came along. And he had his perk, his girl, for a very long time as well.

She slipped thru the door and into the main room, just in time to see John Pratchett get up, and in one fluid motion, punch Tom hard and fast, right in the face. She heard the collective gasps of the others in the room, and saw both bodyguards react, jumping forward, guns drawn. It happened in the blink of an eye. And by the time she had gotten to where Pratchett stood and Tom laid sprawled, it was all over..

Why was Tom there? And why had John Pratchett, of all people, slugged him like he did?

"What the hell is going on here?" she suddenly burst out, without thinking... "This is no way for Business men to be acting!" Alex suddenly went completely silent. How dare she raise her voice. How dare she... and with that, she fell to her knees at Pratchett's feet. She could feel the whole of her body shaking, deep inside. She knew better. What the hell had she been thinking???? "I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry... Master" she quietly said, eyes down, not daring to look upwards. She really was quite the site, kneeling as she was... the dress tight about her lightly quivering form, legs spread slightly, back straight, that veil of golden hair surrounding her. She kept her head up, but her eyes diverted. "A slave with her head down, is not attractive" she had been taught. "Always keep your head up, and your eyes averted. It is the gaze that is kept down"... Alex remembered those words always... which she demonstrated now...

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

Tom was not entirely sure what was going on around him. Although his vision was blurred, he was vaguely aware that he was lying on the floor. It was also pretty evident that he would be more or less completely helpless, if someone else was to attack him at the moment. It was not an unlikely scenario given the current circumstances. He picked up the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and immediately understood what it meant. A slightly familiar voice called out from somewhere behind him, but the words and the identity of the person remained a mystery to him. His mind struggled to focus, but found it hard to reclaim it's ability to think straight. It had never crossed his mind that his little taunt would provoke John Pratchett to attack him physically, and the element of surprise had furthered the impact of the punch.

So there he was, trying to get a hold on himself and the situation at hand. He sat up and shook his head lightly, as though the gesture could somehow bring him out of the haze that clouded his senses. Both of his hands went over the right side of his face to determine if anything was broken. A couple of fingers quickly found the sore spot below his eye, and the pain washed over him as a result. This was the epicenter of his problems. Apparently, it was not too serious. But he knew from experience it was more than enough to bother him for a few days. It had been quite a while since he had received such a violent punch to the face.

“Will someone help that idiot get up from the floor?”

He recognized the voice and felt the tension build inside him. Was he in for more physical abuse at the hands of his father's friend, or would the coward leave the fun to his muscle-men? In any case, Tom did not feel inclined to go down without a fight, and his determination came into full display when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The otherwise harmless gesture of an unknown soul was greeted by his elbow, as he flung it backwards in a quick motion that was sure to cause some pain to the potential attacker. His reward was the sound of a man's painful growl, something he took as a sign his attack had been successful. The change of events caused a lot of heated chatter to arise in the room, but it grew silent the very moment he felt someone grab him by the shoulders and drag him to his feet in a rough manner. He was pushed toward the table and forced to sit down on another chair, this time facing a visibly shaken Jonasson directly.

“I can walk by myself!” Tom supported his statement by forcefully freeing himself from the grasp and looking at the person behind him. As expected, it was one of John's goons. He was big, both in terms of size and aura; The black shirt he wore highlighted his square shoulders and the incredible size of the muscles of his arms. It was pretty evident this hulk of a man would never have let go of Tom unless he had permission to do so. It surprised him that the bodyguard had enough self-control to refrain from seeking revenge for his elbow-attack. The thought was a minor comfort to him, as it indicated they did not view him as a threat. That is, unless they just wanted to hit him while he was seated at the table.

“Yes, you're quite the man,” Pratchett's voice cut through his thoughts and drew his attention. Tom looked toward the old man and watched how he examined the expensive watch around his wrist for a short while. Once he was done, he returned his look with a wry smile playing on his lips. “But you see, we are actually expecting visitors. Some pretty important people with lots of money and needs are on their way this very minute. So, as much as I would like to extend this little reunion to include a nice dinner with music, I will have to speed it up instead. As for you, little one... you will get what's coming to you in a moment or two!”

The last part was directed at someone else than him; That much was clear just by listening to the tiny change in Pratchett's voice and watching his shift in posture. Strangely, he didn't seem to look at anyone else than him while he spoke to this unknown individual. Although... it appeared to him he had tilted his head ever so slightly to the right when he had addressed the other one. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him? Tom leaned forward in his seat to get a better view of the floor, and the sight that met him almost made him gasp in surprise.

Tom's new acquaintance, Alexandra, was sitting on her knees right in front of John Pratchett. It was hard not to notice the changes in her appearance, and his eyes took in the finer details of the high-quality red dress that clung perfectly to her body. He observed her blonde hair, saw how it almost reveled in it's freedom as it fell in gracious waves down around her shoulders. His brown eyes dwelt briefly at the edge of her skirt, before they moved up to her face again. All the while, his brain was working intensely to sort through the multitude of questions, which had replaced his initial surprise at seeing the woman in such a deranged situation. What was she doing in a place like this? Why was she sitting like that before her boss, and, perhaps even more interestingly, how much had she heard of his discussion with the multimillionaire?

“What on earth is Alexandra doing here?” His question came out hard and fast, and he rose from his chair with the intention of approaching them. Pratchett waved him off, however, and kept his gaze directed at him. There was a silent warning in his eyes, almost like... like he was deliberately ignoring her, and the interference of someone else would break the spell. Tom suspected it was a display of the other man's supremacy. If every woman in the company's possession was as tame as Pratchett had hinted at, then it was logical for them to behave after a specific set of rules. Since they were effectively regarded as lesser beings, they were probably trained to stay invisible and keep quiet unless spoken to. Like any other sort of slave found in the history of humankind. The simple fact that Pratchett so openly refused to pay any attention to her, made it clear to anyone in the room that he was in charge. It made sense, from a twisted point of view.

“That's none of your concern.” The otherwise neutral expression on Pratchett's face was betrayed by the defiant tone in his voice. Ironically, this only increased Tom's determination to figure out why the special woman had showed up in the first place. “Still, I can understand why you must be curious... speak of the devil and she might just appear, as they say. And we certainly mentioned this little peach a couple of times during our most interesting debate, didn't we?”

Another disturbing smile formed on Pratchett's face. The sudden change in his mood puzzled Tom, but it was nothing compared to what happened next; the old man reached out his right hand toward the woman, touched her forehead and ran his fingers through her hair in long, gentle strokes. It almost looked like he was petting an animal. The implications of the situation filled Tom with disgust, and he almost instinctively clenched his fists under the table. He struggled with himself to turn away from the unpleasant sight, but decided it would be wrong to do so. At the same time, he found himself wondering why the scene bothered him so much. It could be so much worse. All he had to do, was to accept it for what it was: a man touching a woman. Even if the situation escalated into a sexual act, it would not even be a new experience to him. He had seen quite a bit in his time as bodyguard.

“I know what you are thinking right now, Tommy-boy.” Pratchett almost laughed in apparent joy over the situation. The movements of his right hand got rougher, almost pulled at the woman's hair and he seemed to draw her closer to him. “You honestly think I have an interest in this fine young body, don't you? Your dirty mind urges you to think like that. She's quite the dolly, isn't she? Smooth skin, golden hair. And all dressed up for our guests. But I have to disappoint you. Even if she was to satisfy someone's need, it would certainly not be mine. Not now, not ever. I have an exquisite taste, which she cannot cater to. You can look at her, all you want. Heck, you can even touch her, if you want to. After all, she'll be your everyday-girl once you become a company man like James and Jonasson.”

The constant stream of surprises was starting to frustrate Tom beyond belief. Not only did it confuse him greatly, it also made it hard for him to stand his ground against his opponent. He was tired of listening to Pratchett's endless talk about women and money-making, but it was as though the old man had finally found a way to keep him down. He probably saw it as the perfect opportunity to get back at him for asking about John Pratchett Junior. Perhaps he believed the constant allusion to Tom's past was everything he needed to force him to sign a lifelong contract with ConnectEVE. It did not make sense at all. Still, the smug grin, he received from Pratchett, ensured him that another big revelation was just around the corner.

“I'm a genius! Plain and simple... a genius!” Pratchett's petting came to an end, and he turned around to face the bar in the corner of the room. He gestured with both hands for the two women to come forth. “Rosanna, sweetie... Call my office and tell Ginger to dress up to the best of her ability and hurry here. She can even call a cab, if necessary. Just make sure she gets here in time to replace this one -” he threw his hand out toward Alexandra, who was still sitting like paralyzed on the floor, her hair left in a mess after the subtle assault of his hand. “Lydia, I want you to fetch the briefcase on the bed in the room next door. I am dying to show it's content to Tom here... shall we say fifteen seconds? Oh, and bring my special box along, now that you are at it...”

The two women did not reply in words; rather, their reply was the sheer obedience of his command. They both left the room at an simultaneous pace, silently, but what impressed Tom the most was how quickly the woman called Lydia returned. In one hand, she was carrying a standard size briefcase of an unusual gray color, while the fingers of her right hand were locked around the handle of a rectangular hardshell case. As soon as she got within an arm's reach of her boss, she went down on her knees in a position similar to Alexandra's. It was evident she had not went over the deadline designated by her boss, and her punctuality was rewarded by a genuine caress of her cheek. It even seemed to make her smile, odd as it was. She respectfully handed over the two items, then got her feet again and left the room for good. Pratchett told the two company associates to wait in the hallway outside for a couple of minutes, while he "finished the deal with Delany”, as he put it. The door had barely closed behind James, before the content of the briefcase had been emptied onto the table. It was a contract. An unsigned contract with Tom's name in print and a dotted line at the bottom. So, this was what Pratchett meant when he talked about finishing the deal?

“I'm a practical man, Tom. I like simple solutions, even to awkward problems. Right now, I'm facing two urgent matters, which I need to deal with before the delegates of New York Industries arrive. Normally, that would be a tedious affair. I mean, the two us can surely postpone this little discussion for a better occasion. But some things in life can't just be ignored. Disobedience calls for action. This little peach had the nerve to question my actions earlier. She even felt the need to curse, like she was some kind of drunk sailor. It's safe to say she's been a bad girl, a self reliant slut. Haven't you, little one?” Aside from the twisted illusion of intimacy from earlier, this was the first time the old man acknowledged the woman by looking at her. The fire in his eyes left nothing for the interpretation of the imagination. “This kind of insolence must be punished accordingly, and I'm not talking about a jolly good spanking here and a bit of homework due tomorrow. I'm talking about leather, wood and iron. I'm talking about bared flesh, a shivering body. Pain, agony and sweet absolution of sins. That is what I'm talking about.”

“And what, if I may ask, does any of that have to do with me?” Tom's question had a touch of sarcasm, which it had not sported previously in the conversation. It was clear by his attitude that he tried to distance himself from the methods of the company, but it was also proof that he was growing impatient with the man at the other side of the table.

“I'm glad you ask that question!” Pratchett's voice did little to support his claim. In fact, it only enforced his dominance over every living being in the room. He pushed the document toward Tom and placed a golden pen next to it. “I had predicted you would not be so easy to persuade. Experience aside, you don't really fit the profile of our other product managers. For reasons, which I shall not disclose while in the presence of underlings, I decided pretty early on in the process to help you out beyond the common concept of managerial support. Friendship does have it's advantage, wouldn't you say so? Well, here's the deal, my personal offer. Call it my ultimatum, if you want. Read, consider and make your decision. It's a very profitable contract. Sign it here and now, and I'll even throw a handsome bonus in the mix. It should be sufficient to cover the expenses of the house your little honeymunch has looked at lately... what is her name again? Deborah? Delilah? Well, whatever!”

“Now, dear Tom, let me finish, before you interrupt in your usual rude manner!” Tom crossed his arms in front of himself, and leaned back in the chair in the most arrogant display he could think of. He had no other response. Pratchett was a formidable debater, especially in matters that concerned himself and a potential profit. The mockery in his words was exceptionally hidden, but his perception was even better, as evident by his quick reaction to Tom's changing expression. He was unwilling to let anyone interrupt his on-going sales pitch, and it appeared he would not relent until Tom finally gave in to the pressure. “Look, I'm not heartless. I get it; You've been out of the game for what, six years? You feel insecure about yourself, and you don't believe you know anything about selling our products. Stop worrying so much and you'll get plenty of chances to prove yourself eventually. You claim you are a different man, but I don't buy that. You can walk out of the door right now, you can pretend your past is in the past, but what about your pretty fiance? Does she know about your past, what you did to survive when you were young? I doubt it. Driving worthless women through town is hardly something you would brag about, let alone tell your influential parents-in-law about. I believe they deserve to know, and if you turn my offer down, I will inform them about it. I will even tell them about the meetings you have had with another woman at Hotel Liberty. We both know the last part is pure fiction and has no relevance to what happened all those years ago. But I have photographs from this afternoon, courtesy of one of ConnectEVE's most valuable assets. They depict you with a certain woman, and though the message behind is not set in stone, the way you lean against her neck is, well... inspiring. As you know, jealousy is a delicate thing, it creeps up behind you at night and sets it teeth into you with the intention of holding on forever.”

Tom felt like a trapped animal. Pratchett's threat sent him through a chaotic journey of emotions that mirrored his feelings of the meeting with Alexandra. Except, this time his disbelief was twofold and his anger clearly visible to anyone in the room. It was difficult to comprehend the full effect of having his past exposed to the people he cared about, but it was safe to assume it would destroy the image he had worked so hard to create and maintain. All the people, he had come to know, would surely turn their back at him, if they learned about his criminal past. But it was worse to realize that he only had himself to thank for the imminent destruction of his life. The slime in front of him would not have been able to blackmail him, if he had just been honest with Debbie from the start. Alas, he had allowed himself to relax and live in the moment. To Debbie and her family, he was 'just Tom'; a gentle man, who had taken her heart away. No one would be able to understand the events that had transformed him into the person he was today.

“Seems like you are thinking hard!” Pratchett's laughter enhanced the unpleasant atmosphere of the room. He looked to his watch again, before he added: “We have approximately twenty minutes left before the meeting is scheduled to begin. Let's call it fifteen minutes... that should be just enough. Lucky for, I'm feeling really charitable today, so I will top off my offer with this: As an added bonus to your sudden moment of clarity, signing this will also mean complete immunity to little Alexandra here... In other words, I won't even think about punishing her. Look at all the fabulous pros of this deal and ignore the nit-picky cons! You get a safe job, a neat sum of money and with this last piece of the offer, you even get to safe the day! I know you like that sort of thing, so why not save this poor thing the humiliation of being, well, shamelessly humiliated? Unless, of course, you feel like I do, and believe she should pay for her mistake. If that is the case, then I'll even offer you the chance to deal out sweet vengeance in the name of ConnectEVE! Come on, surely this is an offer you can't refuse! What do you say?”

The bad feeling that washed over Tom was not too different from the sensation of receiving a punch to the face. Both had left him in a state of chaos, but whereas the punch had taken down his senses for a while, the gravity of his pending decision messed with his emotions instead. What exactly did Pratchett mean when he talked about punishing her? He was not responsible for this woman's well-being. He hardly knew her, she was but a stranger to him. The decision was not was not just a matter of helping her. It was a question of giving up the life he had build, or plain and simple just loose whatever little part of his soul he still held on to. The magnitude of Pratchett's argument was too much to go up against, and yet... Tom remained silent.

“So what will it be, Tommy-boy?” The severity of Pratchett's ultimatum reached another level when he reached down and picked the woman up by the hair. Without any consideration to her comfort, he forced her up from the floor and snapped his fingers once. One of the bodyguards stepped out of the shadows and approached them. He determined look on his face made it clear, he knew what was going to happen. The bizarre spectacle raised Tom's suspicion, and he decided to get up. Much to his surprise, however, he was forcefully held back by a strong pair of arms, which pushed him down in his seat again. It appeared the hulking figure, who had guided him back to the table after Pratchett's assault earlier, was still lurking in the shadows behind him. “Your signature on the dotted line... or your life and ideals in ruins?”

Tom hesitated and watched in silence, as his bad feelings became reality before his eyes; The nameless bodyguard placed his hands around the woman's arms and guided her toward the bar in the corner. There, the man let go of her and went to the other side of the tiny counter. The noise he made behind it, ensured everyone he was searching for something specific. Tom grew slightly worried when the goon rose from behind the counter with a set of chains in his hands. The chains were heavy in appearance and both of them had a sturdy shackle at the end. Picked up at any other location, such heavy chains would be nothing more than simple tools used to chain up heavy equipment, but Tom somehow doubted they had ever been used for a such a simple purpose. With the skill and speed of an experienced person, the bodyguard went back to Alexandra and quickly got the shackles locked around her wrists, one chain to each hand. Both chains were then led back to the counter and once they were fixed to allow the captive as little freedom as possible, they were locked to it's surface via padlocks. It left her standing in an awkward, slightly bend-over position, with the edge of the counter barely within her reach.

Tom recognized the posture; he had learned about such methods during his time as Jessica Hunton's protege. It was a clever ploy to fool the chained-up victim to step forward and support him- or herself against the object before them. Surely, the insatiable pain of being flogged by some peculiar instrument would be all it took for the victim to seek support. But this tiny step was also a violation of the game's unspoken rules, and thus an excuse for the one in charge to increase the force and speed of the lashes. Tom had been told this technique often turned even experienced individuals into crying beggars... it made him wonder how much the woman knew about the situation she was in.

Pratchett put the hardshell case onto the table and opened it with great care. It was a rather large container, about six feet long and three feet tall. It opened up to reveal a disturbing collection of different tools, all known to Tom to a certain degree. There was a black leather whip, with fine details carved into the handle. Next to it was a glove formed like a mitten and covered by a thick layer of wood on the palm's surface. It was lying together with three pairs of gloves with different sharp edges sewn into the material. The other side of the case contained a plain rod of iron, a standard hunting crop and a deep red silk gag. But the most remarkable item of the gathering was a black cane with a handle of silver and a sharp end. Pratchett's eyes grew wide with anticipation, as he ran his fingers over the different items in the container. He smiled cheekily at Tom and picked up the cane, only to twist and turn it in his hand. “Perhaps the options should've been different. Which one do you chose? The pen... or the cane? Or maybe something else entirely?”

So this was this his idea of punishment? Brutal, physical violence? Was he so adamant about persuading him to sign the contract that he would really beat her? Well, there was obviously more to it than that, but Tom nevertheless felt stuck in the moment. He couldn't do it. He couldn't sell women and live with himself. But could he ignore the dire situation this particular woman was in? Was it possible that his past had something to do with his inability to abandon her? Then again, she was none of his concern! End of story! “I will not sign your contract, John. I will not work for you. The Tom Delany you remember would probably be more inclined to accept his fate. I am a different man. So here's my final answer: You can take your contract and shove it up where the sun doesn't shine, and then you can put your toys up there as well... You think you can use this woman as leverage against me, but you need her more than I do. She's your very special representative. She's good at what she does. I don't think you really don't want to hurt her...”

“Pity. I really expected you to listen to reason. I guess it can't be helped. Your father was a stubborn man as well.” Pratchett shrugged indifferently, but the expression on his face had turned sour. “As for you, little one...” Tom watched as he turned around and walked toward the woman at a slow pace. He looked like a predator creeping up to it's prey, except for the fact he was not being quiet at all. The way he held the cane allowed it's sharp end to run against the smooth floor, resulting in an eerie sound that rung through their ears. He stopped right behind her, placed his cane nonchalantly on the counter and put a hand on her hip. Then he leaned close to her. “I gave you a chance. I gave you two. I even gave you a third chance to redeem yourself. I'm starting to wonder whether or not my investment into your health was worth it. Look at yourself! Not even this handsome guy wants to help you out by joining our ranks. In fact, I don't even think he would want to beat you silly. Why do you think that is? How can it be, he doesn't like you? Is is because you are pretty? Mhmm? Because you are smart? Tell me, if you can?”

His hand wandered from her hip and over her body, touched and pinched her through the dress in a perverse attempt to shock and displease. It had it's desire effect on Tom, who briefly turned his eyes away in disgust. His eyes went back to the uncomfortable sight just in time to see Pratchett draw out a switchblade from his belt. The knife was barely out in the air before the large blade came sliding out of its handle, and it led Tom to believe it had cut into Alexandra. This was not the case, but it nevertheless triggered his anger. It only made matters worse to watch Pratchett put his hand around her neck and wave the knife dangerously close to her throat. “Let me tell you exactly why he doesn't want to lay a finger on you. You are a lowlife, that's why. Filth. A nobody. A pretty little thing, yes, but nothing more. This will be your last chance to please, and I'll make sure you do not forget it. Say what... do you think he would like you better, if he was too see some skin? Shall we try it that? what do you think, little one?”

“John, you need h -”

Pratchett's hands moved swiftly; fingers pulled at back of her dress, and the blade cut through the fabric with ease. Before Tom managed to finished his plea, the back of her dress had been torn open, leaving her body and the delicate pants she wore exposed for anyone to see. Pratchett turned around, looking quite confident about himself. Tom stared at him, in a mixture of shock and anger. He knew his halfhearted attempt to reason with his father's old friend was pointless. He knew for a fact that Pratchett was not a good man. Even so, it surprised him that he had turned out to be such a monster. He felt contempt, not only for the sight before his eyes, but for himself as well. Men did not abuse women like that. Better yet, men did not allow other men to abuse women. It was one of the first things his father had taught him about being a grownup. He had always lived up to this ideal, until the very moment he skipped his past and moved on to a different place. The scene that played out in front of him was the definitive testament to his neglect.

“Well, isn't this nice?” Pratchett slapped her across her bottom, took a step back and reached out for the cane. He held it up next to the switchblade, as though he wanted to compare the two items to each other, but then, after a while, he apparently decided it was time to get started. He let the knife fall to the floor and sent the cane flying toward her loin. It hit her, hard and fast, and with a sound so unsettling it sent shivers down Tom's spine. Seconds passed, breaths were taken. The cane went through the air and hit her again, this time right across her back. Pratchett delivered yet another blow to her body, this time aimed at her left shin. He shook the cane above his head in an awkward pose and looked briefly over his shoulder. “Do you like what you see, hero? I bet you have witnessed a good whipping multiple times in your meaningless existence. How does it feel to see someone suffer, because of your indifference? All it takes is your signature. Go on. We'll pretend this never happened... although, this one probably does not agree with that statement if you don't hurry up...”

The tension that filled the room seemed to fall and rise according to the blows he dealt to her. The peace that filled the moments between each strike was nothing but deception upon deception. A naive part of Tom kept hoping the latest assault on her body would be the last; that Pratchett would someone realize the kind of damage he was doing to one of the company's most treasured possessions. But as the minutes went by to the sound of wood hitting mortal flesh, he started to realize he was waiting for a miracle. It was not going to happen. Tom did his best to block out the sounds that escaped her, but when the cane collided with loin for the forth time, it simply became too much for him to bear:

“You despicable human. You think hitting a woman makes you twice the man, don't you?”

“That's where you are wrong, Tom.” Pratchett lowered the cane in his hand and turned toward the table again. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the cane clean of bloodstains and sweat. “That thing next to me... it's not a woman. Not by the default standards. It's a possession, an item that can be bought and sold as I see fit. I can discard it, if I want to. Heck, I could even tie it to one of the restrooms downtown and let all the men have their way with it, if I wanted to. Everything she is, is my doing. My money feeds her, dresses her and educates her. I keep her safe. I was even kind enough to reward her special perks. This is not Club Zix where even the filthiest whores are treated like little princesses. Here, the value of a human does not count. You are either a salesman or part of the product line. You forgot something very important when you tried to appeal to my greedy personality by stating I need this one. Truth is, I don't. There are plenty more fish in the sea, they are easy and cheap to catch. Besides, she's not the only gifted person in this company, is she?”

Tom was speechless. The inhumanity of the man he once regarded as a surrogate uncle was overwhelming and brought him down in the worst possible way. For the first time in years, he felt completely helpless. All he could do was to watch him abuse the poor woman. No, that was not entirely true. He could sign the document, couldn't he? Perhaps this was the moment he had prepared himself for during the last couple of years. He had been pretending for so long. He had to do something, if only to rid himself of guilt. He studied the document in front of him carefully, but could hardly comprehend the meaning of the words. His eyes went back to the woman in the corner and took in all the details of the punishment. The marks left behind by the cane created a dysfunctional pattern without begin or end; here and there the cane had hit so hard - so repeatedly - it had pierced the surface of her skin. There was only minor traces of blood... but the lines on her flesh said everything. His right hand reached out for the golden pen...

“Have you had enough?” Pratchett's question angered him greatly, and he turned his eyes away from the document to meet the other man's taunt directly. It quickly turned out he was not talking to him. He was leaning over Alexandra, using the cane to force her head backwards while he whispered into her ear. Tom could not hear whether or not she actually answered his previous question; but the way she cried out when Pratchett pushed her forward and struck her again and again, convinced him that she had hoped it was over. He took a hold around her left arm and raised the cane above his head, ready to strike again...

“Okay, stop. STOP!” Tom's shout was accompanied by the sound of his chair moving across the floor when he rose from his seat. The goon was over him quickly, but a quick glare from his boss told him to step back. Tom licked his lips in visible agony, signed the document and threw the pen onto the table as hard as he could. “There, signed! I'm all yours now. Just... This has to stop.”

“That's more like it!” The grin on Pratchett's face was all it took to drive Tom mad with anger, and with every moment that passed, he found it harder to restrain himself. To his horror, Pratchett did not back away from the woman. Instead, he pushed her against the counter and held her head against the surface. “Punctuality is everything in our business, Tom. Your decision was late, and sometimes being late hurts people we work with. Just like this woman was hurt by your indecision. I trust you won't be late ever again after this. Don't look so angry. You'll have plenty of time to be heroic once you start up business. I won't meddle in your methods, as long as you deliver profitable results with your stable. Did you hear what I just did there? Well, seeing as Alex here will need your help to find her way home, you will get the chance to brush up on your heroism right now. Oh Gregory? I think this peach has had her punishment now...!”

Alexandra was freed of her captivity just as quick as she was chained up by the bodyguard to begin with. Pratchett stepped away and allowed her to slide onto the floor in a pile of torn clothes and utter pain. Her dress - once so fair and elegant in design - looked like a jacket worn in the opposite direction, and only the holes for her arms held it up. Tom looked behind himself and discovered that his guardian had decided to leave him alone. He then went to the other side of the table and approached the woman on the floor. But his advance was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder; Pratchett was not done yet. “I need you to reason with her. Make her understand that next time will not be anything as fun as this was. The next time she crosses the line, I will have them fetch my limited edition of the cat and trust me on this... she does not want that to happen. It will mark her in more than one way. So be kind and use your charm to make her obey, okay lad?”

The nerve of his new boss surprised Tom. He had approached him, even though he knew he was angry enough to punch him, and he had not even had the time to comprehend what he had just agreed to. Now he also expected him to keep Alexandra in check? Seriously? In the end, Tom only nodded and turned his attention toward the woman on the floor. If this event did not make her obey... then what would?

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

She... was ....Screaming....

It was a damned good thing that the Club, was sound proofed. Any walking past outside would hear absolutely nothing. Even the private rooms upstairs were sound proofed. None could hear what was happening in each one of those, even if he or she were standing right outside the door. And, those rooms were as shielded from what was happening downstairs in the main club as well. All part of the design.

So, needless to say, Alex's screaming could really only be heard by the guests in that main room.

Honestly, she remembered little at this point of what had happened before the first strike of the cane. Her sudden, and completely uncalled for outburst, the touch of the Master's hand into her hair, the entire conversation he had with Tom, or the girls who made the call to Ginger and fetched the Master's case... in the haze of her torture, the pain thrumming thru her, and the terror that now gripped her, her mind could no longer focus, or perhaps refused to focus, on what had gotten her into this situation... altho she did remember the body guard as he chained her in place. And the only reason she remembered him, in the midst of all her pain and those utterly agonizing screams, was because she knew him from the Company. She had enjoyed lunch with him during a break between sales, no more than a week ago. He often escorted the product, so Alex actually knew him quite well. But she could not seem to remember his name....

"I gave you a chance. I gave you two. I even gave you a third chance to redeem yourself. I'm starting to wonder whether or not my investment into your health was worth it. Look at yourself! Not even this handsome guy wants to help you out by joining our ranks. In fact, I don't even think he would want to beat you silly. Why do you think that is? How can it be, he doesn't like you? Is is because you are pretty? Mhmm? Because you are smart? Tell me, if you can?”

“Let me tell you exactly why he doesn't want to lay a finger on you. You are a lowlife, that's why. Filth. A nobody. A pretty little thing, yes, but nothing more. This will be your last chance to please, and I'll make sure you do not forget it. Say what... do you think he would like you better, if he was too see some skin? Shall we try it that? what do you think, little one?”

She heard the Master, heard every word he said as he circled her. Could she remember what he was talking about now? No... she could not focus enough thru her growing terror. And even if she did, this was not a question to be answered, to answer, could actually worsen the punishment. Oh she had heard him loud and clear, felt her dress cut away... felt his hands... groping... pinching... exploring... she had heard and felt it all. And for a brief, almost blinding moment, Alex wondered how Ginger dealt with those hands touching her. Those hands groping, massaging, caressing, pinching, probing her. How did Ginger deal with the Master every day? How.....

~ * ~

“Rosanna, sweetie... Call my office and tell Ginger to dress up to the best of her ability and hurry here. She can even call a cab, if necessary. Just make sure she gets here in time to replace this one"

The girl nodded... silent, yet swift, footfalls took her to the phone behind the bar. "Ginger, it's Rosanna. The Master requests that you dress up, and hurry to the Club. He has given permission for you to call a cab. He needs you here to replace... Alex... ".... that was all Rosanna had to say. Ginger knew what Alex's role was in the Company, and for this particular meeting. "As he desires" was her answer to Rosanna, that was always her answer to Mr. Pratchett.. "as you desire, Master". If she dared say anything else, well, needless to say, she would be punished.

Ginger, personal possession of Mr. John Pratchett. Around the slender column of her throat, a golden collar. One may call it a band of gold. But a very different band of gold than what most people thought of. Etched deep into the otherwise smooth, and incredibly shiney surface was a scripted P ... everyone knew what that stood for, obviously. Most everyone associated with ConnectEve and John Pratchett knew who Ginger was, just as they knew who Alex was. Even the product for sale, knew who Ginger was. They had either heard about her, or had seen her for themselves. And like Alex, Ginger was in a class higher than the other girls. The two girls, actually, were very similiar in their circumstances. Where Alex had achieved her "status", if one wanted to call it that, thru her intelligence and ingenuity, Ginger had achieved her status thru two entirely different ... reasons... her name, that being Ginger Calbear, and her beauty, the fact that she resembled someone else, someone that none within ConnectEve even knew had existed. Not even Alex knew...

Ginger was stunning. Fair skinned, pale as the finest porcelin, clear sparkling eyes that in the mornings were as pale blue as the clearest sky, and in the evening, would deepen to a more intense blue of an ocean... full lips, pinkened and velvet soft, and a mane of glorious red hair, not a deep firey red, but more of a strawberry blonde red, but still just as striking as any red head could be, that accented her skin and face perfectly. She had an innocence about her, and her smile was sweet, genuine, her voice, well again, no one else realized, but her voice, high and musical, with the slightest southern accent, also sounded like another.

http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a360/AmbrosiaCaress/60fa1019-cf5d-44b3-a815-743eb22d741f.jpg

Ginger had come into the Company's possession at nearly the same time that Alex had. Within a few days of each other. Ginger's circumstances, tho, were markedly different than Alex's had been. Ginger was the daughter of one of Pratchett's business associates, Carl Calbear. And Carl, coincidentally, was in debt to Pratchett to the tune of nearly half a million dollars. When the debt could not be paid, John Pratchett offered an agreement. Pratchett agree'd to forgive Carl's debt, but it would cost the man his most prized possessions. BOTH his daughters, Ginger and Murial. Carl had no choice. The deal was ... struck....

Murial had long since been sold, to another Business Associate of Pratchett, one that both he and Carl knew well. A sadistic man named Arnold Wellson. Ginger, on the other hand, Alex herself had matched the gorgeous red head to the Master. The Master, Pratchett, had particular... tastes... Alex had learned. Tastes in women. Tastes in sex. Ginger had fit his tastes perfectly, both in looks and disposition. The entire setup of her matching a girl to the Master, had been a test specifically for Alex... and Alex had managed to pass with flying colors. She had chosen exactly who HE wanted. He had no idea that she had one nugget of very important knowledge, that she knew the girl she had just matched up with the Master, was Ginger Calbear, daughter of his business associate Carl Calbear, and Alex also knew that the Master wanted her. Alex was a hell of a lot smarter than she often let on, and her intelligence and knack for listening had paid off in spades this time. Of course, Alex was not supposed to know any of this. This was certainly not information she was privy too. But people, including Pratchett at times, talk, talk of wants, talk of desires, and that kind of talk is very often passed on, and Alex, of course, as always, listened.

The thing was, Ginger hated Alex. They had been friends, part of the same stable at one time. It had been that friendship, and knowing Ginger's full name, that had given Alex the advantage when her little test came up. Between that and what she heard regarding his business associate with the same name, and his wanting of the girl, had all but sealed the deal. Alex hated the thought of sacrificing a friend, but it had to be done. Ginger hated that it had been someone she had trusted in this living hell, that had sent her to a hell that was even ... well.. worse... if there was such a place. Belonging to Mr. Pratchett was a special kind of hell, Ginger had found out, and was still finding out. Both emotionally, and physically. Her back, shoulders, and thighs bore the marks that man had deigned to place upon her flesh. Marks made with that same cane he was currently using on Alex, marks made with his whip, with his crop, with his blade, and the brand, yes Pratchett had branded her within the first week of owning her, that scarred her left buttock. Ginger had endured many of the same implements, Pratchett called them "toys", that he had displayed to Tom, before using them on others, including that cane he was using on Alex.

As soon as she hung up the phone, Ginger knew that something was very, very wrong. These meetings were always handled by Alex. The Master never alluded that any other girl could handle the.... participants... the way Alex did. This request, was most unusual, and to be honest, it scared Ginger to death.

So Alex was in trouble.... The thought actually made Ginger grin, despite the fear she was feeling so very deep down inside. But she was not grinning for long. She had to get herself prettied up and out the door in a matter of a few minutes. A shower was out of the question., there just was not enough time, and she dared not be late to this meeting. That would only result in punishment. So Ginger washed up, quickly took her hair down, letting the reddened cascade that was her mane fall down her shoulders and back. She chose a black skin tight pencil skirt, and a white lace tank top, and ankle strap black high heel sandals. Her Master preferred less makeup, admiring the natural look, so Ginger kept that to a minimum as well. Her golden collar sparkled brightly against her throat. She slipped on a golden bracelet, one that he allowed her to wear, as she dashed out the door.

It took only 7 mins for the cab to drop her off before the very plain, unmarked door that was the entrance to the Club. Eric, that ever present doorman, knew Ginger on site, and stepped aside as she quickly hurried past him. He couldn't help letting his eyes linger on the beauty of a redhead. Pratchett sure had the best taste in females, he thought to himself, licking his lips with an almost predatory leer. Maybe one of these days he would get himself a redhead to go along with the pet he already had at home. It was about time to bring some new blood into the house... The thought faded as the door opened to the main room, and an anguished cry came spilling out, Alex's anguished cry... only to be silenced as the sound proofed door slammed shut.... Eric the doorman simply shook his head. He had heard that kind of sound before, it was not new to him...

Ginger too had heard that kind of sound before. Her own, of course. But she had also witnessed the Master's punishment of others. Whether that punishment was warranted, he, being the CEO of ConnectEve, had final say over all the product in the stables, as well as any and all possessions that "worked" if one called it that, in the ConnectEve companies... or he was merely demonstrating how to train, and punish a slave. She had even been there the night, that horrible night, that he had shown off his newest toy, the Limited Edition Cat, and the girl... had actually died. It was not a night she wanted to think about or remember.

As she stepped inside, she was greeted not by Pratchett, not by any of his goons, but by that anguished sound. She froze, eyes going wide at the scene that was being played out before her... This looked and felt entirely different than anything else she had ever witnessed, given that the girl being punished was... Alex....

~ * ~

Alex had tried to ready herself for what she knew was going to come. She tried. But when the cane struck, the savage jolt of pain that shot thru her drove all breath from her lungs, along with her scream... had that been her voice? Had she made that horrifying sound?... that scream that tore from her lips was suddenly cut off.. but only for a moment, a blessed moment, before another blow came crashing down upon her flesh... and once more she had to wonder, was that her voice that howled in agony once again? She could feel herself shaking, shuddering, feel her legs wanting to give way, wanting to collapse, as yet another strike came... and another strike....

“Do you like what you see, hero? I bet you have witnessed a good whipping multiple times in your meaningless existence. How does it feel to see someone suffer, because of your indifference? All it takes is your signature. Go on. We'll pretend this never happened... although, this one probably does not agree with that statement if you don't hurry up...”

She HAD to keep on her feet. If she collapsed, she knew, the Master would kill her. The cane slammed into her again, and again, and again. The force so hard, she nearly caved to the floor, her knees threatening to fold beneath her. She dared not turn to the smooth, flat, surface of the bar for support, that would be tandamount to allowing herself to fall. He ... simply... would kill her. No, she had to stay in position, she had to, no matter what he did to her. Another hard, brutal hit as the cane connected with flesh. Alex could feel the heat of the bruising that was surely beginning to color her skin even this quickly. The pain that gripped her was almost unbearable, and she had to keep from vomiting on top of it all, just from the sheer torment. She could hear Pratchett huffing a bit, catching his breath as he reared back for yet another strike.. her voice no longer able to sustain her tortured screams that echoed in the room. As the next hit of the cane came, her crying out now consisted of low, despairing moans, sobs, and almost whimpering cries, along with the gasping and exhaling of her labored breathing. And still, she managed to stay on her feet, even tho the whole of her form was violently shaking. Her head down, skin dripping wet with sweat, lacings of blood drawn slipping wetly down her back, her thighs... long blonde hair hiding her tormented face, tears streaming, from the onlookers.

“That thing next to me... it's not a woman. Not by the default standards. It's a possession, an item that can be bought and sold as I see fit. I can discard it, if I want to. Heck, I could even tie it to one of the restrooms downtown and let all the men have their way with it, if I wanted to. Everything she is, is my doing. My money feeds her, dresses her and educates her. I keep her safe. I was even kind enough to reward her special perks. This is not Club Zix where even the filthiest whores are treated like little princesses. Here, the value of a human does not count. You are either a salesman or part of the product line. You forgot something very important when you tried to appeal to my greedy personality by stating I need this one. Truth is, I don't. There are plenty more fish in the sea, they are easy and cheap to catch. Besides, she's not the only gifted person in this company, is she?”

"No, she is not, Master" came the answer. Ginger had silently moved to his side when he paused in his punishment of Alex. So, when she answered his question, it had come from the one place he expected it to come from, if an answer were to be had, from his feet. Ginger's voice was several octives higher than Alex's deeper vocal range. By no means annoying, in fact she had quite the pretty voice, with the slightest hint of a southern accent. There was a look of shock on her face, one that she tried to hide. She had seen her Master punish others, but this, this was someone she, well, knew. Someone she had known well, actually. Ginger watched as Alex fought to stay on her feet, watched as the cane struck her so hard, she could almost see her knees buckle slightly and the girl fight to keep them straight. And as much as Ginger hated Alex now, this was not something she wanted to see... But there would be more, more to see, more to learn.....

“Have you had enough?” The cane slipped easily beneath Alex's lowered head, pulled tight against her throat, and she could only groan, a strangled sound, as Pratchett forced her head back, nearly choking her. She could smell his scent from his own exertions, and she could smell her own, sweat, fear, blood, all mingling around her.

"please... Master... mercy" she managed to whisper, her voice barely able to achieve even that. "mercy...." she again said, eyes rolling back slightly as if she were going to loose consciousness. If she did, that would be it, and she knew it. Alex fought with every ounce of strength she had to keep that from happening.. and again repeated the word she knew he would want to hear, the only word.... "mercy".....

But there would be no mercy for her. Alex's voice broke in another harsh cry as she was pushed away from him and the cane found her bared back once again, near the shoulders. If he struck her on the back of the head, he'd crack her skull, she thought to herself, and the next strike came so very close.... so... very ... close....

“Okay, stop. STOP!”

And it did stop.. at least for a moment or two. Alex remained in position, trembling, head hanging down, gasping and panting for breath. She wasn't sure how much more she could endure of his punishment... she was not even sure she could let herself fall at this point. She could not think of how or why she was even being punished anymore. The haze of pain so fogged her mind, that she was lucky she could remember her name and to stay on her feet, at all costs.

“That's more like it!” Alex had no clue what he meant by that. But a moment later, she found herself pushed against the bar her head pinned against the surface. “Punctuality is everything in our business, Tom. Your decision was late, and sometimes being late hurts people we work with. Just like this woman was hurt by your indecision. I trust you won't be late ever again after this. Don't look so angry. You'll have plenty of time to be heroic once you start up business. I won't meddle in your methods, as long as you deliver profitable results with your stable. Did you hear what I just did there? Well, seeing as Alex here will need your help to find her way home, you will get the chance to brush up on your heroism right now. Oh Gregory? I think this peach has had her punishment now...!”

Gregory, that was the body guard's name. Gregory. She had lunch with him, just the week before. He was actually a very nice guy for being such a brute... Gregory....

Alex dropped to the floor as soon as the chains were released. Her body just folded up, unable to support itself anymore amidst the pain and punishment she had suffered. Crying, she dared not even lift her head, her entire form shook with each wracking sob, each labored breath. There was one small thought that flashed thru her mind as she lay there, so helpless, so beaten... one small thought that one day, she would kill Pratchett herself, by beating him to death with that very same cane. She almost, almost, let the word Bastard slip past her lips, but Alex, even in pain, even in the agony of her vicious punishment, knew better than that. At least her mind was coming back into focus, now that it no longer had to deal with what the Master was doing to her...

“I need you to reason with her. Make her understand that next time will not be anything as fun as this was. The next time she crosses the line, I will have them fetch my limited edition of the cat and trust me on this... she does not want that to happen. It will mark her in more than one way. So be kind and use your charm to make her obey, okay lad?”

Alex heard two things loud and clear when Pratchett spoke those final words... First, the limited edition cat... Ginger had mentioned that instrument of punishment once that Alex had overheard. Pratchett had used it to demonstrate punishing a girl, and that girl, had died. That was all she knew about it. But that was enough. If Tom, or Gregory, or Ginger, or even Pratchett, had been looking at Alex in that moment, they would have seen her go totally and completely white. The other thing she heard was Pratchett had just awarded her to... Tom... He had, well.. given her.. to Tom. Did he even realize it?

There was a buzz that broke the now silence of the main room. Then a voice over the speaker. Eric's voice. "Sir, your guests are now arriving." The Investors from New York... right on time. Eric was saavy enough to know what was going on in that main room just from that one howling scream he had heard. This was not something one showed to new Investors. "I will show them to the Sapphire Room" he then stated. It was one room over from the main room. Smaller, a bit more intimate, perfect for a private meeting. Alex thought she could almost hear Pratchett smiling.

Ginger, could see the smile that danced across his lips. She dared a glance at the fallen Alex, before getting to her feet to follow her Master to the meeting, saying a silent prayer to herself that she not screw this up, that she would show that she was just as good as Alex.... She certainly was just as beautiful...

~ *~

How long she lay there, she was not sure. To her, the entire event, from her bursting into the Club and making her comments, to her vicious, brutal punishment, to her falling to the floor in a sobbing pain wracked heap, felt like hours and hours and hours. In reality, it was all over in under 30 mins. It took her a goodly amount of time to finally dare to lift her head. She felt long strands of her own sweat dampened hair sticking to her face, along her neck, the backs of her shoulders. Every movement she tried to make caused agonizing pain to savagedly shoot thru her. She was not even sure she could stand now, let alone go beyond just lifting her head.

Was she alone? She had thought she was. Who would want to deal with her now. And why. She was nothing more than a broken, sobbing slave, unable to get up from the floor, where she obviously belonged. She hoped she was alone, that way no one would see her trying to crawl to the door. Alex knew better than to still be there when the meeting was over. If she was, Pratchett would just begin the punishment all over again, for daring to stay laying on this floor without permission. But... it took her only a minute to realize she actually wasn't alone. And another minute to realize it was Tom who was approaching her...

For a terror filled moment, she thought he was going to pick up the punishment where Pratchett had left off, and she actually, amid the pain she was enduring, tried to back away from him... Even tho she knew, she had heard Pratchett, she knew that she now belonged... to him....

"mercy"... she managed to rasp one last time before she collapsed again.

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

He was falling from a great height, pushed over the edge by his fiance and her parents. Strangely, though, he did not feel any sensation of fear or dread. Not even when he realized the ground below was approaching fast did he scream or cry for help. He just embraced the situation as it was, felt the air cut into the flesh of his face and his hands, heard the extreme noise of a big city living to it's fullest. He had not noticed it until that point, but he was not falling on his own. Friends, colleagues and family were falling through the air all around him. The sight scared him way more than his own swift descent toward the ground did. It soon occurred to him that he was falling at an odd speed, like time itself had slowed down to allow him the doubtful luxury of watching his own end unfold in sickening detail. That was the moment where he started to scream; but his voice failed him and he fell from the sky in completely silence.

Tom opened his eyes and tensed up immediately, as though he was anticipating an attack from somewhere within the darkened room around him. The motion made him realize how extremely exhausted he felt, mentally as well as physically. He had found himself a nice, soft armchair to sit in, but the events of the evening would not leave him alone. Although he knew he had drifted off to sleep several times during the night, he wasn't entirely sure whether or not he was awake or not at the moment. The darkness around him did little to solve the mystery, but the headache, which suddenly returned at full force to hammer away inside his skull, convinced him that he was not in dreamland anymore. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up completely and started to relax a bit. He was alone. Or well, it was actually 'they' for now. They were alone and relatively safe and sound.

A painful moan filled the room and drew his attention. He turned his face to the right and quickly spotted the shadow of a person on the bed next to him. As he got up from the chair and flipped the switch of a little lamp on the nightstand, he closed his eyes briefly and swallowed hard. The light from the lamp illuminated the person just enough to make him uncomfortable about what he saw. She was lying on her stomach, with her head turned away from him and her arms placed above her head. She was not wearing a nightgown or t-shirt to cover the upper part of her body, and it was easy to see the outline of her right breast as it pressed into the soft mattress below. Although, he had seen his fair share of exposed skin in his years as a guardian, so nudity did not bother him at all. What actually bothered him was the fact she was not the only unconscious woman, who he had been forced to undress in his time. He could still remember the first time he had found a girl, who had been beaten to a pulp by one of Jessica Hunton's sadistic customers. It was a dreadful experience, especially since he was shamefully aware it had happened on his watch. Everyone had told him that he was not to blame. The victim had said it as well, but Tom still loathed himself for failing to keep her safe. He had treated her wounds, as it was the only thing he could do to try and help the poor girl. It was something he had hoped he would never get to experience again.

A soft blanket of silk was covering her body from the waist down, but he was not sure how much good it actually did her, given the beating she had suffered on her thighs and legs. The light emitted by the lamp highlighted the bruises on her back in an eerie way. From the shallow wounds, from where the blood had oozed out, to the straight lines where the cane had went into the flesh with unrestrained force... every little detail pointed toward a severe case of abuse, and he had witnessed it. He had been a docile bystander to John Pratchett's throughout and extremely brutal punishment of this young woman, and the memory filled him with disgust and shame. He stepped toward the nightstand and prepared a fresh cloth in the washbowl standing on top of the little piece of furniture. In doing so, he also briefly blocked out the light from the lamp, which caused shadows to dance across the bed and the wall next to him. Once he had wrung the cloth properly, he sat down on the bed and began to clean the wounds on her back. Softly - almost hesitantly - he ran the cloth across her skin in long, gentle strokes. He had wiped the dried blood off her back earlier, but he couldn't think of anything else to do, now that he was awake and aware of the pain she was constantly in.

She had not been conscious since she collapsed on the floor of Pratchett's private room at the Club. She had asked for mercy. No, she had begged for mercy. Even when everyone else had left the room, and he approached her to help, she had asked him to show mercy, as though he had threatened to prolong her agony. He had even noticed how she moved slightly on the floor, almost like... like she tried to get away from him. The poor girl was so far out of her usual self that she relied completely on her instincts to stay alive. But of course, he could have been more considerate in his behavior and tried to calm her down by speaking to her. He couldn't help but stay silence in the situation. The sight of her beaten and broken self had left him in a state of shock, partially because he felt responsible. It was not her fault that Pratchett had decided to use her as leverage against him. She had just showed up at the worst moment possible. The whole ordeal made him wonder if he should have been the one asking for mercy instead? The scene was outrageous enough to be perversely funny; she was bleeding physically, while he was hurting emotionally. What a pair they were.

Sitting at the table in the very same chair once occupied by his new boss, he had spent his first twenty minutes as an employee of ConnectEVE by contemplating what he had agreed to, and how he could escape his undesirable fate. His eyes had went over the contract again, as it was much easier to comprehend the details without the noise of a brutal canning ringing in his ears. The result was interesting. John had not lied to him; it was a very profitable contract. In fact, the huge sum of money he was to make as an employee of the company far outmatched the salary of any previous job he had ever had. But it did not change what the job would turn him into: A pimp, no, worse yet. He would become a salesman, a dealer in humans... a despicable slave trader. Just the thing he didn't want to be. The punishment he had witnessed was a painful reminder of why he had cut all ties to his previous life and started anew. Now it felt as though everything had caught him to him again, as though he was stuck in a circle of evil.

He felt her move slightly under his hand, heard her groan deeply into the pillow supporting her head. He withdrew his hand and reached back to pull the blanket just a bit further up her back. His hand moved toward the back of her head and touched her hair for a few seconds, before pulling away from her again. But when she moved again, he decided to take the chance and talk to her. “Alex? Alexandra... can you hear me?” he moved a bit in his seat on the bed, and reached out to caress the back of her head again. This time his hand remained there, gently brushing through her hair as though she was a little child in need of comfort. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but being sorry hardly changed anything. All the pity in the world could not heal the wounds on her back, nor help her forget what had happened. “Are you awake? Alexandra? Can you speak to me?”

He got up, and as he went to the nightstand at the other side of the bed, he passed by the red dress Alexandra had worn at the Club. It was resting - torn to shreds and folded together - on a small stool at the end of the bed. It had been quite difficult to get her out of the Club on a discreet note, and it had required a great deal of persuasion for him to get the fool at the reception to help him get the unconscious woman into his car. But the difficulty of leaving the Club was nothing compared to finding a place where he could do something about her acing, wounded back. So he had went to the only place in town, where he believed no one would ask him any questions. The Columbia Star Hotel was located only two blocks away from the Club, but it was the only familiar ground close by. It was a little, intimate place with thirty beautifully decorated rooms and a very soothing atmosphere of safety. Tom knew the owner of the hotel from back when he was as part of Hunton's entourage; this was a place where wealthy customers went to get a taste of privacy and peace. But contrary to the bigger hotels, the Columbia Star Hotal had one significant advantage; it looked deceptively plain and dirty from the outside. Strangers would dismiss it as a filthy place for prostitution, which it also was, but the interior of the twenty rooms on the upper floors was above the standards of the other hotels in the city. Tom had asked permission to rent one of the rooms on the second floor, but the owner of the hotel had insisted he used a better one on the top floor of the building. At no charge, of course. It paid to be liked by others.

“Are you thirsty?” He poured her a glass of water and took a seat next to her on the bed, this time with her face in full view. He was not quite sure if she could hear him. Even so, talking to her actually helped himself relax, and he proceeded just like he had intended to. He rested his hand on her forehead for a moment to determine if she was sickly hot or not. Then he dipped two fingers into the glass and ran them over her dry lips as calmly as he could. Was his eyes deceiving him, or had she moved again? His eyes dwelt on her face, kept watch over her closed eyelids and lips so that he did not miss her reaction. “Don't try to move just yet. You took quite a... well, you need rest. Lots of it. I know you are in pain, and you probably feel... betrayed. But I assure you, I'm only here to help. Alexandra?”

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

She was tall, timid and the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Her red hair - thick and soft - fell around her face and down her back in long, lively bangs. Her skin was unusually pale, but it only enhanced the beauty of her hair and the innocent, blue eyes that were her mirror to the world. Sure enough, he knew her childhood had not been easy. Her parents got divorced while she was young, because her father drank too much. The other kids at school had given her the nickname Snow, because the color of her skin bore great resemblance to the lead heroine in the fairytale Snow White. This monicker had stuck with her well into young adulthood, and she had shyly surrendered the knowledge to him over the first lunch they had together.

Charlene. That was her real name. Charlene Patricia Adams. C.P.A. as the sign on her desk said. He enjoyed staring at her in secret, and he could never get enough of what he saw. Whenever she turned around inside the office, his eyes would soak up the firm, round contours of her body, so incredibly tempting even at a distance. She was always on his mind, and the mere sight of the gracious movements of her slender legs, as she walked from one destination to another, was more than enough to drive him wild with desire.

Alas, the time of calling her pet names was long gone, and so was she.

He had always wanted her for himself, but he had never got her. Not for real, at least. Though he actually believed he had done everything in his power to let her know how he felt, his attempts were always blocked out by his own hesitation. She was so sweet, so fresh and completely different from all the other girls he had known. When they wanted jewelry, she wanted flowers. They wanted to go to the movies, she wanted to take a stroll through the forest. The girls of his past were easy to woo and lay down; Charlene was, due to her innocence, like a big fortress. Impregnable, unobtainable. They were colleagues, and relationships between people in the same office were forbidden by the board of directors. Still, he had cared for her when she needed it the most. When her expectations were brought down by other people, she came to him and cried out by his shoulder. But he never got the kisses he so desired, and he hardly ever got to touch her beyond the borders dictated by respectable behavior.

In the end, they had parted ways. His frustrations were too great and his desire too dangerous. But in his heart, he was not prepared to let her go. So he went after her. Kept an eye on her from afar, just like he did when they worked together. In the meantime, he build his own world from the ground up and settled for less. He found another woman, one he could play happy family with. It was a marriage of necessity; They were attracted to each other, and she was a good catch. But his emotions were too shallow for him to love someone else than Charlene. Biding his time, he waited for his chance to show up again. An affair, a chance meeting. Even just a lock of her hair. Heck, just a short glimpse of her would do! All he wanted was a memory he could hide inside his aching heart and bring forth whenever he satisfied his own desire or lay with his wife.

Unfortunately, Charlene went on to find happiness with someone else. She married a fool. This lucky idiot had not just stolen the woman of his dreams, he had also stolen a kind of love, which he believed was to befall him and no one else. The news filled him with an anger so intense, he had ended up taking it out on his lady friend. To make matters worse, the imbecile also gave Charlene two children. But her body could not take it. Charlene had died in childbirth; so he had heard. A part of him accepted it, embraced her passing as the only solution to his heart's pain. Another part of him just withered away when he learned of it. It broke him and turned him into another man. He buried his love of her along with her earthly remains.

But there was something good in all the bad; Charlene's husband was a pretty bad businessman. He simply lacked the talent and cunning perception needed in his branch. In the end, it caused him to lose both money and influence. For some strange reason, his fall seemed to come at an extraordinary speed. It almost happened overnight. No one knew, of course, that there were other forces at play than ill luck and bad investments. It had the desired result – the poor man showed up at his office to beg him for help. Surely the most powerful man in town could help him out with a tiny loan? If nothing else than for the sake of his children? Had he not known their mother once as well? If nothing else then perhaps for her sake?

He was eager to help, but at a unknown cost. The deal was sealed with smiles and a handshake. As time went by, and the debt grew, the man unknowingly destroyed his own life. Just like he had foreseen it. Both men cried when the day of reckoning finally came about. The fool cried because the demand of erasing the debt was immensely high and unfair; He cried – in secret – because he had finally got his sweet revenge. Charlene's husband was as good as broke, and his only option was to give up the two things he loved the most in his life; His two daughter's, Murial and Ginger.

Everything had worked out like he had expected it to, except for one small detail. Both girls were to be sold and hopefully end their life in the most miserable way possibly. He would offer them to the first and best lunatic that came about. What he had not calculated into his plan, however, was that one of the daughter's bore an uncanny resemblance to Charlene. He actually believed he was hallucinating when he first saw her. Same smile, same eyes, same fiery hair. The sight of her resurrected a slumbering desire inside him. It filled him with mixed feelings, but the only thought he clung onto was this: She was in no position to repeat her late mother's mistakes. She could not reject him, and that little piece of knowledge exited him endlessly.

And so it was that Ginger was adopted into Pratchett's artificial family of lost and broken girls. But unlike the other girls, who were merely around to entertain John, Ginger meant something special to him. She was, albeit unknowingly, the culmination of years of yearning for a woman he could not get. She was her own mother's representative, the avatar of the one woman, who had managed to bring forth warm sensations of love in John's otherwise uncaring personality. The major difference was that he did not love Ginger. How could he? She was to blame for Charlene's death... was she not? Charlene had died while giving birth to this girl...

Every time John looked the young woman in the eye, he seemed to meet Charlene's blue eyes for a brief moment. When he laid with her, his mind always went back to the fantasies of his youth. Whenever he touched her firm curves and nuzzled her hair... when he slipped the clothes off her petite form and kissed her neck... when he pushed into the tight, moist depths of her young body... and when he heard her gasp for breath in unwanted delight before he found sweet release inside her... it was always about someone else.

Sad as is was, his punishment of her was also triggered by something else than simple disobedience and sadistic behavior. Whenever he picked up the crop to discipline her, he indirectly punished Charlene for abandoning him and never giving him a chance. John would sometimes shed tears of guilt and sorrow while he flogged her. Tears were dangerous, they were proof of weakness and empathy. Tears always marked the occasions where he was most brutal. He had to keep her down through violence, so that she did not look up and spot his weakness. She had to be kept in the dark.

Ginger had – literally – taken her mother's place in the most bizarre and disheartening way possible. John liked her for being young and attractive, and he hated her for not being the woman he once adored. It was a dangerous combination. Her sister was gone, sold to ensure her will would falter as quickly as possible. Much like Alexandra, who lived a quite different life compared to the common products, Ginger had her own perks to make her existence better. Her status was high, her wardrobe was full, and she was often brought along as a sort of alive decoration to light up the places John visited. She was not isolated from the other girls, but being the pet of the big man was not always an advantage. The majority of products feared and avoided her like the plague. She was not to be messed about by anyone else than Pratchett himself.

“Oh Ginger?” John's eyes went from the contract on the table in front of him and toward the young woman sitting at the other end of the table. He rose from his seat, pulled out a chair next to him and gestured for her to sit down. He bend slightly to the right and drew out a half empty bottle of champagne from the cooler bowl underneath the table. Then he waved it in the air, as though the sight of the alcoholic beverage would draw her near, and picked up two clean glasses from the center of the table. “Come and sit by me while I revel in this evening's wonderful results. We are expanding the business, and that calls for celebrations! Especially since you, my little puppy, played a most important part in landing the contract. That Thomson guy was really into you, with good reason... you look enchanting, just like always.”

Manipulation. Fear. Two distinctive pillars of his personality, one more subtle than the other. Fear was a powerful and multifaceted tool. Once incorporated into the system, it was quite easy to maintain and came at no apparent cost. It had many faces: fear of being sacked, fear of loss and failure... fear of being punished. Manipulation, on the other hand, required more hard work, but was also a quite forgiving way of rewarding employees. The ability to manipulate people was quite valuable, and John used it to the fullest. Friends, employees and associates... everyone could and should be manipulated to suit his needs sooner or later. He even used manipulation to great effect in cases concerning the girls in his private collection, but it always took another form than it's common definition. It quite simply because a game of balancing fear and happiness, punishment and reward. It was a matter of using his wit and charm to his own advantage; To show the girls gratitude, to be merciful or compassionate when they least expected him to be. He would often give them small gifts of appreciation. Even simple gestures - like allowing a girl to take a bath in the luxury bathtub located in his suite at Hotel D'vorché or taking her out for dinner in a nice location – could prove extremely profitable in the short run.

It was an interesting process by all means, as some girls were easier to manipulate than others; Lydia was by far the most tame of the lot. She was eager to please and would always yield to his intimate touch, sometimes to a degree that proved more annoying than tempting for his taste. It only proved that she had been trained well, of course, and her willing nature was a nice change from the more rebellious girls. Rosanna was quite the opposite, fearful and weak and easy to force into any position. That, in turn, also made her more susceptible to a more emotional kind of manipulation. Verbal praise and the illusion of freedom was all it took to keep her satisfied. It didn't take much to persuade her that she had a good life at ConnectEVE. But of the seven girls, who were widely recognized to be John Pratchett's private property, Ginger was his absolute favorite in all aspects. The result of his favoritism of Ginger was strange, almost paradoxical in nature. She had been quite the rebel, when he had first included her in his harem, but he had long since extinguished her spirit through systematic punishment. 'Learn by burn', as the phrase goes. He still corrected her and all his girls physically, but Ginger always seemed to be at the center of his attention. She was – for better or worse – the unofficial first lady of ConnectEVE. It was she, who faced the most severe punishment when things went wrong, and it was her, who got to taste his new toys first.

However, there were days where John was vastly different in his behavior, days where he acted with kindness and consideration toward her. Moments where he went to great lengths to please her, because he deemed it profitable and correct in the situation. His bland attempts at being romantic were in fact quite honest and triggered foreign emotions, which he did not understand but still found arousing on their own. He enjoyed the intimacy of having her within an arm's reach at all time, however shallow the sensation of intimacy actually was. Calling her pet names, complimenting her appearance and touching her was all part of the game. Everything he said and did was an attempt to appease her sense of self-worth. It was part of his trademark dualistic behavior, but also part of his ever-present desire to dominate and conquer. The threat of punishment was always lurking somewhere below the surface.

“Tell me sweetie... How would you like to be rewarded for your fine performance tonight?” The question was as innocent, as the glimpse in his eyes was dangerous. Her beauty was undeniable, irresistible. She wore the lack of makeup with an elegance, which reminded him of his younger years. He adored how the thick mane of red hair framed her face and contrasted to her fair skin and blue eyes. Even her choice of clothes was to his taste. Then again, he had taught her to be, what she was - had he not? He held the chair for her, as she sat down, and reached around her to pour champagne into the two glasses on the table. He dropped the bottle on the table, and a little smile appeared on his lips as he withdrew his arm and let it brush briefly against her hair. Fingers dug into her long strands of fire, combed her hair in slow, gentle movements.

“Perhaps you would like something new to wear? A brand new dress, hmm? A little red thing that can really enhance your looks and make all the men run wild with desire. Would you like that, hmm?” His hands had found a new target; Pressing his palms against her shoulders, he gently massaged her skin and breathed into her hair. It went on like that for several moments, until he suddenly changed tactics and pushed her hair aside to uncover her neck. Two fingers went in between the bare skin and the golden collar around her neck. He twisted it slightly to the left and across her neck, to expose the capital P etched into it's surface. He never ceased to enjoy the ambiguous nature offered by using a single letter for ornamentation. It could mean so many different things. P for Pratchett; P for Pet; P for Possession; P for Pain and P for Pathetic... It could even allude to her mother's middle name, Patricia. But above all, John associated the P with the pet name he only used when they were alone and most intimate. P stood for Puppy... as in Pratchett's own, little, sweet fuck puppy.

“Perhaps you would like a new piece of jewelery? Is that it? A necklace with a little locket to go with it. Or maybe... just maybe...” He leaned closer to her face, the tip of his nose touching her cheek, his teeth sinking into her earlobe for a short moment. His voice was a whisper that guided his hot breath directly into her ear, while his two fingers played at the edge of her collar. Then he pulled at it, playfully and sternly all at once, and he heard how the sudden assault on her neck made her gasp for air. “Maybe you want me to take this off? Would you like that, my little puppy? Do you want to know how it feels to be free again, even if just for a little while? Free to do whatever you want? Free to feel insatiable pleasure? What do you say? Shall we take it off?”

The majority of girls owned by the company did not have the freedom of choice in anything they did. Their privacy was limited to their bed, the clothes they wore, and a few hours at night where they were completely on their own. They were taught that a free mind was undesirable, and many a girl had paid dearly for not comprehending that fact in time. Even when offered two alternatives by a superior, one did well to go for the conservative option. Behavior that indicated free will and personal desires was usually punished. Now John urged his favorite to chose, to offer her point of view. The underlying hint in his voice was unmistakable, but not entirely defined by his words. Did she want her freedom enough to agree, and did she realize what it meant to do so? Was she smart enough to look past his offer, and see where he was going with it? In the end, it was all about sex.

Sex was quite common in the stables of ConnectEVE. Every product manager was allowed to fuck his girls however he – or, less commonly, she – saw fit, as long as the girl in question was not a virgin. There existed no rules that prevented girls from forming relationships with their own kind, just like masturbation was not directly forbidden. However, both were strictly taboo, and the product managers were free to punish such behavior as they deemed it necessary. John plainly refused to have his girl indulge in such activities, and all of his girls knew the punishment for crossing the line. So there was – with a few, healthy exceptions – no acts of self-pleasuring among his girls.

In that light, sex could also function as a reward. If used correctly, it was among the most powerful rewards available to any leaders within the company. Sadly, only a few of the superiors seemed to understand how to use it optimally. They just messed the girls around, and John was really no different. It was all about satisfying one's needs first, with little consideration to the how and why. Satisfying a woman sexually could be extremely hard, and it was not always worth it. He knew it from personal experience. He usually reached his own climax long before the lucky other at the end of his escapades did, and using a girl made it much easier to ignore anything else than himself. But there were times where John took a step back from his own lust and used sex as a reward to great effect. And as everything else in ConnectEVE, sexual rewards had more than one purpose; keeping the girls in a limbo between sweet relief and frustrating nothingness assured their obedience. Sex equaled control, in other words. But only if used correctly, only if he forced himself to be slow, gentle and good. Lydia, especially, had benefited from this perverse restrain of himself on more than one occasion, simply because she was obedient enough to stir his thoughts in that direction. It further emphasized his claim: Good girls got to scream in delight. Bad girls got to scream in terror. Simple as that!

“Maybe you would rather have something else? A little touch of sweet bliss? Do you think you deserve that?” He licked her ear slowly, continued to pull at the collar around her neck with the fingers of his right hand, while his left hand played dangerously at the neckline of her top. “Maybe you would just like to get an orgasm? When was the last time you had one? Hmm? How long has it been since you last felt those sweet contractions inside?” Teeth embraced her earlobe again, pulled at it as though he was a lion cub seeking his mother's attention. He resumed the licking of her ear, stuck his tongue into the entrance of her ear canal as far as it could reach, withdrew and pushed into it again repeatedly. It left her ear in a wet, slippery mess, as a reminder of how a night with John Pratchett could also turn out. “Or did you have something completely different in mind? Care to tell me about it, puppy?”

And then, it all came to an end. He eased his hold on the collar, withdrew his hands and stepped back to his chair. His eyes were over her like a hawk the minute he sat down in his seat again, but his calm breath and the expression on his face left no clue about his feelings whatsoever. Everything was like it was supposed to be. Now it was her decision. She could either embrace his invitation and give in to whatever desire she felt, or she could try to talk or charm her way out. She was exactly where he wanted her. An no matter what she decided, no matter what she said...

He would get her either way...

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

“Oh Ginger? Come and sit by me while I revel in this evening's wonderful results. We are expanding the business, and that calls for celebrations! Especially since you, my little puppy, played a most important part in landing the contract. That Thomson guy was really into you, with good reason... you look enchanting, just like always.”

Honestly, she should have felt dirty. She should have felt used. She should have felt manipulated. She should have felt ashamed. And if Ginger had been a normal, free woman, employed by John Pratchett, paid by John Pratchett, then she most assuredly would felt exactly like that... dirty, used, manipulated, and ashamed. In fact, truth be told, if the girl had been Alexandra, as originally planned, Alex would have felt all those things, along with angry. She would have hid it well, of course. But all those emotions would have been racing thru her at this very moment, if it had been her.

But this was Ginger. His grip on her was so absolute, that all she could feel was relief that she had done well, and that he was pleased. Relief and fear. Fear was a given with her. Ginger was with Pratchett most of the time. The poor girl lived in a heightened state of fear. To displease him, well, she had seen what he had just done to Alex. She had been on the receiving end of that very same cane, altho she had to admit, he seemed to be particularly vicious during his punishment of Alex, and she was not quite sure why. More than likely it was because he was under the stress of the upcoming meeting. He never liked anybody or anything interrupting his zen, when it came to meetings with new/potential investors. But Ginger could never claim to know what her Master was thinking or feeling. She was not nearly as good at reading people... judging people's emotions... that Alex was.

Why had Pratchett chosen her? Why had he not chosen someone else. Truth be told, there were others in Pratchett's collection of pets. Lydia and Rosanna, who both worked the Club, were 2 of them. Why had he chosen her to add to his collection? It was a question she had wondered about during her entire training, at his hand. She had been the rebellious one between her and Murial. Murial had been much more timid and meek and well, submissive. Ginger, on the other hand, had been the typical wild teen. She never fully understood why her and Murial ended up where they were, other than her Father had betrayed them... sold them into slavery, to Pratchett, to ConnectEve. Needless to say, Ginger had no love left for her Father. Not anymore. But as rebellious as she had been, she had learned her lesson tho, and now, at 21, she was his willing, and submissive.. pet... his puppy... but she couldn't help but wonder, yet again, why her, as he called her over to sit by him.

"...you look enchanting, just like always.” Ginger knew what he liked when it came to how she looked. At least that part was easy. "Thank you Master" her voice trailing off. When he was like this, acting like this, it was always a little scary for her.... Disturbing...Creepy. It was as if him being all syrupy sweet was a coating. a disguise, a front, for what he was really thinking, feeling, a sugar coating for whatever depraved or vicious action he was about to use on her, or do to her, or make her do. Or worse, a prelude to a savage punishment, even if she had performed perfectly for him.

“Tell me sweetie... How would you like to be rewarded for your fine performance tonight?” The question was innocent, or at least it should have been innocent. But she knew better than to answer, silence was the safe route at this very tenuous moment. Ginger took that moment to dare a glance, a very quick glance, into his eyes, and in that millisecond glimpse, she could see that flicker... evil, dangerous..
and so very cruel...

“Perhaps you would like something new to wear? A brand new dress, hmm? A little red thing that can really enhance your looks and make all the men run wild with desire. Would you like that, hmm?” Fingers almost gently raking thru her long, slightly wild mane. The warm wash of his breath as he took a long sample of her scent. Ginger stayed stock still, knowing better than to move. A quiet whimper escaped
her lips, almost sounding like a low purr. But it was not a sound of contentment, it was the sound of fear. A red dress, he mentioned a red dress, like the one Alex had been wearing. Just that small, almost Freudian slip sent a chilling jolt thru her. Hands massaging her shoulders now, fingers curling into the golden collar that encircled her throat. Ginger tried to remain stilled, she tried, but she could not stop the slight quivering, the barest tremble of her body now. The fear she felt, so deep within her, enveloping her...

“Perhaps you would like a new piece of jewelry? Is that it? A necklace with a little locket to go with it. Or maybe... just maybe...” He leaned closer to her face, the tip of his nose touching her cheek, his teeth sinking into her earlobe for a short moment. His voice was a whisper that guided his hot breath directly into her ear, while his two fingers played at the edge of her collar. Then he pulled at it, playfully and sternly all at once, and he heard how the sudden assault on her neck made her gasp for air. “Maybe you want me to take this off? Would you like that, my little puppy? Do you want to know how it feels to be free again, even if just for a little while? Free to do whatever you want? Free to feel insatiable pleasure? What do you say? Shall we take it off?”


Freedom... to be free.. of him... free of her collar... free of all of this... she almost sighed at the thought, almost begged him for that small chance. But, in reality, it would never happen... it was nothing more than another part of the game he played, the traps he tended to set... She had been taught that, thru experience. She would never be free. She would always belong to him... And worse...there really were no correct answers to any of his questions, but that one particularly had NO correct answer. He was playing now... playing his game. He was the Predator, toying with his prey. It didn't matter anymore if she answered or not, or what those answers would be. The outcome was almost certainly predetermined. Ginger just did not have the luxury of knowing what that outcome would be.

“Maybe you would rather have something else? A little touch of sweet bliss? Do you think you deserve that?” He licked her earlobe slowly, continued to pull at the collar around her neck and tickling his fingertips along her neckline, just a little reminder that he could rip it off her and take her right there, and there was nothing she could, or ever would, dare to do about it, other than enjoy it. “Maybe you would just like to get an orgasm? When was the last time you had one? Hmm? How long has it been since you last felt those sweet contractions inside?” Teeth embraced her earlobe again, pulled at it as though he was a lion cub seeking his mother's attention. "Or did you have something completely different in mind? Care to tell me about it, puppy?”

And again, there were no right answers to his questions. At least not the questions that required her opinion, or her expressing her wants, her needs, her desires. There would never be a correct answer for those. As for the last orgasm, Ginger knew that was pretty much rhetorical. She could ONLY orgasm at his command. When and where he wanted. In fact, just he uttering the word, almost sent her over the edge. He had conditioned her well, trained her unrelentingly, to finally be able to cum upon command, no matter what. She had felt her body tense, her clit twitch, her pussy tighten, just when he said the word, even to he did not command it... yet... And he obviously knew all of this... and he obviously was very much enjoying this all too familiar game he was playing with her...

And then, the game was over. He released his hold upon her collar, stood up, and stepped back to where he once sat. Ginger did not move, not a muscle. She could feel his eyes, roaming over her, owning her, almost raping her, as she sat there. The look within those eyes was simple... "Mine".... And.. Ginger knew what this meant as well. He had played this game with her before. It was never the same. An answer that may have appeased him one time, could enrage him another time. Pratchett was nothing if not unpredictable.

Now it was her decision, as strange thought that may be. Some Master's, perhaps when giving their slave a choice, or expecting their slave to express their own desires, would appreciate a girl having the will and the strength to express said desire, or make said choice. Other Master's, not so much. Ginger had learned that Pratchett was different than any other Dominant she had dealt with. Not that she ever dealt sexually with any other than Pratchett, but in general, she did. Being at his side, or at his feet, most of the time, she did see and experience how other Master's well... functioned... from how they treated their own slaves, to what they expected from her. But again, Pratchett was entirely different... a horse of a different color, one might say.

"Master" she knew to always begin with that, always acknowledge just what he was... "your puppy, is more than pleased that she did you proud." she paused.. It may have sounded weird, speaking in 3rd person, but Ginger knew there were times when he expected that. When he expected that she saw herself as nothing, except his possession, his pet, his slave. She was... His puppy... the collar, and the brand, a P scarred into her left asscheek, were proof of that fact. Altho even without the collar, or the brand, she would still be his... always...

But, there were times when he also expected her to answer honestly. One thing Pratchett hated, and Ginger learned this, was either lying to him, or hiding something from him. He knew that right now, she was terrified. He surely could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and see it as she trembled.

"Master... You control my life, from every breath I take, to every orgasm you allow me to enjoy. I desire only to please you, I desire only to serve you, and I beg that you do not remove the collar from my throat. But honestly, even if you did, Master, I would crawl to your feet. A golden collar is not what marks me as yours, Master. I am yours no matter the collar that adorns me." she turned her stunning blues eyes to him, those eyes the very windows to her soul, a soul that he had managed to chain as well... "if this girl could beg for anything... "she slid from the chair to her knees, at his feet, "I beg to be allowed to dance for you. To be allowed to show you, Master, yet another talent that your puppy has." Ginger knew that Alex could dance, and Alex could and had danced in these kinds of meetings, as entertainment and proof of training and worth. She had always yearned to dance. She practiced whenever she was alone. Plus, it was something she could beg for, as a reward, that would please him. Ginger knew that he would not be pleased if she just pulled the "I only want to please you" card. He had specifically questioned her about what "she" wanted as a reward. She had to answer. She had no choice. He played a very dangerous game and Ginger had tried to learn how to play it with him, and survive. "please Master, let me show you how good I am"... The last of her words were spoken as she lowered her head to his feet, brushing each leather shoe with a glide of her moist lips, tendrils of red spilling out along the floor.... It was this position that she remained in until his answer..... she dared not move....

~*~​

“Alex? Alexandra... can you hear me? Are you awake? Alexandra? Can you speak to me?”
“Are you thirsty? Don't try to move just yet. You took quite a... well, you need rest. Lots of it. I know you are in pain, and you probably feel... betrayed. But I assure you, I'm only here to help."

Pain did not even begin to describe what was coursing thru her veins at this moment. She hurt everywhere. But even worse was the fact that she had no idea where she was, or who was talking to her at the moment. That, could be even worse than what she had already endured. But Alex had no strength at all to even think about fighting or protecting herself. None at all.

She shifted slightly when she felt the moistened touch of his fingers to her lips. And ever so slowly, she parted those lips to taste the water, she running the soft tip of her tongue along those fingertips. "Thirsty" she managed to whisper, finally opening her eyes to try and focus on who was sitting before her. It took a minute, it took several blinks of her eyes, but finally she managed to see who was speaking to her, and offering her water. For a minute she had thought, in horror, that it was Pratchett, but her mind told her it was not. He would never treat her this way after such a punishment. He would have left her on that floor to die...

On the floor...

Laying on the floor...

Alex began to remember what happened. From her outburst when she saw Pratchett slug Tom, to her begging apology, to her horrific punishment, to collapsing on the floor. She even remembered that someone, but she was not sure who, picked her up. That was when she allowed herself to pass out. That... was when she at least felt safe...

No, this was not Pratchett or one of his goons. Not even Gregory, that one bodyguard she remembered. No, this was someone else.

"I'm only here to help."

"Tom?" That was his name, right? She was almost surprised that she had even dared to say his name.. Tom.. the newest Product Manager. Wait, now she remembered. Pratchett had... had.. given her to him. But where was she? She tried to move, but could only moan in pain as any movement whatsoever caused another wave of agony to flood over her. "My fault" she managed to speak again, drawing on her inner strength... "I should have known better"... and she knew she should have. She was so much smarter than this. She never should have had that outburst and certainly not in front of Pratchett. What had gotten into her? Her breath caught as she tried to find comfort again, moving just a bit, before finally resigning herself to making herself sit up. "Thirsty" she managed to voice once more. With a low groan, she finally got into a sitting position on the bed, and gratefully accepted the the cup of water... "Thank you... T" she hesitated... then continued... "thank you ... Master"....

She had managed to survive without having to utter that word to anyone other than Pratchett. Now, every girl in ConnectEve, product and owned, had to call Pratchett Master, there was no choice in the matter. But now, she was no longer... well... the elite, if one wanted to call it that. And as she uttered that word... Master... a tear slid down her cheek.

She was obviously in pain, but moreso, Alex felt completely humiliated and ashamed. And, she felt weak. And Alex hated feeling weak. She had sworn to never let another punish her like that again, well, she had never been caned like that before, but she had sworn she would never be so vulnerable again, like she had been when in training. Then, a whip was used, or a crop. But with just a slip of the tongue, in a moment of not thinking but instead just reacting, it had happened... Was it because she found herself attracted to Tom, something she had not felt in such a long, long time??? Was that what had caused the outburst, when Pratchett punched Tom? She didn't even really know him, why... would she do that. Was she that... lonely??

She looked at Tom again. She was not sure what part he had to play or even had played, in this. to be honest. That part her memory was a bit fuzzy on. She knew Pratchett had mentioned him, she remembered that, Pratchett had spoke to Tom while she was, of course, screaming. But she was not sure what, or why, or any of the particulars. Swallowing hard, she set the water down on the bedside table. "Where are we?" she finally had to ask. She knew it was not one of the rooms at Pratchett's hotel, and she was thankful for that.

"The Columbia Star Hotel "

Alex paused to try and remember that name. She had heard it before. Yes, the Columbia Star Hotel. Several clients, some of the more famous clients, and yes, celebrities were known to buy the "product" that ConnectEve sold, had mentioned staying there. She knew it was discreet, which at the moment, was a good thing. The fact that Tom knew about it, told her, even in her pain filled, weakened state, that there was more to him than meets the eye. The Columbia Star Hotel was not known among the more "common" folk, if one wanted to put it that way. Hell, it was more expensive to stay in than the Hotel ConnectEve owned and operated. How could Tom afford it? If he had that kind of money, he'd be purchasing the product and not selling it...

"thank you" she said again. She had heard everything he had said, from asking her if she could speak, to telling her to rest, to commenting on that she had taken quite the beating. Well, he hadn't actually said that, but eluded to it. "Thank you for not leaving me on that floor. He... would have killed me if he found me there after the meeting" She was not sure if he knew that or not. "and yes, I took quite a beating" she acknowledged for him. "I won't let that happen again...." Alex reached out and laid her hand on his as she spoke, "I won't let that happen... again" she repeated, as if a mantra to herself. "I won't ... let... that ... happen ... again... " This time she took his hand and brought it to her lips. Her movements were slow, but she willed herself to get thru the pain. "Thank you... Master" she again said, brushing the softness of her lips, now moist from the water, to his hand in a gentle kiss......

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

He twisted the crop by the handle, twirled it back and forth in the sweaty palm of his hand as though the repeated action would calm him down, or prepare him for what was so come next. His brown eyes continued to follow the slender lines of her back, all the way from her bottom to the tattoo between her shoulders. She was on her knees; sitting on a thick rug and with her hands resting on the top of the bench. He could see how much she was trembling. The sight of her body – bared and exposed to him alone – aroused him in the most insatiable way possible. His young body desired her. His hands wanted to explore her curves; his tongue wanted to taste her skin; his ears wanted to hear her moan; his manhood wanted to push into her again and again until they both climaxed. It frustrated him to know it was not going to happen tonight; that much had become clear to him the moment she had gripped his wrist and led him into the room. She had not even blinked an eye when she pulled her clothes off and instructed him to tie her to the bench. What else could he do other than comply with her demands?

“I'm not sure this is such a good idea. I don't want to hurt you.”

It was the second evening of his initiation. His private training. She had brought him to the very same room less than twenty-four hours ago under the false pretext of showing him some new features of the business. He had been surprised when he realized the only features she wanted to show him was her own. She was seventeen years older than him, but attractive in so many ways it felt impossible to keep track of every aspect of her beauty. Her bosom, her waist and her ample thighs had all been uncovered to the fullest and left him aching for more. She had ensnared him with the depth of her beautiful self, and she had taken him for her own pleasure. Except, he had been a willing victim of her assault. He had let himself be taken, and she was a good teacher.

“You will hurt me more if you don't do it, sweetie...”

They were in the mirror room, a place usually mean for the most wealthy and tasteful customers. But despite it's reputation, it actually was a quite small room. Every surface was covered by a layer of thick mirror glass, which allowed any event that took place inside the room to be cast back and viewed by it's guests from every possible angle. There was no ornamentation in the corners and no objects meant to improve the detail of the decoration. The furniture only consisted of a large bed and a bench of wood, both located next to each other at the center of the room. The red rug, which she was kneeling on in front of him, had covered the bench the first time he had been there, but every exquisite detail had been revealed with the change of events; a multitude of iron shackles and leather straps was part of it's design.

He had been introduced to the bed when she seduced him. The same event had convinced him of the value of the mirrored walls and ceiling, as it enhanced his pleasure twofold. No matter where he looked, he got a perfect view of her, sitting on top of him with her back arched and her head tossed backwards in visible delight. One reflection allowed him to see her from behind, another presented him with a view of her face, her closed eyes and her parted lips... It made the situation so incredibly hot, and the memory alone was enough to fill his body and mind with lust. He carried his frustration in secret, but the evening ahead was dedicated to something else entirely. And he would obey, of course. She was his boss, after all. His benefactor. Now he had become her toy as well, and like he was her apprentice... so was she his master.

“Your wish is my command , Jessica...”

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For some reason, it made him smile to hear her speak his name. Not because it pleased him to have her call out to him specifically. Rather, it was because she recognized his voice and linked it together with his identity, his name. Her earlier attempt at communicating had only been a vague plea for water, something that did not give any hint of her mental state. If she was not her usual self, she would even have asked a man like Pratchett for help. By saying his name, she proved to him that she was not only conscious, but also able to focus on her surroundings and make intelligent deductions based upon what she saw and heard. Even though he knew the severe bruises on her back were not lethal in the common sense, her condition had still worried him a great deal. The simple fact that she finally responded was enough to provide him a moment of peace. He watched her move ever so slightly, heard the painful moan that escaped her lips and he reached out to support her. It was unwise of her to strain herself by sitting up, but he was certain she would do so regardless of what he said. So he kept his right hand hovering above her arm, just in case she actually wanted to give it a shot. Her voice was weak, but she clearly fought hard to convey a distinct message to him through small phrases of words. She claimed it was her own fault, which was something he could not really agree with. No one deserved the kind of punishment she had suffered, and no person in their right mind could justify the brutality of the act itself.

She was thirsty as well. It seemed his little trick of wetting her lips had made her body aware that it's resources were running out, and it didn't take long before she moved again. He stared at her, while she forced her body into a sitting position on the bed. His free hand followed every movement of her arm without ever touching her skin. Once she looked just a bit comfortable, he withdrew his hand and offered her the cup of water. She thanked him and called him master. Her choice of word was unusual, but he simply contributed it to her current situation. With everything that had transpired, it was not entirely unlikely for her to have ambivalent feelings about him. Maybe she was secretly afraid of him, because he neglected to stop the punishment sooner, but it was more likely that she was just tired and not completely aware of what she was saying. In the end, he could only smile at her visible appreciation and hope she had not noticed what he had just done.

Sometimes, a single tear shed in agony could convey a more complex message than one thousand words of logic could. A spontaneous tear could ignite suppressed emotions in the other half of a heated argument, it could disarm a cruel offense or be a way for people to connect. However, if it was ignored or overlooked by the surroundings, the tear would not be anything else than a drop of liquid. It would remain a bitter symbol of something lost, forgotten or neglected. In the scene that played out between the two guests of the Columbia Star Hotel, the lonesome tear shed by the woman went by completely unnoticed by the man. Despite the fact he was sitting right next to her on the bed, he failed to look at her at the exact moment it happened. He had his reasons. In the few moments that followed her struggle to sit up, he had found himself mesmerized at what he saw. She had been so focused on quenching her thirst that she had not bothered to cover herself with the blanket. At first, his eyes had shamelessly scavenged her upper body for details, and truly, every visible detail had been imprinted into his mind. The soft rounding of her breasts, the firm skin of her belly... even the visible hint of her ribs seemed to draw his attention in a unnatural way. He was both surprised and embarrassed at his own reaction, and he quickly turned his eyes elsewhere and tried to appear unaffected by her appearance.

Tom had been in close contact with the opposite sex since he was fourteen years old. It had started out so innocently, with him following his father to work at the club closest to their house. For his father, it had been a dull routine check of the facilities before the evening's lucrative open hours. It was not a place for kids, but the process fascinated the young man greatly; especially the women seemed to draw his attention. His father, who was a practical man with great ambitions for his son, had encouraged him to take a look around and get acquainted with the place. As expected, the poor boy quickly ran into trouble when he walked headfirst into the ladies dressing room – much to the amusement of his father, John Pratchett and about every other male member of the staff. His reckless action and pointless curiosity taught him a lesson, but also gave him a humiliating nickname within the club. 'Peeping Tom', they called him. That is, until he had worked at the club for two years, and finally had grown into enough of a man to get back at whoever dared to mock him with that name. After two years as a makeshift bouncer and receptionist at the club, Tom's father felt it was time for a change of pace for his son. With a driver's license in hand, the young man was sent on his merry way to start work as a driver for the luxurious escort agency “Cupid's Psyche”.

It was quite a situation for the young man. At the club, he was literately surrounded by lightly dressed women. Topless women, stripping women... naked women. There was always some odd occasion or some wicked excuse for both men and women to tease him. He struggled to fit in, because no one cared about the little boy with the influential father. And, shy as he was, Tom was easy to bring down. The prospect of working in such an environment had excited him greatly, but the adventure quickly turned into hard work. The men would push him around, and the women would tickle his blooming feeling of being a man by asking him naughty questions. Sometimes they would just ignore him completely, which was actually much worse in his eyes. Eventually, he learned to tackle it the best he could, and he also learned to conceal his initial excitement at watching the bared features of a tempting female body. In the end, one could only look at so many naked women before one was fed up by the sight. When he had worked at the escort agency for one and a half year, he had adapted so well that he started to block it out. So what if he drove around town with a limousine full of topless women? They were undressed for the sake of making a profit. Some of the girls he worked with had come to the same conclusion; to them it was not a big deal to be naked in front of an audience. It was what they did for a living, it was the very thing that kept their little world afloat.

But now the seasons had changed. Ever since he started over, he had fought hard to find his footing in a new way of life. A lifestyle, in which privacy meant everything to the people he surrounded himself with. More than anything, physical privacy was important to them. Showing a bit of skin was no big deal, but he was oblivious to the intimate, physical details of his female friends. That was how things was in a normal existence, and even flirtatious behavior – something he had had to endure a lot in his last years at Jessica Hunton's office – was frowned upon as asocial and unacceptable. In other words, Tom had finally found his way to a life of boredom and triviality, a world where people pretended to be close, but was too afraid to accept who or what they were.

The only woman he had seen naked in the last five years was his fiance. Debbie was sweet, Debbie was innocent. To a certain degree, she was everything he would ever need. Yes, Debbie was sweet, but also a bit boring. She always seemed satisfied and happy. She lacked any sense of adventure and had no interest in tampering with something that apparently worked. She wanted flowers and kittens, hated horror and suspense. Her parents adored their son-in-law, and showered him with shallow praise to an extend where it bordered on the extreme. They both expected Tom and their daughter to provide the next generation of 'Delany-Smith's. Preferably five, two boy and three girls. Oh yes, and with a big family came the need for a new house, a bigger car and a dog to add to the beautiful image of a happy family. He had no one to blame other than himself. After all, he had been fully aware of the consequences when he proposed to Debbie six months ago...

However, Tom's thoughts did not really revolve around his girlfriend in the situation at hand. In an attempt to avoid staring at Alexandra's inviting forms again, he kept his brown eyes focused solely on the features of her face. He felt a weak tickling in his cheeks, and knew what it meant. What was he blushing for all of a sudden? What was there even to be embarrassed about? He had undressed her earlier - that much was true - but he had not taken advantage of the situation; his mind had simply neglected to comprehend whatever intimate details his eyes had picked up during the short happening. Did he react like he this, because she was awake and completely indifferent to what her appearance did to him? Sure, she was very attractive, but was that really enough to provoke the beginning of an erection in his trousers? No matter what the truth really was, he was determined not to look at her upper body again. Except...

“The Columbia Star Hotel. That is where we are.” He answered her question in an absent-minded fashion, slow and somewhat shyly. The reason was silly; the moment he had decided not to enjoy the sight of her nudity again, she had moved forward in her seat on the bed and placed the cup of water on the bedside table. Three seconds was all it took for her to do so. Three tiny seconds was all his eyes needed to betray him and skim over the outline of her bust once more. He felt absolutely helpless, but managed to compose himself enough to answer her question. “I'm not sure if you are familiar with the location of the hotel. We are not too far away from the Club, but there's no need to be afraid. You will be safe here.”

She thanked him again, with words and an expression that only made his guilt so much more apparent. There she was, sitting on the bed with bruises on her back and a dire need to be heard and supported... and he just worried about not looking at her in a way that indicated anything else than friendly intentions. She was certain Pratchett would have killed her, if she had not been able to get out of the room. The notion sent shivers down his spine, but a tiny voice in the back of his mind also told him her fear was reasonable given the circumstances. The brutality John Pratchett had put on display made it easy to believe her theory. For some odd reason, she found it necessary to tell him that she would never let herself be punished again. Much to Tom's surprise, she laid her hand upon his and repeated her statement a couple of times before she finally brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. Obedient and gentle, her lips brushed over his skin in a way that caused him to shiver slightly. However, the overwhelming act of gratitude was nothing compared to what she did, when she thanked him yet again.

The term, which she addressed him by, both shocked and disturbed him greatly. It was a monicker meant for very few people, a specific word full of power. Master. She had used the same word about him earlier, but he had dismissed it as a result of the stress she had been through. After all, she had only just regained consciousness at the time she said it. But now that she had referred to him in the same manner again and even went as far as to kiss his hand, it made him wonder if she actually meant what she said. How did she get the impression that she was now his possession? More importantly, why did she silently accept the idea? It did not fit into his impression of her as a strong and independent woman. Then again, they had only just met, so how much could he possibly know the finer details of the person underneath the fancy clothes she wore? Her attitude and behavior hinted at someone, who was content with her purpose in life. She was a possession, owned and punishable by the company. Even so, she had let him know that she was above the ordinary products; she was a woman in a man's world, but she was not weak.

“Stop calling me that.” There was nothing hostile in Tom's voice, but it did not hide the fact his reply was a direct command; something that was enhanced further when he forcefully pulled his hand away from her lips and turned his back at her. “This is not a game, Alexandra! You said it yourself; Pratchett could have killed you back there, so playing games is not in your own interest right now. Saving you does not make me your Master. I would lie, if I told you, I only signed the contract to save you, because I had other interests in mind as well. I don't keep slaves, so stop calling me Master. And for god's sake, cover yourself up!” He got up from the bed and went to the only window of the room to create a sense of distance between them. He looked out at the street below, and let out a silent sigh while he tried to bring some order to his thoughts and feelings. The implication of having someone like her call him Master was simply too much to comprehend at the moment. It was not the kind of person he was. “Look...When we met earlier today, I was not prepared to accept what you told me. Some of the things I said to you came out the wrong way. They were harsh. Much more than I intended them to be. You have to understand I was no different from you once. Or well, I was not...”

A slave. That was the word he was about to use. S-l-a-v-e. The very same word he had used to describe her earlier, when he was so full of himself and his high morale that it could last for the whole world. He had meant to belittle her, back then, but now he only felt pity for her. Pity, shame and shock. Not only had she called him Master, but he had also acted in a way that clearly put him in a position above her. “I was not forced into the business like you were, and I've never sold women as slaves. However, I have worked in a similar setting. I have helped women promote and sell their bodies for the best prize available. When I was young, I transported and guarded them when they were out doing their thing. Later, I found myself at another, more powerful spot in the business. I have seen some disturbing shit in my time, but the things Pratchett has going on with ConnectEVE... that's just sick. I'm sorry I took it out on you. You are a victim like any other possession of the company, and I realize that now.”

“How long has this been going on?” Tom struggled with himself whether or not he should turn toward her again. The personal quality of his question demanded a level of intimate honesty, which he could not achieve without looking at her. Maybe she had neglected to cover herself, but it was a risk he had to take. So, keeping his eyes down, he turned away from the window and went toward the bed again. He sat down at the edge of the bed and stared into the wall next to her. “I mean... the abuse... the physical punishments... the slavery? How old are you? How long have you been forced to endure this way of living? What events brought a woman of your talents to a place like this? I've known plenty of poor, depraved girls without a future. Some were guided by the desire for drugs, others just couldn't find a way out of their personal hell. But you are different; If you were not bound to serve ConnectEVE, you would have any chance at living a decent life without fear and oppression...”

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

Every word uttered by the young woman in front of him was like sweet music to his ears. From the humble action of speaking in 3'rd person, to her respectful pronunciation of his title... it all appealed to his sense of identity. It was clear he had trained her well, and she knew just what buttons to push without crossing any lines or boring him to death. He enjoyed hearing her beg, liked it when she squirmed under the weight of his control. It pleased him, whenever she fell to her knees and bowed down to kiss his feet, and he reveled in his supremacy, whenever she diminished her own worth to be lower than the dirt under his shoes. She had done the same just now; lowered her head and covered his feet with the red locks of hair in an instant repeat of everything he had taught her. She claimed she wanted to dance for him. Ginger - his most priced possession, his little puppy girl - wanted to show how good she apparently was at controlling her body in an arousing dance; a dance meant for his eyes alone.

John liked a challenge. Even when it concerned a request from one of his girls, he preferred it to be unexpected and different. Because, evidently, the unexpected was a challenge on it's own. At the same time, he could be sure none of his girls would ever ask for the impossible, as their requests usually revolved around simple things like a few hours of privacy or a little piece of makeup or glitter. They never dared ask for more, either. Now, of all the tings she would dare to ask for, this was so unlikely that he couldn't help but smile slightly, if only to cover up his own surprise. It even proved that underneath the fear, which was so clearly visible in her eyes, she was intelligent enough to ask him for something new. She was quite literately playing along. Although it was hard for him to control his curiosity, there was one specific question that interested him far more than the rest.

After years of being dominated, she knew what he expected of her. He did not remember granting any of his girls dancing lessons, so presumably, everything Ginger had to offer in her dance, was something she had taught herself. If that was the case, it certainly presented them with interesting odds. She had to be 100% certain she could live up his demands. She would not dare to put her abilities on display, unless she measured them to be adequate to his taste. Anything else would be as good as suicide or even worse. Her master did not approve of decadence or halfhearted attempts, especially when it concerned his girls. They either did something with flying colors, or stayed completely out of sight. There was nothing in between those two extremes, no other option. So, why did she want to dance for him in the first place? What made her willing to risk anything for the sake of showing him how good her skills were? She could just as easily have asked for permission to climax, right there on the chair in front of him. Of course, such a request would have caused him to slap her around and humiliate her quite a bit, but she would have been safe – and he would have granted her the permission she so desired, if only to live up to his own standards. Nothing was certain now, the possibilities seemed endless and it excited him a great deal.

Ginger was not stupid. In fact, none of his girls were low on intelligence; he knew that much from experience. Even though he had been forced to punish them at times, they all knew and understood how it worked. In the beginning, Ginger was the most rebellious individuals of his collection, but he had left no stone unturned in his quest to correct her. He had corrected her, like only a man of his personality could. Later, he had found himself occupied with transforming other girls. Julie and Bridgette had both been quite a handful to begin with, but he had rid them of their spirit long, long ago. However, he always made sure to make good use of their bright minds. They knew what was at stake for them – yes, potentially for all the girls in his harem - if they failed him. In the end, he knew there would always be aspects of their personality, which he could not control. Pratchett did not approve of intrigues in his private stable, at least not in any official capacity, but that did not prevent him from playing his girls off against each other from time to time. Jealousy was an interesting instrument, one that kept the girls from sticking together in a potentially dangerous alliance of mutual suffering. Plus, it was quite amusing to watch two or more girls fight for his attention, especially when the supposed 'loser' of the competition was facing a punishment as reward for the failure.

John had once overheard one of his product managers comment on how the big boss of the company had “one girl for each day in the week”. As funny as the comment was, it was not even remotely close to the truth. There were periods where he would 'tour' from girl to girl, but Ginger usually took up most of his time. He simply kept the other girls around for diversion. Different shades of hair color, different types of personality. All of his girls had a certain thing about them that made them unique. Rosanna was fearful, silent and hard to read. She mainly spent her days in the Club, working to keep his rooms clean and tidy. She was the lowest in the hierarchy, number seven, and he rarely used her for anything else than work. Bridgette was widely regarded as number six, curvy and always good fun. Julie was short and open-minded; she obeyed him, but her eyes always deceived her. Anna was dark and exotic. Catherine had been bought from one of his Russian comrades, one who knew how to tame a girl to perfection. Lydia was sweet and obedient and always ready to please him. Strangely, she would often disregard his rules and crawl into his bedroom at night to sleep on the floor, just to get his attention. She was a sick little thing, with a daddy complex so unlike anything he had ever seen. It was safe to say he would have taken her as his special one, if Ginger had never showed up. Her... or perhaps that insolent girl, Alexandra.

Thinking about the young woman's screw-up brought a sour expression to his face. Not only had she been disrespectful to him, she had also triggered a response so intense that he had almost killed her on the spot. The power of dominance was not only about inflicting damage; it was about knowing the limits and showing the girls what could happen, if they misbehaved. The filthy tart had question his actions, and nothing she said or did could appease him after that point; Only by mutilating her with his cane, could he achieve satisfaction and avenge his lost pride. He had noticed the dark glares he received from young Delany throughout the ordeal. Heck, he didn't even have to look his way to know what the sight did to him. John knew him much better, than the young man realized. They had been about halfway through the punishment, when the idea of giving Alexandra to Tom came to him.

It was not uncommon practice for a man in John's position to surrender a girl to the mercy of an employee as a peculiar sort of present. Sometimes, the gift was limited to a few days or perhaps a week or a whole month. During that time, the girl essentially belonged to the lucky bastard. Not only was it a very... giving reward, it was also a testimony to the employee's value for the company. It symbolized that the individual had done well and was worth his salary. However, this deal with Alexandra was different from the usual cases. It had been a spontaneous decision on his part, and the more the thought about it, the more he doubted his own judgment. Asking the young man to take care of the woman was the same as granting him full control of her. By doing so, Pratchett effectively put the last nails into her coffin and established her a woman of a lesser rank. Little did it matter that she would remain a part of selling the products; Now that she belonged to someone, it only served to point out the obvious fact that she was a possession, an item, and basically no different from the other girls. The only thing it changed was her availability to the rest of the staff. If her Master wanted it so, he could offer her as a toy for any other product manager, at no cost and no risk. Though, knowing Tom, this was highly unlikely to happen. The young man had a history of holding on to the stuff he got in a almost frantic manner.

Yet, all his speculations could wait. He could always revoke his decision, if he felt like it, but he would just keep it going for now. Without interference and no rules. Free-for-all romance, if the young people so desired it. It was funny to crush the hopes of others. Speaking of hope...

“So...” He had allowed fifteen minutes to pass by in silence, fully aware of the sort of thoughts it sparked in the girl's mind to be kept in the dark. The longer it took for him to answer, the more tense she became. It had to be... so uncomfortable to retain the pose on the floor in front of him. There was a sense of perverse delight in knowing it physically strained her to display her obedience. As a result, he was in no hurry to acknowledge her presence or grant her permission to go ahead with her suggestion. She would remain on the floor until he gave her the sign she was waiting for. A little pad on the head, a deceptively kind remark... even slapping her left buttock – right on the P-shaped scar – was a sign he was listening. “My little puppy want to dance, does she? She wants to show how good she is, hmm? I like the sound of that. I just wonder about this one thing... how did she obtain this ability? Has she been disobedient? Has she learned it through irregular means?”

He pushed his chair backwards. Stood up and went down on his knees with slow, controlled movements. With one hand on the floor, and the other playing with a lock of her fiery hair, he positioned his face as close to hers as possible. His next statement was spoken in a low, threatening voice. “You know what happens to the unfaithful, or have you forgotten? You saw what happened to the other girl... your old friend Alexandra paid dearly for her mistake. Just like Lucile did. Oh, how she screamed. She got to know true pain. Then again, you also know a thing or two about pain...” His hand left her hair, followed her curves of her back all the way down to her bottom, where it finally stopped. Right on top of her left buttock, right above a mark she could neither hide nor erase from existence. His gentle caress of her bottom stood in stark contrast to the gravity of his words. “... you remember this, don't you? You are mine; I need not say it, but it's true. You are such a good puppy, because you know what it takes to please me. You have my permission to dance. Do well, and I'll reward you further.”

He deliberately left out the part detailing what would happen if she failed to please him. It somehow made things more interesting that way, for both of them. John was always prepared to administer just punishment to one of his girls, but Ginger, especially, was a source of eternal entertainment in that regard. As a result, she had his full attention, even when she was lying helpless on the floor. His eyes were on her at all time, his breath assaulted her with every word he spoke; even when he slowly pulled away from her, he let his hand travel up her back and through the red mane again. His fingers played almost childishly with her hair for a moment, before he rose from the floor and went back to sit on his chair. He watched her, eyebrows raised and arms crossed in front of his chest in reserved expectation. That was the moment where he finally gave her the signal; the sole of his leather shoe tapped against the floor and created an almost inaudible sound in the room. They had trained it for so long that it was impossible for her to miss it in any way.

The ball was in her court now, and he was enjoying the situation immensely.

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

“Stop calling me that.” There was nothing hostile in Tom's voice, but it did not hide the fact his reply was a direct command, something that was enhanced further when he forcefully pulled his hand away from her lips and turned his back to her. “This is not a game, Alexandra! You said it yourself; Pratchett could have killed you back there, so playing games is not in your own interest right now. Saving you does not make me your Master. I would lie, if I told you, I only signed the contract to save you, because I had other interests in mind as well. I don't keep slaves, so stop calling me Master. And for god's sake, cover yourself up!”

Alex swallowed hard, staying silent as he spoke. She had not meant to anger him. That was the last thing she needed, that's for sure. But she had also forgotten that he was new to this. He was not an experienced Master, at least not in this particular environment, and not an experienced Seller of this particular product. His reaction was completely understandable. But she could also hear the underlying, anger? Confusion? Stress? Or was it something else? He had gotten up and stepped away, almost pacing, as if a caged animal. It reminded her of Pratchett himself. He often paced as he got angrier and angrier, she had seen him do it may times. Too many times. The new Product Managers were always given a lesson in disciplining a .. girl. A lesson given by none other than Pratchett himself. And even tho it was merely a "lesson" and the girl chosen for that particular "demonstration" had not neccessarily done anything wrong, Pratchett always seemed to get angrier and angrier, pacing the floor, as he administered the "punishment"... and he often reveled in it. It was a disturbing presentation to say the least. But one that he felt was needed. Alex, unfortunately, was often forced to observe as well.

Silently, she watched him move to the window. It was an action she herself often took when she needed to get her mind calmed down and her thoughts straight. For her, gazing out the window let her experience a sense of freedom. Even when many stories ups, you could always see the people moving about below. Free people. People allowed to do, say, react, feel, decide, whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. How many times had she stood at a window, looking out over the city, and longed to be one of those people.

“Look...When we met earlier today, I was not prepared to accept what you told me. Some of the things I said to you came out the wrong way. They were harsh. Much more than I intended them to be. You have to understand I was no different from you once. Or well, I was not...”

“I was not forced into the business like you were, and I've never sold women as slaves...."

That was not quite what he started out to say, and Alex knew that. She easily detected that pause, between "I was not.... " and "forced into the business"... What was he going to say? He was not... what? He stated that he was no different than she was, once. What did he mean by that? He was never bought, never sold, never collared, never punished, never branded, never on his knees, never had to beg... wait... had he been? Had he experienced some of those things? Or had he.. done.. some of those things? He was not easy to read, Alex was beginning to realize. He kept his emotions, his thoughts, his everything, behind a very sturdy wall. He was hiding from, running from, or maybe trying to forget..... something. Was he a more experienced "Master" than she had thought? Was that way he reacted as he did? Was he trying to leave that life, that behavior, behind and be someone different? And, another question that popped into her mind as she sat there quietly, watching him, listening to him, observing him... how did he know John Pratchett? In the few moments before her outburst and subsequent punishment, and it was only a second or two, she got the sense, the feeling, that these 2 men knew each other, and knew each other almost... intimately.... And just that small fact spoke volumes about Tom Delany and who he was, or used to be, or what Tom Delany was perhaps hiding from....

"However, I have worked in a similar setting. I have helped women promote and sell their bodies for the best prize available. When I was young, I transported and guarded them when they were out doing their thing. Later, I found myself at another, more powerful spot in the business. I have seen some disturbing shit in my time, but the things Pratchett has going on with ConnectEVE... that's just sick. I'm sorry I took it out on you. You are a victim like any other possession of the company, and I realize that now.”

Alex had, as he had spoken, his back turned, drawn up the sheet from the bed and wrapped it about herself. The very action itself caused every muscle in her bruised body to scream, but she kept herself silent. She did not want to interrupt his train of thought. She wanted him to talk.. His talking was a rope, a leading edge, to him revealing more about himself, a lifeline for her to learn who he really was. And, he had just given her a glimpse of just that. He'd worked in a field where women "promote and sell their bodies"... How was that all that different from simply selling the woman herself? To Alex, it was no different.. no different at all... Not really. Did whores, hookers, escorts, whatever one wanted to call them, ever get out of that life, really? Or did it haunt them until their dying day? Was it really more preferred to sell your sex, to multiple men, only to hand the money over to another. Didn't that "another/other", other being the Pimp, have the say in who you fucked, when you fucked, how you fucked, why you fucked. Didn't that Pimp also have say in where you lived, when you slept, when and what you ate, who you could communicate with and who you could not, what to wear, when to wear it. Wasn't that Pimp in charge of your life? How was that any different than being sold to a man? Being enslaved?...

"Now wait, just a minute" she finally said, her voice coming out stronger than even she had expected. "You worked in a setting were women promoted and sold their bodies... sold SEX... explain to me how that is different. Different than what ConnectEve is doing. The only thing different in that situation is the fact that it is the PIMP that is the Master, and owns the girls. Those girls, for the most part, are as helpless and enslaved as ConnectEve's product is. So do NOT stand there and act as if this is all that different. And.. you found yourself in a more powerful position? And just what would that have been? Pimp? Master? Owner? Did YOU make money off those girls, selling their bodies, selling their cunts over and over again. You stated that you never sold women as slaves... but whores, hookers, escorts, are all just another word for slave, when you really think about it. So guess what, you DID, and that makes you no better than Master Pratchett...."

Alex paused, taking a breath. She should have shut up right then. In fact, she should have modified her tone of voice from the very beginning. She was again overstepping her bounds, and she knew it. But she was upset, hurting, scared, and angry. Angry at herself, angry at Pratchett, an emotion that she felt often, but dared not display. She certainly was not yelling, that was her saving grace. She was merely stating what she saw as fact. One would have thought she was defending ConnectEve and John Pratchett, but she was not. She was merely... explaining...

"And don't you EVER think this is some kind of game to me..." she nearly spit. THAT, had made her angry. "There are couples out there who do play this game... yes. You and I both know that. In fact, it would not surprise me if this is a game you have played with your wife, only I hazard a guess that it may have been more than a game for you, or used to be... But as for me, this has never been a game and never will be. So do NOT ever say that to me again. This is what LIFE is for me... will always be for me... remember that...."

Again, she had to take a deep, calming breath. Every muscle in her body, every nerve ending, was howling in pain. But she knew that would fade into more of a dull roar, she just had to get thru these first few hours. But it still took all the willpower, and strength, she had to keep from trembling... to keep from begging him to just leave her alone. She desperately needed time to just.. think... But she didn't have the option of being left alone... She was his now, something he still did not seem to understand...

“How long has this been going on... I mean... the abuse... the physical punishments... the slavery? How old are you? How long have you been forced to endure this way of living? What events brought a woman of your talents to a place like this? I've known plenty of poor, depraved girls without a future. Some were guided by the desire for drugs, others just couldn't find a way out of their personal hell. But you are different; If you were not bound to serve ConnectEVE, you would have any chance at living a decent life without fear and oppression...”

He had approached her again, and Alex, as more of a defensive move than anything, given he had strode toward her with almost a purpose, at least that was how she saw it, shifted back a bit on the bed, tightening the sheet around her. She wanted to be strong, to not show any weakness, to not be seen as a trembling, sniveling, begging slave girl on a bed. He was peppering her with his questions, in a voice that she knew all too well, a voice of complete authority, a voice that demanded she comply, that she answer... Alex knew weak from strong. She had seen more than her share of weak "Masters".. men who had the money and the means to purchase the product, but had no real dominance. She had learned quickly the difference between dominant and otherwise. She could hear it in one's voice. She could see it in their actions, their demeanor. Mattered not to ConnectEve or the PMs. As long as the money was there, the sale was made. Tom .... Alex had already gathered from her first meeting with him, did not fit into the "weak" or "submissive" or "I have no clue what I am doing" category. He only affirmed this as he spoke. He was trying to keep it in check, but it was there... just beneath the surface...

He may have never kept a slave girl, not consciously at least. But Alex was willing to bet, as she took that deep breath to answer his inquires, that he had a submissive girlfriend or a submissive girl at some point, and she was willing to bet yet again, that his wife was more than likely submissive as well. And she was just as sure that he never would admit it.

"I am 22" she quietly said, her voice much softer now. Any anger she had, had passed, her voice was almost just a whisper. "I have belonged to ConnectEve since I was 18". She did not elaborate. She did not detail. She would not get into the specifics, the events that had brought her to this life, unless... he demanded that of her, and even then, would she tell him the truth? Or would she stick to her standard story. But before she continued, one small fact did slip past her walls, and past her lips.. "this is my future"... The words were so soft, Tom may not have even heard them, and she hoped, prayed, that he had not. Alex wished, in that moment, that she could just curl up and die. Was this really a life for her? Was this really all she would ever be, the possession of another. Her life in the hands of another, her life in the hands of Pratchett! And more than that, Alex wished she, and Lucille, her friend, her only real friend in her life, a friend that had found her even after she had run away from home, a friend that had come to help her, she wished that she and Lucille, had never seen JJ Pratchett's face that first night. Had never spoken to him when he approached them. "STOP"... the word glaringly flashed in her mind. "Stop thinking about THAT".... In reality, Alex had only paused a moment before continuing to answer Tom's questions... "As for the act of punishment..." Alex struggled to her catch her breath, she now visiably shaking beneath the sheet. She had to fight to keep her voice from trembling.. "punishment is part of what slavery is. You disobey, you are punished. You anger a Superior, you are punished. And... punishment is very, selective, and very subjective. It depends on who, it depends on the circumstances, it depends on the level of offense and the level of anger. Punishment can vary from a thrashing with a riding crop, a paddle, a cat-o-nine tails, or.. a cane, or it can involve a full fledged whipping with a bull whip, or even a wire, to something even worse. Punishment is very subjective. No two Master's do it the same..."

Alex looked down and away then, unable to continue. She had her own walls, her own secrets, her own life that she was trying to forget. But as she spoke, as she listed off each punishment, if he had been astute enough, he would have seen the quiver of her lips, the color drain from her cheeks, even the tear that ran down one cheek....

~*~​

“So... My little puppy want to dance, does she? She wants to show how good she is, hmm? I like the sound of that. I just wonder about this one thing... how did she obtain this ability? Has she been disobedient? Has she learned it through irregular means?”

Ginger froze at this words. Her head still at his feet, she still in that completely prone position. Had she just made a horrifying error? It had never occurred to her that he would wonder how she had learned to dance. Dancing had been something she had done when a child, first standing on her father's feet. Murial could sing, but not dance. Ginger, had been the dancer. Once she had seen Alex dance, it had brought back the memories. Good memories, happy memories. It was those feelings that had spurred her on to start dancing again. That, and she wanted to be better than Alex. It had not been lost on her that Pratchett had stared, almost drooling on more than on occasion, when Alex danced for his clients. It was a talent that not alot of girls had, to be honest.

He pushed his chair backwards. Stood up and went down on his knees with slow, controlled movements. With one hand on the floor, and the other brushing back a lock of her fiery hair, he positioned his face as close to hers as possible. His next statement was spoken in a low, threatening voice. “You know what happens to the unfaithful, or have you forgotten? You saw what happened to the other girl... your old friend Alexandra paid dearly for her mistake. Just like Lucille did. Oh, how she screamed. She got to know true pain. Then again, you also know a thing or two about pain...”

Lucille. Ginger had never met Lucille. But she knew about Lucille. Not many did, to be honest. The entire Board at ConnectEve did, but most of the PMs and other employees did not. The Product certainly did not, altho there was always talk, always stories. Some exaggerated, others more... truthful. Alex tho, Alex knew Lucille. Alex didn't just know about Lucille... Alex KNEW Lucille. Alex witnessed the entire event. It was something she never, ever, dared to talk about.

Ginger caught her breath as his words snaked into her ear. She could feel the moist, warm exhale of his own breath as he spoke and it made her tremble, something that she could not control. Gripping her lower lip with a nip of her teeth, she tensed... feeling his hand as it left her hair, slowly slithering downwards, following the curve of her back all the way down to her bottom, where it finally stopped... right on top of her left buttock, right above a mark she could neither hide nor erase from existence. When he traced it with a fingertip, the memory of his branding her came rushing into her mind. It hit her so hard, she nearly recoiled...

Most girls were branded within 48 hours of coming into ConnectEve's possession. Brands were placed within the inner thigh, either right or left, mattered not which. It was nothing more than a small, cursive CE, but it served as a constant reminder of just what they were. But Ginger, she had been spared that particular procedure. She had never been designated as part of the product for sale. She had been his since the moment her father had.. well.. presented both her and her sister, Murial, to Pratchett. Muria was branded and sold. Ginger, he took as his own. As for her branding, that had happened during her training. Pratchett had actually considered it a reward. A REWARD. A reward to be stripped naked, chained to a table face down, unable to move, unable to even see what was happening. Ginger remembered it well. She remembered the fear, the despair, and... she remembered the pain. The searing pain. It tore thru her, feeling like a bolt of lightening ripping thru her flesh. And she remembered the screaming. There had been so much screaming. Ginger had screamed until her voice and throat were raw and rasping. Until she could scream no more. Until she was left sobbing uncontrollably. And it was then that Pratchett released her from her chains, pulled her to her feet, bent her over that same table, and took her. The entire time, as he savagely thrust into her, he gently massaged her brand. Now, that same gentle caress of her bottom, along the scar of her brand, stood in stark contrast to the gravity of his words. “... you remember, don't you? You are mine... I need not say it, but it's true. You are such a good puppy, because you know what it takes to please me. You have my permission to dance. Do well, and I'll reward you further.”

"tthank... you... Mmmaster" she tried to calm her voice, but the fear dripping from her words were more than apparent.

If this had been Alex, she would have picked up immediately on the fact that he deliberately left out the part detailing what would happen if she failed to please him with this dance. Ginger, had missed that small little detail. She was not quite as observant or astute as Alex.

He... simply stood up and sat back down, settling comfortably. Ginger, did not move. She stayed in her prone position, head down at his feet, the only slight motion of her body was her very measured breathing. She stayed in that exact position until she felt, and very subtly heard, the almost undetectable tap of his finely crafted leather shoe to the floor. That, was her permission to move, to stand, to dance... for him. Had she dared to move before that almost imperceptible tap, she never would have had the chance to dance.

Slowly getting to her feet, her body seeming to unwind from her submissive kneel... even in the act of standing, every motion was meant to please his eyes, his gaze... she again paused before him with head bowed, her voice whispering another soft "Thank you Master" For her, when she was alone with him, was the most stressful, and the most fearful time. This particular time, her fear was heightened. She knew he was still on edge from his encounter with Alex. She knew his challenge to her had been a test. She had passed part of that test, but this dance had to be perfection, for her to pass the rest of this test. If it was not..... The thought sent a chilling wave of foreboding cascading thru her.

It was then that Ginger realized... music. She had practiced with music and without music. But now, it dawned on her, what if the DJ booth, this was a working club after all, and music was part of that, didn't have a song she had .. well.. practiced to. What... would ... she ... do? She couldn't stand there looking for a specific song, there was no way she could take that kind of time. She had voiced her desire to dance for him. He would expect that she had music prepared. He would expect that she had been thinking about this for a long time, since she had dared to beg for the chance. He would expect her to be perfection, and that included the music. She could fail this test, displease him, suffer his punishment, simply by choosing the wrong music. All these thoughts suddenly flooded her mind, and for a moment, those thoughts nearly paralyzed her. She should have thought of all this before she voiced her desire to dance. She should have thought ahead. She should have known better. But, it was too late now. All she could do was her best, and hope he would be pleased...

She disappeared behind the booth for a moment, and she knew that would be all the time she would have, a mere moment, to get the music queued up. When her eyes hit the one song, it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It happened to be one song she had practiced to, one song she had actually danced to when she was a child, one song she knew well. It was one of her father's absolute favorite songs, of top of it all. The angels were smiling down on her, surely.

She made her way slowly, to the stage.

Dazed and Confused
(Led Zep)

The music began, a song that was more than well known. The beat, the words, sung by such an iconic singer, had a life of it's own, slithering thru the room like a serpent, touching the walls, gliding along the floor, as if seeking prey, seeking to possess, seeking to own. And Ginger, standing center on the stage, began to sway with that hypnotic beat. Just her hips, rocking side to side, as if the music had a grip upon her, moving her for it's own pleasure... her hips grinding in that rythmic motion, enticing the serpent that was the music to her side, to caress her, to feast upon her. Her body, slender, lean, curves gracious and perfected, began to undulate as her hips did. Hands, fingers splayed, play lightly along the plane of her belly, crossing, fingertips entwining... then freeing, as fingers begin to travel upwards.. as if tasting her skin, teasing her curves, the music increasing as she moves...

She steps, rocking, swaying hips, another step... fingers finding and lacing thru her crimson mane, her head and shoulders moving in contrast to her rolling hips... she almost reaching out in need to the whipping post, yes, this particular stage in this particular club, had a whipping post in the mid if it... Ginger now laying her hands upon it, she shimmies up to it, wrapping herself around it as the music entrances her... her body never stops moving.. swaying... rocking... hips rolling, oscillating... as she allows herself to lower at the post, sinking downwards, a water droplet on a leaf.. until she is before the post, upon her knees... the post is her Master, the post is her life, her desire, her everything...

The music gains tempo, the lyrics cry out to her... She begins to almost grind against the whipping post, arching her back, long crimson tendrils reaching back to brush the floor, eyes closing as she allows a moan to slip past parted lips, the sound lost to the music that surrounds her now. She straightens, grasping the post with both hands, arms wrapping about it, she winding her way up the surface, until she is on her feet, but bent subtly forward now, legs spreading, hips rocking still to the music, presenting the subtle curve of her spine, the vulnerable expanse of her back, the luscious curve of her backside, to the Master, to the touch, the kiss, the caress, of the leather of his whip. With a audible cry, Her body jerks, as if struck, the music the only thing that, in reality, is touching her... she jerks again... and again.. and again... standing, straightening, twirling around, her halo of red fanning out about her shoulders, she dances to the edge of the stage, arms embracing herself, then unwinding, a finger brought to her lips, a touch, the tip of her tongue tasting the tip of her finger, hands then lowering, hips continue to swing to and fro... a sudden backwards arc, legs anchoring as she shakes, shimmies, the curve of her breasts seeming to accent the movements, she straightens again, as the music begins it's descent to silence.... Falling to her knees... hands to the wooden stage floor, Ginger crawls now, like a feline in the last throes of heat, she stalks the cold, hard floor, to his feet. And as the music finally lets go of the room, the last note echoing into darkness, she bends, to lay her head upon the flawless leather of his shoes, encompassing them in the red that is her mane... her moist, sweat gleaming body quivering slightly as she takes those needed deep breaths, her exertion showing... the curve of her back vulnerable to him, the roundness of her ass, and if she were naked, the soft lips and entrance of her sex would be open to him, her absolute and utter submission almost dripping from every pore of her body, on full display before him...

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

As soon as the music lost it's powerful hold on the scene, it was exchanged for a tense atmosphere of unresolved heat created by – and existing between – the two humans occupying the room. Nothing but silence managed to prevail in the odd sensation that haunted the air around the two, and they both remained frozen in each their own position, like statues put on display. The man appeared almost stoic in the way he sat on the chair, the expression in his eyes unreadable and his mouth reduced to a straight line of ambiguous feelings. One hand was locked around his left knee, his fingers looking like the claws of a beast, in the way they dug into the fine material of his expensive pants. The other hand was located somewhere in the depths of a pocket of his jacket. Both feet were firmly planted on the floor, hidden underneath his dear possession's tangled web of red locks. This toy of his, this young woman, was lying before him in a pose that was quite familiar to both of them. Forehead resting on his shoes, her back arched slightly upwards, and her backside tenderly within reach of his rough palms and craving fingertips. Her skin was glistening, the white top stuck to her back, and the hem of her pencil skirt was curled up and out of position, a result of her covering the distance to his chair on all four.

Yet, even when she was lying on the floor, in one of the countless positions they had spent months training, she could not hide anything from her Master's trained eye. In fact, his eyes were the only feature of his appearance that apparently moved without restrain or pause. They sucked up the shape of her delicious, submissive form and fueled his desire further. At the same time, they picked up even the slightest hint of deviance in her effort to remain still. Insignificant movements of muscles could push her body out of focus, just like an unevenly distributed weight could cause her to lose her balance and tumble over. It was highly undesirable result, but her only mistake was the sporadic shivering of her body. They had only just begun, and she was already showing signs of fatigue. Being tired was not an excuse in itself, and he would punish her accordingly, if she was to lose her focus beyond the things he had discovered. A careless moment robbed her the opportunity to breath in silence and instead caused the deep breath to interrupt the silence that filled the gap between them. His only reply was silence.

The complex law, which bound John's girls to him as his private property, had many unwritten rules and twice as many pitfalls. Silence, as a concept, was among the most deceptive traps he could lay out before an ignorant trainee, and even the more experienced girls in his stable were prone to fail this particular kind of test. In many cases, silence equaled acceptance of one's performance or current whereabouts. Silence, which was accompanied by silence itself and nothing else, was mostly a sign of praise and appreciation. At other times, it was a tense warning not to overstep the invisible lines of expected conduct. Silence could be forced upon a girl as punishment, be it through the use of a silk gag or a direct command. It could be selective in nature or be extended to impact an entire group of employees. Even when the blood boiled and the soul raged, silence always proved who was in control of the situation. Girls like Ginger rarely knew what was going on, until the moment where the silence was replaced with either action or words. As such, silence contained a power much stronger than any audible threat known to man. It could be an effective, albeit primitive, weapon in the hands of anyone clever enough to understand it's immense value.

However, the reason for the perpetual silence in the room was more complicated than usually dictated by the typical rules. Truth be told, John was quite astonished at what he had just witnessed. He had expected his girl to perform decently, but she had proved to be a much better dancer than he dared to hope. Not even his wildest fantasies measured up to what he had just seen; and Pratchett not only had a vivid imagination, he also adored the erotic depths of a skilled dancer. Girls with that kind of talent were highly regarded in most circles, and as a result thereof, they were also quite expensive. Alexandra was one of them, but her appeal reached beyond this single ability. She was highly perceptive, intelligent and completely tame. When it came to simple value in money, her unique blend of merits secured her a spot among the most expensive products in the company's possession. Only, she was not for sale and never had been. Had her very unfortunate misstep earlier in the evening been witnessed by a potential customer, it would have seriously decreased her price, and his punishment of her had reflected that risk.

Ginger was a different story. She was quite simply a victim of his caprice, his plaything. She was a stunning young woman, and her beauty was admired by anyone, who got a glimpse of her. Be it company representatives, customers, even the crowds at social events or fundraisers; anyone had something positive to say about Ginger'a appearance. Even the occasional female associate would praise her in some way. Although, the fundamental rules of their lifestyle prevented her from openly appreciating the kind words she received. She was a delicate trophy, one he could carry around wherever he pleased without fear of raising suspicion among the ignorant members of his social circle. She was a quick learner with a bright mind, but he had never once considered her to have other abilities than those he knew about. Sad as it was, the new talent she had just unveiled, not only surprised him, it also filled him with unjust anger. How had he failed to notice her gift, and what other abilities were she still hiding from him?

John kept his true feelings under lock and key as always, but if the young woman at his feet was to look inside his mind, she would be terrified at what she saw. His emotions were a dangerous blur of lust, confusion and anger. He desired her; wanted to grab her by the hair, fling her over the nearest table and satisfy his need to penetrate her right on the spot. His anger tempted him to be rough; to scold her and pinch her where it hurt the most... to mess her up until he heard her gasp and cry and beg for him to stop. She would do it. He could command her to do so. She would do anything he asked, if not always in a convincing way. However, right now was not the time. It would take far more to raise him to the peak of sexual arousal, than thinking about it. Her dance had been a gorgeous appetizer. Like always, when he felt an untimely urge to have one of his girls, he hid his right hand inside his pocket and clenched it into a fist. The slight pain of digging his fingernails into his own flesh kept his mind clear and focused. It prevented him from giving in too early in the process. Besides, there were other ways to punish her than being mean. He could always deny her pleasure.

He bend forward in his chair. Withdrew his right hand from his pocket and brought it down to the back of her skull. His left hand followed suit, petted her crown of red and allowed his right hand to move on, down her back with teasing, prickly movement of his fingers. He followed the edge of her spine all the way to the top of her skirt, where his hand rested for a moment. That was when he started to hum silently; like an alarming encore to the faded echo of the music, the wordless sounds he produced was a repeat of the very song she had danced to only moments ago. It also marked the moment where the thumb of his right hand slipped in between her skin and the narrow waistband of her skirt. Lifting his hand slightly, he pulled the fabric outwards to test it's tight fit around her slim waist. With his thumb staying in position, he ran his hand casually along the line of the waistband until he almost reached the front of her skirt and could go no further. Not that it was really necessary either. He pulled his thumb out of it's soft prison, let the palm of his hand brush softly against her belly – and then, out of nowhere, he padded the waistband of her skirt once.

Although it appeared to be random, his touch was orchestrated so well that it served it's purpose. His meager approach was not a show of weakness on his part. On the contrary, it was a supreme display of his ability to restrain himself. Ruling your employees and slaves through subtle hints certainly had it's advantages. It enabled him to be in control of others, just by giving them a special look or adding specific nuances to his words or gestures. Orders did not always need weight or aggression to be effective. No outsider would ever be able to comprehend the meaning of Pratchett's gesture, not even if they had witnessed it in person. The message he had conveyed to her was unmistakeable – not a request, but a clear command – and the method he had used in the process was part of the game. Translated into mere words, his instructions were actually quite simple: He was telling her to take her skirt off. Nothing more, nothing less.

What followed his distinctive command, was purely for his own enjoyment. His right hand slid away from her skirt, went past her belly and cupped her left breast through the material of her white top. His fingers examined her the best they could; groped her flesh at first, only to ease the pressure and pinch her instead. Soft, hard, worse. Repeated over and over, usually until her nipples were sore and her skin marked red by his rough fingers... She had jerked violently the first couple of times, when he had touched her like that, and he was sure she hated it. But where others would have been disheartened by such suspicion, John only got encouraged by it. It turned him on to invade her privacy... to fondle her whenever she wanted to be left alone... to force himself upon her, when she was most weary or frightened... and willing or not, Ginger was always at his disposal. Nothing could change that fact. Though, for now, he would only touch her briefly. She was in for a much different game.

His humming came to an end, and he straightened up in his seat abruptly. The swift retreat from her body was soon accompanied by the snap of two fingers. It only took a moment for him to rise from his chair and walk the short distance to the stage. He had no reason to worry about hurting her while doing so; the snap of his fingers was a sufficient warning for a girl of her level. Sure enough, his feet had not been held back by her head, she had not turned into an obstacle on his way. He slowed down and examined the stage with an unimpressed glare. Then he ascended it, went toward the whipping post at it's center and stopped. With his back turned against her, his personal safety resting entirely in his dominance, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. The item he drew out from it's dark confinement was not a accessory commonly associated with a man of his prominence. He extended his left hand to his side, the item dangling at the end of his index finger. In less than a second, it fell from his finger and hit the wooden stage with a metallic rattle. Right next to him on the stage. Right in front of the whipping post.

She couldn't see the satisfied smile on his lips. Couldn't sense the lustful anticipation that clung to every fiber of his body. She couldn't know what he was planning to do. And yet, John knew she would follow him. He knew she had seen the item. It was impossible for her to miss it, especially if she followed her usual instinct and tried to keep up with his erratic speed. She would come crawling to his feet, like she always did, because she was a good puppy. She knew what was expected of her, she was smart enough to link the two things together. Being Pratchett's favorite puppy was hard, but rewarding. It even provided her with special perks and personal toys. Of course, the silver item on the stage had her name etched into it's shiny surface. Her name, as well as a simple description:

Ginger's Handcuffs

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

- What was that?

Alexandra had just told him how old she was, and revealed how long she had belonged to his new employer. So far, so good. Judging by her voice, she had also calmed down considerably after the verbal outburst, which his remarks had thrown her into. It had been an interesting experience to witness how she interpreted his attempt at explaining himself. She had raised her defenses quite effectively, and done her best to put his own logic in a bad light. It had almost worked; the way, which she had compared John Pratchett to him, had angered him greatly. It could have developed into quite an ugly argument, if he had stood his ground against her accusations, but he had decided to remain silent and let her speak her mind in the end. He had not gone through the hassle of bringing her to safety only to argue with her, the moment she regained consciousness.

But now, her calm attitude had betrayed her, and presented him with another hint at who she was. She had just... said something, but it was silent like a faint whisper. The tone of her voice was pretty clear to him, but he couldn't hear the actual words she had uttered. Consequently, it drew his attention; he finally let his eyes travel from an uninteresting spot on the wall and back to her. It pleased him to realize she had covered herself up, like he had requested earlier. However, the thing that really appealed to him, was her attitude. He couldn't quite figure out what it was, but it was clearly visible in her face. A touch of sadness, of fear and hopelessness. Even as she began to detail the various methods of punishment used by the employees of ConnectEVE, he could hear the somber hint in the back of her throat. Their eyes locked together for a brief moment, in which he desperately tried to understand what was going on in her mind. Why did she tell him irrelevant things instead of answering his questions? Perhaps she was not prepared to tell him anything at all, perhaps she was just bent on fooling him.

However, Tom quickly concluded the notion didn't really fit with anything else than his own suspicious mind. Keeping a charade going for long was quite hard work, and even if she wanted to appear strong and confident, it didn't fit with what he saw in her expression. Not only was her body trembling, her lips and breath were uneasy, her eyes empty... but it was the tear that finally set it in stone for the young man. A single tear that manged to escape the corner of her eye and run down her cheek. So small, and yet so powerful. She was hurting, in more ways than he could possibly imagine.

The spell broke, she went silent and turned her gaze away. Away from him, from everyone and everything. She was quite a sight, as she sat there on the bed with the sheet wrapped around her and her eyes down. Like someone, who was prepared to wither way, or hide forever until the world had become a better place. The pitiful sight caused old emotions and memories to well up inside him. How many times had he sat together with a girl like this? Mostly, it was a girl, who was in need of his empathy and ability to listen. Sometimes the girl had been assaulted or treated badly because of what she did for a living, or because she had rejected one of the countless jerks, who visited Club D'Amore on a regular basis. It was not really Tom's task to do anything else than handle the girl's security, but he often found himself helping them in another capacity. Having a casual chat with one of the bouncers didn't really compare to the fascinating aspect of bonding with one of the girls in Jessica's club. The girls were always looking for someone to talk to - unintentional or not - and he was always ready to listen. It was usually them, who had the most interesting stories to tell, and it was also those girls, who had some valuable lesson to pass on to other people.

“Alex... calm down and look at me.” It was odd to hear himself give her a command, but he couldn't think of a better way to establish contact with her again. He gathered every last drop of sensitivity inside him and reached out toward her. He used his index finger and thumb to push her chin upwards, so that they were facing each other. At first, his hand remained under her chin, gently supporting it without digging into her skin. After a while, he withdrew his hand slightly and instead ran two fingers up her cheek, following the faint trace left by the lonely tear. He... liked it. Liked the sensation of touching her face, liked the idea that he was close enough to get past her guard and learn something about her. It was intimacy and discomfort all in one. Whether or not she would actually look at him, was a completely different matter too... “You don't owe me anything, least of all an explanation. I will not force you to speak, but I'm not stupid either. I can see you are in pain and not just physically. That is how it is. If you don't feel like you can trust me, then that is alright too. Just don't expect me to play and pretend. I did not ask for a rundown of all the company's methods of punishment, because I already know... enough. I asked how you ended up here, and how long you have suffered. I want to understand, but I can't be your friend, and I certainly can't help you, if you don't tell me anything.”

As the seconds went by in silence, he started to wonder if he had moved ahead too quickly. While he told her about his intentions to help, he had continued to caress her cheek in slow movements, not only to to calm her down, but also to keep his own feelings in check. Alas, the thought didn't strike him until it was too late: What if it had the opposite effect? Physical contact for a slave was punishment, demands... abuse. So, logically, a slave would respond ill to being touched, even if he or she was touched in affection or pity. The fear of being forced or humiliated was simply too great. She didn't trust him enough to understand. Even so... she had kissed his hand earlier. How did that fit into all of this?

“You were right, of course.” His remark was delivered just as he pulled away from her. “When you... corrected me earlier. There are places out in the world where women are exploited for profit. Places worse than ConnectEVE, men worse than John Pratchett. But there used to at least be some level of decency in the business. I'm not saying it's ever been innocent to sell sexual favors to people. It never was, and it never will be. One way or the other, the girls are forced into it. They either don't have a choice, because they need the money or because they have nowhere else to go. I'm talking about young women being abandoned, losing faith and family. Women without a job, without a future. Humiliating, yes, but slavery... not quite. Not like this. I did my best to protect them; and yes, sometimes clients would be offered a special girl. … and sometimes this girl would not make it without marks on her body and soul. There were times where I failed, times where I was not morally sound. I'm not a saint, and certainly not a monk...”

The last part was a sullen attempt at a joke, but humor was not a solution at the moment. Tom was telling her more about himself, than he cared to share with anyone, especially people he didn't know. But the situation was a matter of give and take. He had to earn her trust, if he wanted her to open up to him. Besides, none of his revelations contained any important clues about the man he was today. It was all a bunch of general observations from a life he had once lived, and he was confident that she would never be able to read between the lines of his tale and learn intimate details about him as a person.

It never even occurred to him that Alexandra was right in the assumptions she had made about him as a person. She had let it slip that she suspected he had played the game with his fiance, but Tom's reference to playing games had been purely rhetorical. He never expected the young woman to analyze it the way she did, and so, her logic was completely lost on him. Although, he would have been shocked to realize the depths of her abilities, if he had given it any thought. Debbie was submissive, almost by default, and it just so happened to make their relationship a lot easier. Still, the two of them had never acted it out; they had never played the game of dominance and submission, never experimented with toys or unspoken kinks. Debbie lacked the fantasy to do so, and Tom lacked the courage to pull her out of her bubble. Her way of living was the normal way. How could he turn her world upside down and still expect her to love him?

“I tried to distance myself from you, and it was wrong.” It felt like he was going in circles, but there was really no way around it anymore. In his experience, empathy and remorse were the two most effective tools one could use to get through to others. “It's just, in my world, selling woman for sexual enslavement is not right. It's inhuman. It can't be justified. At the same time, it draws an ugly parallel to my past. The apparent similarities were so terrible that I couldn't imagine accepting it. And for you, a woman, to be involved in this business... that just became the last straw. I can't imagine the horrors you have seen in the last four years. I can't even begin to comprehend how much you have suffered. You don't have to tell me anything about it. Not until you are ready. What I still don't understand, is why you called me Master. Was it a reflex? A mistake? Instinct? If if makes it easier for you, then by all means... call me that. Call me whatever you want. But I urge you not to compare me to John Pratchett again!” How he had suddenly managed to go back to that episode, he did not know. She had claimed that he was no better than Pratchett. With everything that had transpired that night, he took it as an insult of epic proportions. But it was not until that very moment that the anger finally started to flow freely. His heart was racing, and he adjusted his seat on the bed to get closer to her. He had to control this... “I am not like him. I am not like the men in his staff. I am not like the people, who punished you. I am not like his son. Even when I was still in the business... I was never like them. Never! Don't you ever forget that!”

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

“Alex... calm down and look at me.”

There it was again, that tone, dripping from his voice. So subtle, not whiney, not superficial, not trying to be dominant. No, it was just natural, the tone of one who expected to be listened to, the tone of one who demanded to be respected, the tone of one.. in control. And this was only further fortified by the glide of his forefinger and thumb beneath her lowered chin, and that gentle insistence, pressure, guidance, to raise her chin, raise her head, raise her eyes, to look at him. And again, it was all so natural for him, at least that was how Alex perceived it. Actions and tone so often spoke volumes more than one's own words, one's own admissions.

But, even Alex was a bit, caught off guard, when the touch beneath her chin extended to the softest, lightest, brush of his fingertips along her silken, and slightly moist cheek. She felt her heart quicken, felt her skin tingle, and without thought, Alex inclined her head ever so slightly to that caress, an almost welcome sigh slipping past her parted lips. To be honest, Alex was desperate to trust someone. Since Luci's untimely death, she had no one she could trust.... And... in the not so distant past, she had made the mistake of trusting the wrong person. She was terrified of making that mistake again...

“You don't owe me anything, least of all an explanation. I will not force you to speak, but I'm not stupid either. I can see you are in pain and not just physically. That is how it is. If you don't feel like you can trust me, then that is alright too. Just don't expect me to play and pretend. I did not ask for a rundown of all the company's methods of punishment, because I already know... enough. I asked how you ended up here, and how long you have suffered. I want to understand, but I can't be your friend, and I certainly can't help you, if you don't tell me anything.”

Trust... belief that someone or something is reliable, good, honest, effective... assured reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something...

The thing was, he was still gently allowing his fingers to trace along her cheek as he spoke, as if trying to coax the answer from her, as if trying to wind a ribbon of trust into his words, his actions. The effect, as mentioned, was both calming, hence the quiet sigh that had purred past her lips, and arousing, evidenced by the rapid beating of her heart, and the almost electric tingle that was still, even now, pulsing thru her veins.

Trust.. had slaughtered her friend Luci. Trust.. had nearly ripped her heart from her. Trust.. had locked that silver collar around her throat. And even before this, when she had been nothing more than a pre-teen, trust, in the form of her step-father, had tried to steal her pure innocence from her. She had run from that. She had escaped. Before the step-father had gone too far. She had seen the signs. Had known where it was leading. And when she told her friend Lucille, Luci had told her to run. And she had. But, there was no escape for her now. Not anymore. She had nothing. She had no one. And again, as she often did, Alex wished she had never laid eyes on, or met, JJ, that first fateful time.

JJ Pratchett, John Junior Pratchett... son of John Pratchett.

He, meaning Tom, wanted to help her. He, again meaning Tom, wanted to be her friend. It was funny, well, then again maybe it wasn't. JJ had uttered almost those same words to her when she had met him. Alex, older now, and alot wiser, could already sense, and almost hear, the sincerity in Tom's voice that was NOT present when JJ had said the same thing. But, Alex also remembered that there was familiarity between Tom and Master Pratchett. There was no way she could trust him, even if he had saved her life by getting her out of the club. She had no doubt that Pratchett would have killed her had he found her still there. He had little tolerance for disobeying, and even less tolerance for ... her...

"You can not help me... "she finally answered, as he drew his hand away. How would he help her anyway? Free her? Even tho Pratchett did gift her to him, which she knew he did, to a certain degree, and she was sure he would regret that move at some point and seek to take her back from Tom, but she was not going to worry about that for now, Tom could not free her. Now, that is not to say that a Buyer who purchased a slave from ConnectEve could not then free said slave. Of course he could. Once the sale was final, she was his property, to do with as he pleased. Use, share, sell, gift to another, or even... kill. And yes, a Buyer could free his slave as well, if he wished. And yes, that did happen from time to time, again people talked, word spread. But she was different. Different in the respect of how she ended up property of ConnectEve. And different in that, if Tom did dare to free her before Pratchett reclaimed her as property of ConnectEve, she, would simply crawl back to the Master and beg his and ConnectEve's collar again. Tom didn't know that yet. But that was the only choice she had. It was that simple. There was no "Free" for her. And no doubt Tom would want to know why... at some point. Had it even occurred to him to try and free her?

But, back to the trust issue. She wanted to trust him. She did. There was something different about him. Strong, yet gentle. Dominant, yet compassionate. But Alex's 6th sense was telling her there was so much more to him, so much she didn't know. And she got that distinct feeling there was something very dark about Tom as well. Considering what she was hiding from him, it was not inconceivable that he was hiding just as much from her. No, she could not tell him about JJ, or about Luci, or about how JJ was crippled and how Luci... was killed. And she could not tell him her role either. No, I can't... she told herself....

"I... was picked up on the street. Homeless" well that much was true. She had left home. She was homeless, for all intents and purposes. That was why she had taken the job at Club D'Amore, that was where Luci had found her when she came to help her. Luci always had been Alex's hero, her "big sister", her best friend... Luci had found her working at Club D'Amore and and taken a job there as well. Club D'Amore... Club Love was how Alex translated it. She knew what went on in the private rooms. There were the waitresses, which she and then Luci were, and then there were the dancers/entertainment. Those were the other girls... the ones that used the private rooms with the paying Client. Then there were the escorts, the girls who went TO the Clients. "My family would not... come for me" she continued, and again that was true. Her mother cared less, more interested in drugs and beer and sex, to care about Alex. Her step-father had moved on to molesting, or trying to molest, someone else. "I was... 17... and instead of releasing me to a foster home or social services, the cop sold me to ConnectEve. I've come to find out that ConnectEve has wide reaching tentacles into law enforcement, politics, social service agencies." Again that much really was true. She sometimes lied and said she was 18 when it all happened, but that was because she always lied about her age then, telling any who asked that she was 18, even when she was 16 and 17... She had been 16 when she ran away, 17 when she managed to land the job at the Club. She'd been 17 when she met and fell in love with.. (or at least thought she loved)... JJ Pratchett... "I've been here ever since..." she finished. Now the question was, would he "buy" that? For the moment, it appeared that he did, altho she thought she saw that little flicker of doubt in his eyes. Doubt and suspicion that she was not ... revealing everything...

“You were right, of course.” His remark was delivered just as he pulled away from her. “When you... corrected me earlier. There are places out in the world where women are exploited for profit. Places worse than ConnectEVE, men worse than John Pratchett. But there used to at least be some level of decency in the business. I'm not saying it's ever been innocent to sell sexual favors to people. It never was, and it never will be. One way or the other, the girls are forced into it. They either don't have a choice, because they need the money or because they have nowhere else to go. I'm talking about young women being abandoned, losing faith and family. Women without a job, without a future. Humiliating, yes, but slavery... not quite. Not like this. I did my best to protect them; and yes, sometimes clients would be offered a special girl. … and sometimes this girl would not make it without marks on her body and soul. There were times where I failed, times where I was not morally sound. I'm not a saint, and certainly not a monk...”

Alex listened carefully as he spoke, glad that he did not question her explanation, at least not yet. "Men worse than John Pratchett." Alex did not believe for a minute that there were any men worse than John Pratchett, but that was her own opinion and one that was not worthy of debate. As she listened, she noted that he called it "selling sexual favors"... and that made her shake her head slightly. She didn't agree with his choice of words, but again she stayed quiet. To her, how she saw it, selling sexual favors was not the same as selling a woman's body. Sexual favors made it sound like the woman had a choice in what she was doing and a choice as to with whom she was doing it with... and maybe in some instances that was true. But Alex knew, or at least believed that selling a woman's body for sex was entirely different. Most of the time, there was no choice for the woman, she did what she was told, with whom she was told to do it with, until the act was finished. Then she was simply sold to the next Buyer, and the next, and the next. But, she wanted to learn more about him, just as he wanted to learn more about her. So as he spoke, she simply listened carefully and filed away what she heard. He stated that he was a protector, and that small fact actually made Alex feel better. Alot better. When he said that, did he notice that she visibly relaxed?? He was a protector, but he recognized that he was not a saint. That too, made her feel better. He saw himself as flawed... and that was a milestone when it came to other Masters, who saw themselves as perfect.

“I tried to distance myself from you, and it was wrong. It's just, in my world, selling woman for sexual enslavement is not right. It's inhuman. It can't be justified. At the same time, it draws an ugly parallel to my past. The apparent similarities were so terrible that I couldn't imagine accepting it. And for you, a woman, to be involved in this business... that just became the last straw. I can't imagine the horrors you have seen in the last four years. I can't even begin to comprehend how much you have suffered. You don't have to tell me anything about it. Not until you are ready."

She stiffened a bit when he spoke of what she had seen. If he only knew. The one image that came into her mind was of Luci, arms strung over her head, cuffed at the wrists and a chain snaking to the hook in the ceiling. Her feet barely able to touch the floor, a floor that was saturated with blood. She was naked, and Alex could not even comprehend the marks that tore her flesh, from shoulders to ankles. She was strung there, totally and completely helpless. And... she was dead. But what haunted Alex the most were 2 things. The first was knowing that she had been so badly tortured, that she had told him, him being Pratchett, about what happened, and where she was. That was how he had found her. Alex knew how strong Luci was, for her to tell, she had to be suffering. And the second was the look in Luci's still open eyes. Eyes still filled with terror and pain.

She could never tell him... She would never be ready....

"What I still don't understand, is why you called me Master. Was it a reflex? A mistake? Instinct? If if makes it easier for you, then by all means... call me that. Call me whatever you want. But I urge you not to compare me to John Pratchett again! I am not like him. I am not like the men in his staff. I am not like the people, who punished you. I am not like his son. Even when I was still in the business... I was never like them. Never! Don't you ever forget that!”

This time Alex did not just stiffen, but when Tom just mentioned Pratchett's son in passing, she recoiled from him. Tom had moved closer to her as he sat on the bed. He was no longer touching her, but he was close enough to reach out and do just that if he wished. But when he said he was "not like his son" meaning Pratchett's son, JJ...

But this was not about JJ Pratchett, thank heavens. This was not about that at all. She could keep that secret. She had to.

"I'm sorry.... " she quietly said, finally meeting his gaze once more. He did not indicate that he was adverse to she, a lowly slave, daring to meet his gaze. Some were, others were not. One would not dare to look Master Pratchett in the eyes. Her expressive green eyes, still moist from her tears, were much clearer now, her pain having subsided to a dull ache. Her body, well, that was bruised. That was evident when just looking at her legs, both not covered by the sheet, and both were showing the darkening bruises from her punishment. "You are absolutely correct. All men are not like Master Pratchett, and I was wrong to say that about you. Please...." Alex paused, now she lowered her head and her eyes, as she softly begged forgiveness.. "forgive my foolish words. I am not thinking straight and my words got the better of me..." He could very easily punish her for such a comparison...

"As for why I call you Master.... Master Pratchett .... he made me your responsibility. He gave me to you... He said, plain and simple.... I need you to reason with her. Make her understand. Use your charm and make her obey." Alex was trembling, well, not just trembling, she was shaking as she repeated back the words. She had heard Pratchett loud and clear when he mentioned his "Limited Edition Cat" ... He had used the very same on Luci, and Alex knew that. He had made it a point to tell her that, at the time. The memory, all of it, was scaring her, badly, and she was having trouble staying calmed or stilled. If her eyes had been lifted to Tom's at that moment, he would have seen that she was fighting back tears ... "I belong to ConnectEve, yes, but I now belong to you as well. And being your property, you are now.. Master." Alex paused, taking a slow, measured breath, trying to cease her shaking... the sheet had fallen just a bit from her smooth, shoulders, baring her skin, the bruising not as prevelant yet, her long golden hair masking any hint of the punishment she had endured.

"this girl is ... yours... to do with as you desire......"

~*~​

Ginger, in a different place than Alex, in a different situation than Alex, yet the sentiment at that moment was exactly the same. She had as much conveyed the same words to Pratchett, "This girl is yours, to do with as you desire" with every movement of her body, every motion, every tremble, every breath she took. She did not have to voice those words. Everything she did, conveyed that same message...

She stayed as stilled as she could at the completion of her dance. Granted, she could feel her body quivering slightly, and could not help the gentle shift of movement as she took those needed breaths, she a bit winded from her exertions. It felt like forever as she stayed in that submissive position of supplication. And Ginger prayed during that slow passage of time, minutes actually, that he had been pleased. "please... please let him be..." let him be what? Happy? Aroused? Proud? Ginger just wanted him to be.. well.. pleased with what she had done for him. She desperately wanted to hear him say it. To pat her on the head and say "good job" or "well done"... or "I loved it"... she knew he never would, but that did not change her desire to hear it. But no, she never would, that was just was not how he operated. So instead, she prayed that he would not punish her. She did not even realize how really sad that was, to pray that her Master simply would not punish her for doing something just for him...

His touch did not alarm her, when he reached down to glide his long fingers along her body. She was accustomed to his touch, as he often sought contact with her of some kind, sometimes intimately, sometimes not. She had learned to temper her reactions, no matter what. To react negatively, or what he percieved to be negative, would get her viciously punished. It was a lesson she had struggled to learn, a lesson she knew so very well now. His fingers moved from the back of her still lowered head, to travel along the curve of her spine as if examining each vertebrae, until he reached the edging of her skirt. That was when she realized that he had begun to hum, a low, menacing sound... It was a barely audible hum, and that... scared her. Not just scared her, it terrified her. He was humming the song she had just danced too and Ginger could not decipher if that was very very good... or very very bad... This was the thought that was swimming around in her head when his thumb slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt. Ginger caught her breath, the sensation catching her off guard for that brief moment, she lost in her thoughts of good and bad... The question now was, did he feel that? She thought so, because he paused for a millisecond, before allowing his thumb to continue tracing along, as if searching for the zipper or the button or something... the hum still persisting. Thumb tracing... humming... tracing... humming... until she felt the glide of his palm to her belly, and she knew he felt her trembling then, she could not still it fast enough. He did not react, instead patting her waistband then, once. A subtle command. He wanted the skirt removed. Not her shirt, just the skirt. Ginger knew that one of his favorite "looks" for her, was her in nothing more than a shirt. This was a white lace tank top, it wrapping her breasts and torso in the prettiest pattern. It was as if she were hiding herself from him, but still fully open to him, being naked from the waist down. It was an easy way to play with the mind of the slave, letting her think she was covered up, but in reality she was fully available for use. Mind games... Pratchett was expert at those...

There was no need for her to answer his silent command of course, other than to obey. But his hand had not left her yet. So she stayed in position, as she felt his hand now claim her breast. Squeezing, feeling the weight of it, fingertips brushing her peaking nipple. It reacting quickly, warming, reddening, swelling slightly thru the white lace that encapsulated it. This was when she could not stay silent, and that purring whimper came vibrating past her lips. The warmth quickly spread thru her, radiating out from that nipple. She wanted more, he had trained her to arouse so easily to his touch. Ginger wanted to feel his hands on her, feel his mouth engulf that nipple, feel his teeth bite down... she wanted him... needed him....

And the the touch was gone, leaving her wanting, needing, the heat washing over her in waves. And the humming ceased. Again this frightened Ginger. Good or bad... Good or bad.... Humming was not the norm for him. Not at all.

<SNAP> He was moving. And a split second before he did, she had. She knew well how to react to the snap of his fingers. If he had tripped over her... well the thought made her cringe. But Ginger was better than that to let that happen. That was a novice mistake. She dared not get to her feet tho. He had not given her that level of permission. So she shimmied herself out of her tight pencil skirt, while on all fours. It really was not all that hard, and took only a second or two before she left it in a dark heap behind her. Panties were not worn. She needed special permission for any kind of panty or bra, so now all that clothed her was the white lace tank top.

Ginger watched as he ascended the stairs to the stage, and approached the whipping post. She got a sudden very cold chill when he did that. But she dared not hesitate to follow. So on all fours, the beautiful girl began crawling, her long firey mane tumbling down to brush the floor as she moved, her lithe, half naked form undulating along the cool tiles of the floor. She was quiet, following her Master like the puppy she was, her ass swaying, and any that may have been fortunate enough to be behind her, there were none, but if anyone had been behind her, they would have seen that smooth curve of her ass cheeks, the spread of supple thighs as she moved, the moist lips of her pussy, bared, clean shaven, the intimate entrance to her body, to her sex, open and inviting. Any watching from the front would see...the hanging sway of her breasts, encased in that white lace, rocking a bit in motion with her crawling... the pink tip of her tongue sneaking out to wet her parted lips, before disappearing again within the warm confines of her mouth... the intent focus of her eyes, seeing her Master only, not daring to look away...

And Ginger was completely focused on him as she approached, she purring softly, a sound that she new he often found pleasing. But then she saw him move, he extending his left hand to his side, an item dangling at the end of his index finger. In less than a second, it fell from his finger and hit the wooden stage with a metallic rattle. Right next to him on the stage. Right in front of the whipping post. She knew what it was the moment it hit the stage. The silver gleam, the metallic chink as it settled before the whipping post.

Handcuffs....

Ginger paused. An error she wished she could take back. But it happened. She paused, mid-crawl, her eyes staring at the handcuffs. Her handcuffs... Ginger's handcuffs. Her lower lip trembled as she moved once more. She already knew her transgression. She never should have paused, never should have ceased to crawl to his feet, not even for that half second of comprehension. Begging for his forgiveness would only make matters worse. Ginger knew that. So instead, she stopped at the whipping post, at the handcuffs....

Ginger's handcuffs...

She lowered her head, to lay the lightest kiss to the cuffs, brushing her lips along the glittering metal surface. She then leaned forward, to also offer a kiss of supplication, of submission, to the whipping post, her lips leaving a moist mark upon the surface. Lastly, she placed her body against the whipping post, torso and chest pressed to the hard surface, she still on her knees of course, crossing her wrists on the opposite side as if she were hugging it. It was an offer of her wrists for cuffing, and moreso, the offering of her bared and vulnerable back for his punishment, for his whipping if he so chose, for her transgression... "please" was all she said... Please forgive me... Please punish me... Please touch me.... Please whip me... Please show me that you... are ... Master.... the one word that meant it all...

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

There was something in his last words that visibly shocked the young woman and caused her to pull herself as far away from him as possible without tumbling off the bed. Her reaction startled him, and he instinctively reacted in a similar way by leaning away from her. However, his surprise was soon replaced by crystal clear realization. It was not exactly his words that had frightened her. Rather, it was his hostile approach that had caused her to panic. Of course! How could he expect her to understand, when he had forsaken his gentle demeanor in favor for anger and blame? It was only a small comfort that he had not reached out for her in the situation as well. A single, fleeting moment of emotional chaos had brought him to where he was today. It was agonizing to know how easy he fell back into his old pattern. It only took a few seconds for him to lose control, raise his voice and destroy everything around him. Now his actions had endangered whatever sense of companionship he was starting to form with the young woman next to him. All because he had felt and - more importantly - heard the provocative hint in her statement regarding Pratchett and him. According to her words, he was no better than this abusive man, who had been so very close to ending her life. Never mind the fact Tom had actually saved her or brought her to safety; none of that mattered as long as he couldn't control himself. Even though his anger had subsided the moment she recoiled from him, his heart was still beating rapidly, his mood affected by a sudden fear that was completely unrelated to anything Alex had said. Had she been brave enough to look into his eyes during the few seconds where he lost it completely? What had she seen, if that was the case? Was it possible that she had got a glimpse of his flaws, his greatest pain?

She apologized to him and met his eyes with a more lively gaze than before. He took it as a sign that she was slowly starting to get better... perhaps it was merely a result of newly uncovered confidence in her situation. No matter how he twisted and turned it in his mind, it was impossible to know for sure. Although, when she lowered her head and asked Tom to forgive her, it convinced him that she was not playing games with him. She sounded earnest and looked incredibly vulnerable, as she sat there with her bruised legs exposed and the sheet wrapped around her shoulders like a makeshift shield. Yet, even in this state she had the strength to face the fate that befallen both of them.

Hearing her repeat Pratchett's words gave Tom goosebumps. He suddenly understood why she addressed him by the ambiguous title of Master. It made sense, albeit only from a certain point of view. It was hard to believe that Pratchett had meant to leave the young woman in the care of a new employee, even if this specific employee was the son of an old friend. How could an otherwise simple remark contain the depth suggested by Alex's interpretation? Despite his skepticism, it was clear that he was on foreign territory and still unsure about many details regarding the company's internal structure. It was undeniable that ConnectEve was a company of diabolic proportions, and he had come face to face with the darkness lurking inside his new boss only hours ago. Still, the complexity was hard to miss, and it made him wonder how powerful Pratchett actually was. Was he so great that law and justice were bent according to his will and design? Could it be that the world was so corrupt that this man was virtually... untouchable?

Tom caught his breath when he heard her last statement. It was a definitive surrender, leaving no bridges open for retreat, and any flicker of doubt in her honesty vanished completely. His confusion continued to grow, and it took a while before he noticed how much her body shook, even after she had become silent. Apparently, her retelling of the event brought back terrible memories, which he had no knowledge about. Her miserable appearance appealed to him in more than one way. He wanted to reach out toward her, wanted to comfort her and make her understand who he really was. To give in to this spontaneous urge required something special, because if he did so, if he reached out and touched her like before, if was impossible to know what would happen. It was true that she had distanced herself from him once already, but she had also let him caress her face. So the big question was: how would she react, if he touched her again? Would she submit to him out of some misunderstood sense of inferiority, a belief that whatever he decided to do would be based on his status as her Master? Had she accepted his touch earlier, because she didn't have a choice, or were there other factors at play that he had yet to consider?

His eyes went over her at a slow pace, traveled from the unsettling bruises on her slender legs to the shackle-marks on her wrists. He kept silent, waited for her to look up again and provide some sort of hint at what she wanted from him. So, while locked in his own hesitation, he allowed his eyes to follow the outline of her right arm, until he reached her neck. The sheet covering her body had slid down just enough to reveal a bit of the smooth skin underneath. Her hair, soft and golden like long strands of honey, fell graciously around her shoulders. She was so beautiful in her submission, and it filled him with both shame and fascination, a sensation reminiscent of when he had basked in the sight of her naked chest. She tempted him without even knowing it. He recognized the signs, knew his own quirks better than most, and that was the real reason why he hesitated to touch her. Touching her skin again - even if just to show a bit of compassion - would only increase his desire. She was within his reach, physically as well as mentally, and her previous words spelled out a permission only few men would be able to resist. Although, hers was not an invitation for casual sex; it was an affirmation that she was a possession to be used. He could use her in whatever way he saw fit, and although he despised the idea, it still sparked a strange sensation of lust in his abdomen. Since when did a thought like that ignite such heat inside him? Did he find this particular woman so attractive, because he had saved her... or because she unknowingly called forth old desires from his past?

“Alexandra, your sheet... it's...” He stumbled over the words and gestured toward a naked area below her shoulder. It seemed so silly to just sit and point at her, like he was afraid of making physical contact, but he didn't want her to get the wrong impression of his intentions. To his own great surprise, it seemed as though his hand approached her by it's own will. Or well, he was still in control of his body, but he failed to heed his own warnings. Shaking slightly, his hand hovered in the air for a while, before he persuaded himself to go through with it. Just the sheet. He would not touch her, just the edge of the sheet. That would not raise suspicion or put him in a bad light. Three fingers dug into the fabric and lifted it back into place behind her shoulder. “There... much better... that is much better...” Alas, he failed to do as planned; instead of retracting his hand as quickly as possible, it lingered behind her shoulder for moment, in which he felt how the fabric followed the shape of skin and muscles. When he finally let go of the sheet and pulled back, his fingers instinctively brushed through the end of her long hair, so thick and soft that he did not want to let go straight away. It was a dangerous game, one that grew even more dangerous when he extended his fingers and touched her cheek for the second time that night.

This time, his touch was less about comforting her and more about examining her. Fingertips traced over her cheek without any apparent objective other than to find all the invisible details of her skin. Subtle variations in the surface, tiny flaws and imperfections that no one could hide. From the edge of her chin to the area below her left temple, he searched her face for all the features that made up her entire physical existence. He recognized the inner voice that called out and warned him not to do something he would regret later on. Even so, he was a victim of his body, it's instincts and primal encoding. The longer he was in contact with her skin, the more calm and distant he appeared. Like a man brought into a trance, he sat in silence and watched as his fingers went down her cheek, touched her jawline and moved toward her neck... How many other men had been in this dilemma in the past? Tom was willing to bet that the number of men, who had given in to such temptation, was countless. Men were weak. They gave in to their physical needs regardless of the situation. If the restroom was occupied, they would just take a leak behind a tree. If there were no clean plates left, they would eat their food directly from the pan. If they desired to conquer a young female body, they did so – especially if it was available in the same capacity as Alex was to him.

It was a matter of pure luck that ultimately prevented him from crossing the line. Just as his hand slid down her neck in awkward affection, his cell phone started to ring. A quaint variant of classic music filled the air around them and pulled him back to the surface, back to being himself. His hand escaped the enchanting heat of her skin, and he rose from the bed in a hurry. As he stepped toward the window, he drew out his cell phone from the inside of his pocket and brought it to his ear. Pressing the appropriate button, he tried to regain control of his breath and calm his still beating heart. His palms were sweaty, his mouth dry and his crotch slightly wet from the excitement. He had been so close to her, closer than he cared to accept. Now he had let the chance slip, and he was unwilling to give it another shot. It was immoral to walk down the path of Master and slave with a partner, who had been forced to submit to him. He couldn't treat women like objects to be fucked and thrown away like the Pratchetts did. This apparent lack of respect for the opposite gender had always been the big difference between JJ and he, and had sometimes resulted in arguments and heated threats. However, nothing ever happened past that point. Both of them would calm down eventually, and Pratchett Senior would smooth out the event by offering the girl in question – or her employer – a sum of money. Discreetly, of course.

“Oh hi... honey...” Tom's greeting was just as empty as the street below. No spark in his tone, no deliberate focus on the sweet pet-name he addressed his fiance by. He recognized the concern in her voice, and his mind reacted quickly by spinning together a believable story revolving around the events of the evening. It was not a lie, not entirely, but it was not the truth either. Hopefully he wouldn't have to go into details right away. “Yes, I know... I'm sorry I didn't get home in time. I had his meeting, I needed to attend. Yeah, I thought it was odd as well, but you know how it is.” She agreed, but both of them knew she would never be able to relate to his job. Debbie was completely clueless about his work, even before he applied for the job at ConnectEve. Sure, she had met some of his old colleagues from time to time, but she was not aware of the stuff that went on inside the big buildings of glass and steel. There had been a time where Tom wanted her to accompany him to his office... this seemed like a pretty bad idea in light of his new job. “Why? Well you see, my boss, he... eh, he offered me a bonus. Yes, I was surprised as well, very surprised. But we know each other from my younger years... no, it's not cheating. No, it's not. Yes, we can go check it out next Sunday, if you'd like. I'm on my way, I'll see you in a bit... I Love you too...”

He hung up, clenched his fist around the cell phone and covered half of his face with his other hand. Not even his gullible fiance would believe what he had to say, if he did not flesh out his story a bit on the way home. However, nothing was as bad as the guilt that had come bubbling to the surface the moment he had heard her greet him in the cell phone. Debbie had her own life in the flower store, and Tom knew she was popular with the male customers, but it was unthinkable that she would ever have an affair with another man, let alone think about it. She was simply not the kind of person to risk anything for the sake of having a casual flirt with someone she hardly knew. He had tried to follow her splendid example and develop into someone as admirable as her over the last couple of years, but his inability to resist proved a valuable point to him. For better or worse, he was still Tom Delany; a man with an appetite for women and a need to be in control of the world around him. The only thing that really held him back was his love and devotion to Debbie... and another, more obscure thing.

“I should go.” He turned away from the window and stared toward the woman on the bed. His eyes found her, but did not stay focused on her for long. It felt wrong to just look at her right now. “I'm sorry about before... Well, about everything that has happened. To you, I mean. In any case, I'll drop by in the morning with some new clothes for you.” He glanced briefly toward the remains of the red dress she had worn earlier that night. There was no way it could be saved under the current circumstances. Then again, he doubted she would ever want to wear it again. “Just call the reception and they'll bring it to you. Actually, you can call the reception if you need anything else too. I bet you are probably hungry. You don't have to worry about payment, as I've already taken care of that... just don't go overboard with the champagne and strawberries. I'll make arrangements for a doctor to take a look at your back tomorrow. Once it's been checked, we can... talk about... everything. I guess we... well, it doesn't matter. Sleep well.”

With those words hanging in the air, Tom walked toward the door and exited the room. It took no more than ten minutes for him to leave the hotel and get into his car. He calmed down considerably, the moment he settled into the driver's seat and closed the car door. What a day! It was a miracle, the way he had managed to dodge past all the obstacles that had been put in his way. First the revelation about the company, then his argument with Pratchett and finally the horrific punishment of Alex... now he was sitting in his car, thankful that his fiance had called him when she did. It was impossible to digest everything over the course of one night, but one night was all he had for now. His employment at ConnectEve was official, and who knew when he would get the time to be alone and think it through? It was pivotal to his very existence that he came to a solution regarding Alexandra. He was stuck were he was, unable to run away, and as he started the car's engine and pulled out of the parking lot, he prayed that he would see everything clearer in the morning...

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

In the time it took for his pet to crawl onto the stage and approach the whipping post, John did not move even once. Keeping his gaze directed elsewhere, he did not let his disappointment show at all. Rather, his posture more closely indicated a lack of interest in the young woman. Even with his back turned at her, he had noticed her hesitation. It was not because he had a sixth sense, or because he counted the seconds it took for her to reach him; it was a simple matter of instinct and training, knowledge and control. He could hear her breathe, and he knew what she thought about the item, which he had picked for the occasion. When she finally came close enough for him to briefly lay eyes on her, the guilt was written all over her face and clearly visible in every movement of her inciting body. She knew it. She was in trouble, and just by thinking it, she unknowingly emitted tiny hints for him to pick up and interpret. The surprising deviation from her usual behavior initially felt like an disrespectful reply to his demand, but the notion soon turned into something more intriguing in his mind. Was it not a bit unfair to be mad at her for simply being silly enough to make mistakes and indirectly ask him to discipline her all over again? Essentially, that was what her life was all about; make mistakes and get punished.

The basic principles of their relationship – if one could use such a casual term to refer to the man's ownership of the girls in his stable – demanded that flawed decisions were punished according to their severity. Sometimes, the sentence even outmatched the crime itself by several degrees. If any of his girls forgot their place or ignored what was expected of them, it was his moral right to correct them through any means necessary. Corporal punishment was the most common method, but other kinds of punishment worked just as well. Sexual captivity, verbal humiliation and seclusion were also quite popular among his fellow slave owners. The possibilities were endless, and it was all down to the imagination of the person in charge in the end. As already established, John Pratchett's imagination was quite rich and as a result, he often improvised his way through a punishment. It worked well, simply because his girls had learned to fear even the smallest change in their Master's demeanor.

So when his puppy finally paid her respect to the handcuffs by placing her lips on the metallic surface, John still did not move an inch. However, his eyes were now permanently stuck to her body, following every delicious move of her bared legs and exposed buttocks as she leaned against the whipping post to honor it as well. The sight of the young woman kissing the post sent a cascade of desire through his body and enhanced the force of his growing erection. He dealt with it by licking his lips, slowly and restrained. The way she humbly worshiped an object, which so many people associated with nothing but dread and pain, was almost too erotic for him to bear. By lowering herself to honor the two dead items, she effectively pointed out how insignificant she was, and that she willingly submitted herself to his mercy. Her obedience became even more apparent, when she snug up close to the post and positioned her arms around it, signaling she was ready to endure whatever he had in store for her. To top off her effort, she tried to appeal to his sense of supremacy through simple means. Coincidentally, the single word she uttered did more than that; It brought him back to the first day of her training.

Ginger had been so full of herself back then. Too much for her own good, actually. She had insisted that she was not to be harmed by anyone, let alone him. It was like the reality of the situation had not really occurred to her at the time. Not even when she had been separated from her sister, had she showed any sign of weakness or remorse. It was not until her training had begun that she seemed to understand what he wanted from her. There was no escape. Backed into a corner of the room, the poor girl had pleaded him not to harm her, touch her... rape her... It was the first time, he heard her say the word “please”. She had repeated the word over and over again, while he dragged her out of the deceptive safety of the corner and instructed her to get undressed. She had grown silent and started to take off her clothes piece by piece, if only reluctantly. All the while, she had stared at him with her soft eyes, so blue and innocent that they ensnared him without much effort. It was while looking into her puppy eyes that John had decided what direction her training would take. Her personality had suggested something different, she was defiant like a kitten, but her eyes sealed the deal. With time, she had developed into the perfect image of a puppy. Always loyal, always crawling to his feet when he demanded it, always so innocent and naive... so similar to her mother. Even her voice shared distinct characteristics with her mother's ditto and reminded him of moments, which he would never be able to relive.

John decided it was time to push forward. He bent over to the left and silently picked the handcuffs up from the stage floor. Then he began his patient march, pacing around her and the whipping post in a continuous circular pattern from right to left. He kept a short distance between them, and his tall figure cast menacing shadows on the stage whenever he walked behind her. His gaze – powerful enough to pierce through any and all shield in her possession – was fixed at her body, while his fingers were busy caressing the shiny surface of the metal in his hand. The sound of his footsteps filled the room with every step he took, but despite the intense excitement in his body, he still managed to keep his own breathing in check. He was a predator; not a primal beast of instincts and sharp teeth, but he was a predator through and through. In body and soul, Pratchett was very much like the fantastic carnivores, which he identified himself with through the decoration in his apartment and the ornamentation on his furniture. The main difference between the man and the animal was that the man was free to pick his moment of triumph. He alone decided when to move in for the kill, because his prey could not flee the scene, no matter how much it wanted to.

As the time to strike drew near, John came to wonder what Ginger's mother would say, if she knew he was fucking her daughter. How would she feel, if she knew what he had turned the young woman into? Her baby girl, the private pet of a man, who was old enough to be her father. He had trained her so well. She felt the world through his touch, heard it's noise through his voice. To her, the sensation of pleasure was a precious gift given to her in small portions. To her, freedom was the rare peace and quiet she had, whenever her Master was not around. Even then, she was never in the clear. He would not have it any other way. Her life was a simple matter of catering to his needs. All because her mother had turned a blind eye to his affection long ago.

After parading around his slave for what seemed like an eternity, John finally stopped in front of the whipping post. There, he knelt down and held the restraints out before himself, for his puppy to see and acknowledge them once more. He kept a close watch on her face, and the moment he saw through the tiny cracks in her facade and noticed the fear she was struggling to hide, he felt warm inside. Being cuffed was usually a bad thing if you were one of Pratchett's girls, and Ginger's reaction was a reminder of his control; she hated it, and yet she accepted it, because it was all she could do. When the handcuffs had been applied, locked tightly around her wrists one at a time with utmost precision, he pulled roughly at the chain and forced her body further against the unkind surface of the post. It was unnecessary to check if the cuffs would hold, but it was never pointless to emphasize how they could be used to inflict pain or discomfort. So, he pulled at the chain again for a while, only to let go all of a sudden and step behind her instead.

Silently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and let them travel down to her back. Fingertips danced over the back of the white top and teased both person's imagination in vastly different ways. His thumbs took over for a while, guided his hands in a gentle massage of the lower part of her back, right at the hem of her top. The circular movements of his hands served as another ambiguous signal and was merely meant to deceive her, keep her on her toes. Soon, his hands slid past her top and came in contact with her bare skin of her loin. Nails dug into her flesh, craved her without mercy and left little scratches as he carefully explored this pretty area of her body. Down, down. Inevitably, his touch reached the enchanting curve that marked the beginning of her bottom. His fingers grew soft once more, pushed against her flesh as his hands followed the shape of her buttocks and finally settled below each one. With both hands supporting a buttock each, he gave them a firm squeeze. It was like he assessed the softness, the elasticity and volume of her tush. He eased his grip, but kept his hands where they were for a good amount of time, while the thumb of his hand ran over the undeniable scar on her left buttock. The P, which marked her as his property, was clearly visible and very much touchable. This single letter that had so many possible interpretations. There was no greater mark on her body than this, and yet, John was not done exploring her body. He guided his hands down across her thighs, followed the bending of her knees toward her shins, ankles and feet. For a moment, even he fell for the false sensuality of his own shallow touch...

And hands found her body again, ran from her rear to her belly and toward her bosom. Hands fumbled at the hem of the top, pushed under it and went further, until they touched upon her two globes. At the end of his extended fingers, in the safety of his palms, he felt it, the firm skin of his puppy's well-known body. It was raw, exceptionally smooth, and it yielded to his touch in the most enticing way. Her body literally begged for his attention. Nipples grew hard and erect thanks to his rough handling, her breathing intensified and her body shook remarkably. With every reaction of her body, she deceived herself and whatever little part of her soul she still held onto. With every little purring sound that escaped her lips, she called out for him to dominate her. Every time she shook against his demanding touch, she surrendered another little part of herself to him. John knew it, just like she undoubtedly knew it herself. Leaning close, he breathed into the back of her neck. Wordless, but so very revealing. She was exactly where he wanted her. Just a bit more and he would be ready to take her. Just a little while left and it would be over. Just another moment of patience and she might get lucky enough to climax.

“Ginger...” He breathed out slowly and brought his lips to her skin. What started out as nothing more than a kiss soon turned into a slurping assault on her neck. His lips and tongue moved relentlessly up and down the back of her neck, while his fingers touched her breasts playfully. Everything John did kept her body and soul engaged on several levels. It was like he was high on some erotic drug, and whenever his mouth was not occupied with her neck, he literately moaned in ecstasy and spoke to her in short sentences. “I know you want this... so much... I know it because I'm your Master... I know what is good for you... you are a good puppy... my little puppy.... you would do anything for me... dance... kneel... strip... fuck... die... your Master wants you... wants to fill you... Master is going to make you feel... so good... soon... My little fuck puppy...”

A second was all it took to change the mood drastically. Right when things couldn't get any more heated, John withdrew his hand from inside her top and smacked her right hip. He made no attempt to hold back, as evident by the immediate redness of her skin. It somehow wasn't worth it to be gentle to a slave if she was undressed. The moment the clothes fell to the ground, the skin itself was the only guard against the surroundings. Nudity was the final step on the road to submission, and a nude slave had no shields left other than the Master's mercy and kindness, however shallow those traits were. Taking her skirt away not only helped John get aroused, it also pushed her to the edge of comfort. But he had not rid her of her skirt just to be cruel. Not yet, at least. His assault of her hip was another command, one that foreshadowed multiple possible ends to the evening. It was a message for the girl to lift herself up just enough for him to enter her. Well, that was the usual meaning of the components: Ginger on her knees, exposed from the waist down, Pratchett behind her, touching all over her inviting form. This time, he had smacked her hip. But he could just as well have put his left hand around the back of her neck, padded her on the shoulder or tickled her feet... all actions had their distinct code, to be used and understood in the given situation.

Although, the position he wanted her to assume could be used for more than sex, and it was not his plan to fuck her just yet. He would simply just look at her for a little while. Stare at her pink flower, and get extremely hot at the sight of the entrance to her moist depths. He would listen to her, hear her breathe in a mixture of despair and anticipation while she awaited his next move. And he would touch her; lift her lips, touch her tender hole, give her a taste of his wet finger running against her vulva. He would watch her try to stand still in the awkward position, her hands cuffed at the other side of the whipping post, her ass lifted from the ground to please him. It was even possible to molest her without even drawing near. Having her body wait for him, was really all it took to torment her. But now, it was about time to enter the next stage of their little game. Oh, he would not fuck her just yet. They needed to deal with another issue first...

“Did you really think it would be this easy, my dear Ginger puppy?” It took no more than three seconds for John to calm himself down and change the tone of his voice back to it's usual self. The harsh, nonverbal order, which he had given to his slave, had triggered this explosive change. Suddenly, he was no longer just a horny man touching a young woman. He was stern, demanding and immensely hard to read. Good old Pratchett. This ability to change personality within seconds was proof that no one could really be safe in the company of John Pratchett. It also explained a thing or two about his true potential. “I think... you are hiding something from me... Your abilities have left your Master quite... what should I call it? Content?” Yes, that was exactly what he was; content. Not amused, not ecstatic or awestruck. Just content. His previous excitement over her skill had been shoved into a corner of his mind for the moment. He could always pick up from where they left off and reward her for being a sexy dancer. After this, he would have Ginger dance for him at any possible occasion. “At the same time, your abilities have also raised questions. Like... if you refrained from telling me, your Master, about this ability in the past... then what other secrets are you hiding from me? I'll give you a choice. You can either tell me what it is you are hiding... do that and I'll show you mercy... you get to pick the punishment and then, after I've fucked you, and if you behave, I'll let you come. Or...” he leaned into her again and put his hands around her neck. Although his fingertips only rested on her skin, it was a very clear display of his power and his intentions. “You don't speak a word, in which case I'll be forced to punish you severely. But this time, the punishment will be much more entertaining. If you don't speak up, I'll leave you chained to this whipping post for the rest of the night. Very uncomfortable. Come tomorrow, we will have a lot of guests. Some of them are older than I am, and some of them have even more interesting views on pleasure than I do. Five of those lucky bastards will get to fuck someone special... can you guess who? My, you are right! It's you! Everyone just loves a tight redhead! So, you'll just have to stand here, all defenseless. All your holes available. Every item at their disposal. No guards, no limits. How do you like that ultimatum? Are you such a nasty bitch that you'd rather remain silent? Hmm?”

He could only speculate about the kind of thoughts that ran through her mind. However, one thing was certain beyond any doubt: Ginger would struggle to appease his demand. It went unsaid that John would never allow another man to lay a finger on her. She was his possession, and no man had been in intimate contact with her ever since her days as a free woman. It was bad enough that he had not been her first lover, but to share her with someone else - even as a reward for attaining remarkable results in the business - was unthinkable. That, in turn, gave his threat an extra layer of realism and apparent dread. It required an exceptional level of failure or disobedience on her part for him to even consider such alternative methods for punishment. Ginger would know, as he had never put her in a similar situation before. Even if she against all odds decided to remain silent and accept the punishment the next day, it was not difficult to realize that he would not take it lightly. No matter what happened during the event... no matter how much she screamed and begged him to save her from her assailants... He would blame no one else but her for being raped by five strangers.

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

Present Time... Ginger
​

"Ginger"...

She heard the venom dripping from his voice. Venom mixed with honey. He obviously said alot more than just "Ginger", but in reality, he didn't have to. That one word, her name, that one sound, venom and honey, was all that was needed. Much in the way that "please" had so much emotion, so much meaning, attached to it, when he hissed her name... "Ginger"... she felt the emotion... fear, despair, and even, yes, loathing, and she knew the meaning... all consuming lust, absolute control, disciplining punishment...

Yet, he was already punishing her. Her body was taut, heated, trembling. Her sex dripping. Her skin moist. Her eyes lidded. Her mouth open. Her lips parted. Her breathing deepening. Her heart wildly beating. She felt fear, almost terror, she felt despair, she felt alone, she felt needy, she felt heat, she felt cold, she felt empty, oh god, she felt so very empty. She wanted to be filled. Her body, conditioned by him, was already screaming to be filled, her mind begging for him, his touch, his taking of her... and yet he held back.. causing every nerve ending in her quivering form to cry out for him... Physically, it hurt. It was like a hunger deep in her belly, and seeing food, just beyond one's reach. That hunger, gripping, clawing at you, and you are denied what you so desperately want. And, to top it all off, HATING that which you so desperately want. Ginger did not love Pratchett.. She was completely devoted to him, but it was not out of love. It was out of fear and conditioning. Many did not understand that, only others like Ginger, Alex for example, understood that...

Ginger hated what he did to her. Hated when he fucked her. Hated that he aroused her. Hated when she reacted to him. Hated when she begged him. Hated that she needed him. Hated that deep inside, some twisted sense of desire made her want him. And if Pratchett managed to detect that hate, as he often did in the beginning, he punished her. He worked to condition her. Some would say he brainwashed her, and his other girls as well. But that was not true. He never wanted mindless dolls. Some Master's did. He, did not. And he chose not to sell mindless dolls. There were other slave traders out there, both in the US and outside the US. ConnectEve's reputation in that genre was second to none. They were known for their product not being "broken" completely. They were known for their superb training and for their superb selection. Alex was part of the reason for that. She was often shown as the "perfect" one. A blend of intelligence and submission second to none. Ginger was another often prime example, altho this was the first time she had been called upon to meet with potential investors. She had never been used for advertising, unlike Alex, who was. Altho she was seen at Pratchett's feet or at his side, most of the time. So in a way, she was advertising as well. Between Alex and Ginger, as well as Buyer's opinions, which in this business was huge, ConnectEve had quite the reputation.

But this is not about Alex, this is about Ginger. And right now, she was silent, trembling, eyes tightly closed, desperately trying to maintain control of her confusion and rising terror at that was happening.

“I think... you are hiding something from me... Your abilities have left your Master quite... what should I call it? Content? At the same time, your abilities have also raised questions. Like... if you refrained from telling me, your Master, about this ability in the past... then what other secrets are you hiding from me? I'll give you a choice. You can either tell me what it is you are hiding... do that and I'll show you mercy... you get to pick the punishment and then, after I've fucked you, and if you behave, I'll let you come. Or...” he leaned into her again and put his hands around her neck. Although his fingertips only rested on her skin, it was a very clear display of his power and his intentions. “You don't speak a word, in which case I'll be forced to punish you severely. But this time, the punishment will be much more entertaining. If you don't speak up, I'll leave you chained to this whipping post for the rest of the night. Very uncomfortable. Come tomorrow, we will have a lot of guests. Some of them are older than I am, and some of them have even more interesting views on pleasure than I do. Five of those lucky bastards will get to fuck someone special... can you guess who? My, you are right! It's you! Everyone just loves a tight redhead! So, you'll just have to stand here, all defenseless. All your holes available. Every item at their disposal. No guards, no limits. How do you like that ultimatum? Are you such a nasty bitch that you'd rather remain silent? Hmm?”

She tensed at his words. It was almost as if a red hot poker had been drawn across her skin. His words burned, seared, and terrified. When his hands came to rest about her throat, every muscle in her already bowstring taut body stiffened. Every nerve ending was on edge, and she tried, so desperately she tried, to calm her breathing, to even slow her rapidly thundering heart, but to no avail. Surely he felt her fear with just that light touch, felt the harsh beating of her heart, felt the deepening breaths, and he had to have felt the chill that coursed thru her as he spoke. He had to. She nearly shivered it was so cold.... icey fingers wrapping around her soul and strangling, while she silently begged for mercy... She was almost in tears as she managed to find her voice. His words, his choice of potential punishment spoke volumes to her, and of just how much she had displeased him, instead of pleasing him with her dance....

"Master.... no... please.... " not the right choice of words, and she knew it as soon as they slipped from her lips. But it was too late now to take them back. "Master, this slave would never hide anything from you. You... own... this girl's thoughts Master. You control this slave's every life giving breath, every beat of her heart." she was shaking almost violently now, all color having drained from her face. "I... I never meant to hide anything from you, Master...." Ginger was nearly sobbing. She had not meant for him to think this at all. "I... I ... this girl only wanted to please you... Master... please... have mercy.... please..." She suddenly realized how Alex must have felt. That level of fear, of total desperation, of being so alone, so helpless... She had heard Alex plead for mercy, now here she was, doing the same thing. "there is nothing this girl could ever hide from you Master.... I saw Alex dance, at a meeting.... It was nothing more than a reminder, that I too once danced. Murial sang.. "... Murial, the first she had mentioned of her sister in soooo long... "and I danced... so I practiced.. because.... bbbbecause..." Ginger paused, her bottom lip was trembling as she fought to say the words... tears flowing down her pale cheeks... "I wanted to surprise you.. Master... I just.... wanted to surprise and please .... you... Master. I only did it for you... Master.... I... I.. this girl.. only.... lives.... for you.... Master. Mercy... mercy please...." she was crying now, not anything loud, but it was obvious she was crying as she waited for him to .... decide....

~*~​

Present Time... Alex​

It was strange, just how his touch effected her. Alex certainly was the perfect specimin for ConnectEve and their.. product. Beautiful, erotic, submissive, yet intelligent... with the ability to carry on a conversation with even the most powerful CEO's or Government officials during the purchasing process... witty... she had made more than one person burst into laughter on many occassions. It was one of the reasons alot of people felt so comfortable around her. Found her easy to talk to. She could converse with the most experience Master, while kneeling at his feet, and converse equally to a novice who had no clue. Touch, was something she was used to. Slaves were often petted just as the family cat would be. It wasn't always sexual... The gentle caress of fingers, the soft massage of a hand, the moist glide of lips.. even tho she was still virginal, and kept that way on purpose, by order of Master Pratchett, touch was something she was very used to... and usually it did not arouse her in the least. She had learned to surpress that part of herself. Well, she, in reality, had been forced to surpress that part of her...

When she had been with JJ, he wanted her all to himself. If he even thought another touched her, he would flip out. She had learned to not show when another had patted her behind as she passed, or had brushed against her breast as she served them drinks. She had learned that allowing such things to happen innocently garnered her more tips. But she kept it, and her reactions, well hidden from JJ. Now, she was kept untouched so that when she was sold, she would bring more money. But Alex also knew that Pratchett had designs on using her himself. But... given how much his son had loved her, and still did, he kept his desires under control, at least that's what Alex surmised. She was a pretty smart cookie when it came to things like that, reading people, deciphering emotions. There was one small fact tho that she was unsure of, was JJ even still alive? She had not seen him since the... incident. And just the thought of him made her go cold.

But she wasn't thinking about JJ right now. What she was thinking of was the heat that flowed thru her when Tom touched her, the glide of his fingers, the softness of his hand. And again, she found herself leaning into his touch, her head ever so slightly tilting, velvety cheek pressing lightly to his palm, letting her eyes close, a soft, almost contented sigh slipping past her lips. She felt her breath catch when his fingers began to ever so gently explore the contors of her throat, the tickle almost making her giggle... But even more so, the electric charge from just that touch shooting thru her, awakening her....

But the ring of his cell broke the spell that almost seemed to be winding around the room.

“Oh hi... honey... Yes, I know... I'm sorry I didn't get home in time. I had his meeting, I needed to attend. Yeah, I thought it was odd as well, but you know how it is. Well you see, my boss, he... eh, he offered me a bonus. Yes, I was surprised as well, very surprised. But we know each other from my younger years... no, it's not cheating. No, it's not. Yes, we can go check it out next Sunday, if you'd like. I'm on my way, I'll see you in a bit... I Love you too...”

Alex was looking down and away as he spoke. For a moment, she wished that it were she on the other end of that phone. Normal, Free, phoning her lover, smiling as she said "I love you" back to him.. hanging up, looking forward to Sunday and checking out whatever it was.. Normalcy. Total and complete normalcy. Something she would never have.

“I should go. I'm sorry about before... Well, about everything that has happened. To you, I mean. In any case, I'll drop by in the morning with some new clothes for you. Just call the reception desk and they'll bring it to you. Actually, you can call the reception if you need anything else too. I bet you are probably hungry. You don't have to worry about payment, as I've already taken care of that... just don't go overboard with the champagne and strawberries. I'll make arrangements for a doctor to take a look at your back tomorrow. Once it's been checked, we can... talk about... everything. I guess we... well, it doesn't matter. Sleep well.”

She stayed silent as he babbled, and that's just what it was, babbling. Obviously, the call with his wife, or girlfriend, a significant other, whatever she was, had derailed him in more ways than one. He didn't wear a ring, so she could not be sure unless he told her. Suddenly he looked like a lost kid, and sounded a lot like some of the first time Buyers, trying to justify what they were doing, as if she were their wife and condemning the purchase. That hint of dominance that she had heard, felt, was gone. No, wait, not gone, he'd just tucked it away as soon as he heard his girl's voice. He hid it so fast, his entire demeaner changed in the blink of an eye. That was good, being able to do that. That told Alex a couple of things. One, he was hiding what he really was from his girl. Or perhaps he was trying to change what he was. She still wasn't sure of his past, of course. Or what it was that he was really hiding... And he was damned good at putting those walls up in record time... But even more telling, at least to Alex, was how fast he got his ass out of there. She didn't think that was entirely attributed to the girl calling. Oh that was part of it, she was sure, but she got the feeling that his reaction to her, mirrored her reaction to him. It was almost as if the chemistry between the 2 would just take over. He, was the first guy in a very, very long time that had managed to awaken her desires. The first guy that had well.. aroused her.. even after the punishment she had taken.

And now, he was gone. Alex knew that was a good thing in reality. She was going to have to work with him, never mind the fact that she belonged to him. That was something they would have to deal with, but right now, she did not even want to think about it anymore.

He had been right about her being hungry. Carefully, with more than one gasp of pain, she got up off the bed, found the hotel bathrobe hanging in the bathroom, and wrapped it about her naked body. The shower would have to wait. She was weak and needed to eat something to give her at least enough strength to stand in the shower. Picking up the phone, she dialed 0... asking for room service. 20 mins later and her dinner, or was it breakfast, or lunch, she wasn't even sure of the time anymore, arrived. Half an hour after that and she was doing as he had suggested and taking a shower. And 15 mins later, she was asleep. She set the alarm to awaken her in 4 hours... that translated to 7am...36 or so hours after her punishment. She had, for all intents and purposes, missed an entire day. The saving grace was that day had nothing scheduled. New product was due in, and she usually left a free day every week for evaluating that new product. So she missed an evaluation day. That, she could easily make up between sales meetings.

Next Day... Alex​

A call down to the reception desk, and the clothing promised by Tom was sent up. He was a man of his word. Now, the actual act of moving was not an easy feat. She was stiff, bruised and in pain, but she would just have to deal with that. Missing another day was out of the question. If Pratchett caught her not doing her job, she'd have to endure another punishment and she wasn't sure she could do that right now. No, she would make it thru this day.. and the following days. She had no choice. So, after another hot shower, damn those showers felt good, she changed into the form fitting black slacks and pink blouse Tom had sent over, along with a brand new pair of black leather boots, which Alex thought was an interesting choice. He obviously had observed her enough in the little time he knew her to pick up on her preference of wearing boots to heels, again... interesting. And, everything was sized correctly, another very interesting fact. He was observant, very observant, and knew women's bodies pretty damned good. Honestly, she found that a bit... well.. almost disconcerting. She had thought he would just ask about getting into her own private room with her clothes and such, but then again, if he had done that, others would have been curious. And the less people within ConnectEve that knew she had been out of commission for a day, the better. He must have thought the same thing, and again, she found that quite... interesting. Never mind that fact that he had chosen clothes that would easily hide her marks and bruises from her punishment.

She left the hotel by 8:00am and was at ConnectEve by 8:30am. She had her first sales meeting of the day at 9:15am with a repeat Buyer and PM Dale. Her preparation for that was quite easy. The repeat Buyer was looking for a 2nd girl to compliment his first. This would be a good example to have Tom sit in on and observe. This particular Buyer was a very easy going, middle aged, buisness CIO. It took only a couple of clicks of the mouse on her PC to tell her who he was paired up with a year ago. She had thought it was Candace and she had been right. Alex had a very good memory for this kind of thing. She usually only needed to double check on the inhouse computer records to see if she were correct. She didn't even need to look up Candace's picture. She remembered her, the perky little blonde with the short hair and bright blue eyes. Reminded Alex of a surfer girl. Toned body, tanned, great pair of legs. Now, the question was, did the Buyer want a similiar girl to complement Candance, or an opposite, which when Buyers purchased a 2nd girl, that was the norm.

Yes, this would be a good example to show Tom. Let him see the steps involved in making a sale. She had 20 mins before the meeting. Checking the inhouse PC once more, Alex saw that Tom had been assigned an office. ConnectEve was efficent, that was for sure. But given the girl doing the assigning more than likely belonged to the Building Manager, the man who kept track of office assignments, moves, and anything else that involved the building itself, of course she was going to be good, even if to just avoid being punished.

He had been assigned office 721. Not far at all from the stables. Alex knew that office. It had belonged to a PM that had advanced up to VP. She was still moving slowly, the pain more of a persistant deep ache than anything dibilitating, and as she passed several other PMs on the floor, always lowering her head in a submissive greeting to them, she was thankful that Tom had chosen the outfit he did for her. Did he even realize what a favor he had done for her? Yes, news of her punishment was now known. But not having to display the marks of her transgression meant more to her than maybe even she realized.

Getting to her knees, on the other hand, was a bit more painful, given the muscles now had to move and flex in a less common direction, never mind the pressure points on her knees, and her lower back. If anyone decided then to give her a smack on the ass, or on her back, even if lightly, she'd probably scream. That was where the pain lay, in the touching in any way, of her myriad of bruises. But lower to her knees she did as she entered Tom's office. She belonged to him, this was a show of submission to him. If he had been one of the others, or Pratchett, she would have crawled across the floor to his feet, and brushed her lips to his shoes. But she knew, at least on the surface, he was not all that comfortable yet... and she was smart enough to adjust her actions to reflect what she knew about him. So instead of crawling across the floor and kissing his feet, she stepped within the office, allowed the door to close behind her, and slowly, fighting that wince of pain, descended to her knees, her thighs parting slightly, hands resting upon, head up but her eyes lowered beneath her dark golden lashes.

First things first... Alex's voice was deep, soft, with a almost melodic tone as she spoke. "Good Morning Master... this girl wishes to first... " she paused for a moment only, choosing her words carefully.."thank you for your attentiveness and... help.. concerning my recent punishment..." it almost sounded cold, and businesslike... until she added... "I owe you... my gratitude... Master... I owe you.. my life".. It was true, she was not embellishing. If Pratchett had found her there when he emerged from his private session with Ginger, he would have killed her, she was sure of that. Yes, he saw this, her enslavement, as the ultimate punishment for what she had done to JJ, what she had caused, but his rage would have been out of control, and she knew that. Tom had effectively saved her life, and now, he owned her life.

"But I am here as well to ask if you would be able to observe your girl's next sales meeting, at 9:15 today. It involves a repeat buyer and I thought you would be interested in the process involved in matching a Buyer with the product, how I determine the best match, and the basics of making a sale. PM Dale is in charge. He is good at what he does, he has been with ConnectEve for 3 years, and I find him easy to work with and talk to." ... Dale was a closet Dominant. He was passive at home with the wife. He kept his girl exclusively at work, and he was very easy on her.

With his nod of ascent, as well as his permission to stand, Alex, after slowly getting to her feet, she knew Tom could see that flash of pain on her eyes as she moved, Alex sat down at his desk and accessed the file on the repeat Buyer.

"This is Mr. Bernard Wilcox. Our records here..." she navigated deeper into his file.. "... show that he purchased his first girl from the Company in May of last year. He was matched with Candace.. this is her..." a picture of a pert, petite blonde popped up. "I matched them up myself..." Alex couldn't help but smile, it was a good match. "he is now seeking a 2nd girl. My goal in this sales meeting is to detemine if he is seeing a similiar girl to Candace or a, what I call, a polar opposite in looks. Now, after reviewing few of my notes in his file... here..." she printed the notes out for Tom to review..." I believe if he is looking for a similiar girl, than Ashely would be the best match. She is the same age as Candace, 22, blonde, petite, perky, and with a very similiar personality and level of training. But.... if he's looking for the opposite, than I would recommend Lora... " the picture popped up, the girl was taller than both Candace and Ashley, standing at nearly 5'9" according to her stats, with a curly mane of chestnut brown hair and huge, exotic brown eyes, and full cherry red lips..."Lora is only 19, but her training level mirrors Candace, and her personality is fairly similiar. She is a bit more, moody than Candace, but I think that will fit well with the even tempered Mr. Wilcox and the perpetually perky Candace. So... to be honest... I would recommend Lora over Ashely any day. I think he will be much happier. .... " Alex winked... this was what she did, where she was comfortable, and this was what she was good at... at least in this life... "So I thought you observing as PM Dale and I speak to the Buyer.... " she paused... "I thought it would be a good idea.. if I may be so bold to say... Master......"

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

Ten seconds; That was the exact amount of time it took for him to comprehend her words. Ten flimsy seconds was all it took, nothing more and nothing less. Enough time for his strong determination to desert him and for his mind to plunge into a chaotic stream of notions about the past. Long enough for him to feel the cold chill of surprise embrace his soul. A rare moment where he allowed his guard to drop, while his focus faltered and left him confounded, almost scared. It was a rare and extremely uncomfortable situation for him. As the seconds ticked away in invisible taunt of his momentary apathy, he struggled to regain control of himself and his thoughts. Lips were licked, teeth were gritted, and eyelids blinked frantically to pull him back to the surface of existence. In the process, he neglected the firm regulation of the rest of his body, and his fingers started to slide off her neck. He was loosing his grasp on her at a dangerous pace, both physically and mentally, and he recognized it as a frustrating feeling, a knot in his stomach that tempted him to scream, shout and cry out all at once. That was the effect those ten seconds of eerie realization had on John Pratchett, the mightiest man in the ConnectEve company.

The primary reason for his hesitation was a matter of resemblance. He had pushed her to the edge, not just physically, but also emotionally. Emotions were always a dangerous part of the game, and her reaction affected him more than he understood. She was crying. Well, she had done that so many times before. He had lost count of the times, where she had let the tears fall freely during or after a punishment. She had learned to cry in silence, had been taught to carry emotional stress with dignity. It was nothing new that she tensed at his words, and fought incredibly hard to retain her voice while she spoke. Although, she had not cried like this for a while. More interesting, though, was how she mentioned her sister as part of her reason for practicing dancing. He knew for a fact that the two sisters used to be close despite their differences in appearance and temperament. Irrational or not, it was the only explanation he needed to determine whether or not she was telling him the truth. He had trained her to repress her memories, even though he knew it was impossible for her to do so completely. Just by saying her name, she triggered memories in his mind, ghosts, which brought him back in time to the company of another woman in a different place. Ginger could not know it, but she always reminded him of her mother, some days more than others. It was never easy to face the feelings such a reminder could evoke inside him, and for some odd reason it struck much harder that night. Ironically, John's moment of absolute control of his slave, was ruined by her efforts to do, what he expected her to do. Her continued plea for mercy, her weakness, her terrified mess of an explanation... it all brought him out of balance, even if only for ten seconds.

By the time it was over, he was back to being himself. Hard as rock on the outside and black as tar on the inside. Stern and completely in control of himself and his intentions, just like when he had threatened her with the unpleasant prospect of being molested by five strangers. However, that was before she had answered him, before the unexpected moment of hesitation. It had been a mistake, but not a costly one. Her mind was preoccupied by other inputs, so it was doubtful she had noticed the brief change in his attitude toward her. Actually, the only visible change was the placement of his hands; they had exchanged their menacing grip around her neck for a light hold around her shoulders. While this apparent change from ruthless to gentle would appear odd in the eyes of an outsider, it was far from unusual in their relationship. To administer merciless pain one moment and offer gentle caresses the next was a special part of the game, one that John played to perfection. However, contrary to usual practice, his gentle support of her shoulders was not a deceptive part of the game, but the natural aftermath of his confusion, a spontaneous reaction to her pleas, like the young woman was not his puppy but someone... else.

Even at the edge of reason, there was always a faint hope. There was more to control than ruling through fear and pain. It was important to have control over others, to guide and monitor their steps for the best result possible. No man could call himself a true leader, unless he understood how to manipulate people into submission. To be in control of events was just as important, but above all, it was crucial to be have control over one's own fears and desires. Restrain and knowledge both equaled control. It was the ability to remain calm even when upset or provoked. Control was knowing when to punish, award and even forgive.

Now, like any other act of kindness, the ability to forgive was quite special and could function as pure venom when used correctly. It lulled the slave into a false sense of security, a position where she was breathing at his mercy. It was also the perfect tool to confuse and thus bring about strong emotions of fear in the heart of the receiver. Ginger's reaction to his threat furthered the idea that she was his favorite. She was readable, but never boring; Fearful, but not annoyingly so. The fear she expressed was genuine, because she understood the situation she was in, and recognized it was different from any other situation, which she had ever been in. A pardon was always within her reach, but Pratchett had never told her how to obtain one such. This was the fundamental difference between Ginger and all the other girls in ConnectEve. Even Alexandra with all her influence and indirect power had never been spared. None of the girls would ever be able to escape a punishment by begging for John's mercy. Ginger could, but she did not know it, because he had never spared her in the past. Tonight would be different, tonight he would show her mercy... if only because it would enable him to get back at her by infusing her with a different kind of dread.

“My beautiful little Ginger.” He broke the silence with his usual, sly voice and brushed his lips over her neck in another display of his supremacy. Sometimes, sexual slavery ran both ways, even if only to a small degree. It was uncommon, but there were no rules that prevented the Master from obsessing over the pet, and John's interest in her was more akin to an obsession than anything else. It certainly was not love or simple attraction, but he would never openly admit it, not even to himself. “My loyal slave girl. You really would do anything to please your Master, wouldn't you? You said you wanted to show me how good you are at dancing, and you certainly did not disappoint. A dance! Why didn't I think of that myself? To think that you came up with it on your own account... it's impressive. You are very perceptive, little one.” His teeth sank into her earlobe for the second time that night. The embrace was rough, but not nearly enough to cause any damage, as it was merely the prelude to his next statement. “You have made mistakes tonight. I've seen them all, and you know it very well. Every breath you hold back, every step you miss... The only reason you would never hide anything from me, if because you simply can't. I see everything. Do you understand this, little one?” He moved his left hand from her shoulder and wiped her cheeks free of tears. Not even the tears, which she shed, were hers to keep. Every little part of her belonged to him. “I should be punishing you right now for your transgression. Have you forgotten the language we speak? All the signals I have taught you? Don't tell me you can't remember their meaning anymore! You bow, when I ask you to. You kneel before me, when I wave my fingers at you. You eat, you sleep, you fuck when I tell you to!”

His right hand collided with her hip again. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed through the empty room in a disturbing way that made him grin. He had hit her the exact same place as before, but the sudden brutality was only a taste of things to come. With his free arm twisting around her belly, and his nails carving into her flesh, he forced her body to assume the position he had intended. He pulled her to her feet and unlocked the handcuffs around her wrists; they had served their purpose for the night, but the removal of them undoubtedly raised silent questions in her mind. Once he had tucked them away inside one of his pockets, he twisted his arm around her petite form again and dragged her away from the whipping post, until it was barely with her reach. Then he bent her over; adjusted her back and legs until they formed an almost perfect angle of 90 degrees, with her rear pushed slightly into the air and her tender cherry exposed to his eyes. He was on her within a second, weighing her down from behind, both of his hands resting on her hips now, and his covered crotch pressing against her bared pussy. “Do you remember this? The touch of my hand? Do you remember what it means? I know you do, so why did you not react? Why did my touch go unnoticed? Of all your failures tonight, this has to be the most severe. It's unforgivable. Only a bad puppy would make such a mistake. But you are not a bad puppy - are you, Ginger? You are not just a little whore without purpose, right? I marked you, because I knew you would do well. You are clever... you know how much I enjoy watching Alexandra dance. Maybe you even thought you could outmatch her? Is that it? Is that what my puppy is thinking? I can say your dance was a most welcome break from the routine, although I could do without the mistakes and your insolent attitude... but I forgive you. Tonight, Little one, I forgive you all your mistakes.”

Meanwhile, as he spoke, his other hand crawled down across her belly and found rest on her pubic mound. There, his fingertips dug into her skin, gently testing the flexibility of the fatty tissue that marked the beginning of her vulva. Pinching, stretching, fondling her. Slowly, the testing turned into teasing; his hand pressing against her skin, sliding down, rubbing over the entire length of her gender. He attacked the most sensitive area of her body with vertical movements, fingers following the shape of her vulva's lips and the slit in-between, first up, then down. After a while of provocative touching, he began massaging the area with circular motions. Over and over again, the palm of his hand ravaged her clitoris, while his fingers slid in and out of her entrance, one after the other at a dynamic pace. Her wetness was undeniable, and it didn't take long before his fingers were sticky with her fluids. He knew her so well, had molded her body to react to him with perfection. Not even when he heard her gasp, did he relent in his assault one bit. On the contrary, he loved to push his darling pup to the limit, until her knees buckled underneath her, and she had to bite her lower lip to blood to prevent herself from climaxing. It was a joy to bring her into a state, where she had to fight to remain standing. She was not this far yet, but she would still wait for his permission, even if it meant waiting forever.

“You like this, don't you?” He leaned over her, buried his nose in her hair and forced three fingers inside her at once, pulling her lips apart, stretching her as they went in further. His thumb tickled the area around her clitoris, and her reaction caused him to chuckle. “She can't come unless I tell her to. Isn't that right, sweetie? How much do you want it? Tell me just how much you want to let go.... how much you want to thrash your sweet cunt against my fingers to get off. Go ahead. Say it. Tell me what you are. Tell me what you want. Tell your Master what a good, obedient girl you are, and how much you deserve this.” He moved again, pulled his fingers out of her vagina and brought them to his nose, to breathe in the distinct smell of her arousal. Then he lifted his hand up into the air, and watched with fascination as the thick substance ran down his skin. It fell from his fingers and onto her back in long strings, like pure honey fresh out of the extractor. His eyes shifted back and forth between his hand and her skin. After a while, he moved his hand in front of her face, where he smeared the scent and fluid of her dripping sex all over her lips. Sensual strokes, like he was merely touching her in sweet affection. Then he repeated his command. “Tell me what you are. Tell me exactly what you are, and how much you want it. Tell me what a horny little thing you are, and how much you ache to be filled. Say it! SAY IT!”

His fingers followed every movement of her lips, and didn't even stop when she replied. It turned her answer into a sloppy, almost inaudible string of words, as he clearly did his best to explore her mouth with his fingers. Her body tensed against his, and it was clear it made her uncomfortable to have him touch her like that. Still, as long as she tried to answered him, it didn't really matter what her words implied. He didn't expect her to say anything out of the ordinary, and his mind was already focused on the next part. As soon as she grew silent, he pressed two fingers into her mouth. He needed not give her a command to clean them off; she simply complied and started sucking on them, like the good puppy she was. He had her in his grasp, every trace of hesitation had left him completely. At long last it was time to undo his belt and unzip his trousers; Time to free his erect member, time to conquer her young body all over again. His approach was exceptionally slow. His free hand fumbled with the belt and the zipper, but he forced himself to remain calm, entirely aware that it only prolonged the girl's agony.

John had a surprisingly active sex-life for a man his age. Of course, it came as part of his personality and position. He had not spent one night under the same roof as his legitimate wife in over fifteen years, and he very much enjoyed the freedom of living on his own. Well, he did live on his own, but he always had at least one girl within reach if the need ever came up. His hunger was great, but unlike other great men with a similar insatiable appetite for women, John rarely showed much compassion during the act itself. Sex occurred frequently in his private quarters, and the more it happened, the more he feared repeating himself. He enjoyed the calm satisfaction that followed an encounter with one of his girls, and it stimulated him to know he could have anyone at anytime. It was not like he did not have enough humor to see it himself. One of the jokes he often used in the company of his staff was when he left a briefing with the excuse that his coach was waiting – “his coach” being a reference to one of his slaves. The members of his staff would always laugh, if only to show that they were on the same page as their boss and deserved the perks they had been granted.

He pushed his hips forward, and felt how her swollen labia resisted him for a second, before they gave in to the pressure of his cock. He took his time, slid inside the delicate inside of her vagina and froze on the spot. A loud sigh escaped him, and he lost himself in the tight fit of the young woman. With their bodies locked together through physical means, he enjoyed the sensation of her slick tunnel squishing his erection, the feeling of her body writhing against his. The combined eroticism of their physical intimacy and his supreme reign over her, was almost too much to bear. He reveled in the fact she was his property, liked how she couldn't escape him, even if she wanted to. The thought triggered the inevitable, fueled the lust, which he had suppressed up until that point. He pulled out of her, his heart beating violently in his chest, preparing his system for the next minutes of heated activity.

Oh, he wanted her so badly. Wanted to defile her sweet self, wanted to fill her in every way possible. He contemplated fucking her twice, if he could manage it. The foreplay had been most stimulating, and his restless mind kept presenting him with images of positions and new possibilities. It was those very fantasies that inspired him to continue, and when he finally shoved himself into her again with unrestrained force, he thought about news ways to dominate and humiliate her. She was sucking on his fingers for now, but he would soon have her suck on other parts of him. He wouldn't just invade her, or pump her full of his essence, he would break her, rape another piece of her soul and, yes, change her. The things he would do to her, and the things he dreamed about doing to her... they all melted together into a grand union of fantasy and reality. All the while, he was working himself through the first phase of their encounter. This mostly consisted of him pulling gently out of her, and then ramming his member into her tender opening again, increasing the speed and force of each thrust as the process went on. It was teasing and subtle punishment in one lovely package, one that kept her yearning for more, while she grew sore and delightfully exhausted.

“You... are... a... bad... filthy... little... girl...” Each word were delivered with it's own thrust. It was easy to monitor her excitement, based upon her erratic breathing and the occasional moan that slipped out of her largely occupied mouth. The next time he pulled out of her, he also withdrew his fingers from her mouth and exhaled into her ear. “Tell me... what you are. Explain to me what the scar on your buttock means. The P that I gifted to you... Tell me what it stands for. Remind me, why you are your Master's favorite, his fuck-toy. Say it...” He listened to her, picked up all the different emotions in her voice, the badly concealed fear, the shame, the guilt and the uncontrollable desire. Her reward was the sensation of his phallus sliding into her again. Suddenly, the game had changed, and he no longer withdrew completely from inside the firm confines of her peach. The movements of his hips reached a steady pace, the force of his thrusts became moderate, and his hands locked themselves around the back of her neck. Years of training had benefited both of them, and he knew from experience what kind of kinks her body reacted to. This was how she preferred to be taken. He had spotted it in her from the start, her latent affinity for being pushed around, kept on a leash, and fucked whenever he saw fit. She was living for their intimate sessions, breathing for the simple purpose of feeling him inside her once more. They all were. “Scream it to the world, Ginger... Let anyone hear what you are... Who you belong to... SCREAM!”

It was not a permission for her to let go and climax at will. It was simply Pratchett's way of recognizing her sexual frustration. Just another way for him to tell her he didn't care about meeting her ultimate needs yet. Instead, he pushed her down further with his hands, forced her forward as though he was trying to drown her in some imaginary pool of water. Physically, he was threatening to break her. Sexually, he was giving her, what her body craved; The hardness went back and forth inside her, filled her up at regular intervals. His heated breath hovered in the air above her head, and the rough touch of his hands implied a perverse sense of safety. Although he didn't miss physical stimulation himself, the biggest turn-on for him was the notion of control and coercion. The situation was meant to guide her in the right direction, and bring her to the edge of discipline, where the game really turned interesting. If she lost control of herself, she could end up begging for sweet release. That kind of pleas were very entertaining, but not always acceptable. However, something was still missing. A last bit of teasing was required to really drive her mad.

He shifted position, gathered her long hair in his fist and drew her up from the awkward bend over stance. He retained this forceful arching of her back, even when his available hand ran all the way from the back of her neck to her crotch, where his fingers not only pinched her flesh but also tickled her clitoris. The speed of his assault picked up, and their voices intensified in a mixture of moans and sighs. Fingers molested, rubbed and cuddled the tiny button between her legs, kept her on her toes, while he pounded into the velvet depths of her flower. “Fuck.... you are such a good girl... a tight girl... You will be good from now on... won't you, little one? Be good and your Master will always reward you... shower you with endless bliss... touch you... take you... rape you out of your mind... just like you want it. Like it was always meant to be... wouldn't you say so... puppy?” With every word that escaped him, he felt the heat rise inside his body, felt the tension building in his crotch. He was getting close to his own climax... but nothing in his words indicated he would allow her the same luxury anytime soon.

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

It appeared anyone – including the staff working the reception desk and the secretaries, who roamed the floor where his office was located – expected him to know everything from the get-go. At least, that was what he gathered from the first hour of pointless wandering from one office to another in search of information. No one appeared inclined to help him or make an effort to get him properly settled into the routines of the company. The longer he searched in vain, the more he wished he had arranged for Alexandra to come along on his first trip to the building. She knew how things functioned in ConnectEve, knew the system's loopholes and the proper code of conduct. She would know a thing or two about how far the deteriorating morale reached inside the company, what to say and when to say it. He, on the other hand, was clueless and knew only what his politeness dictated. That became painfully obvious halfway through the fourth pointless debate with one of the secretaries. He realized how wise it would have been to pick his would-be assistant up on the way to his new job. It would have been easy, wouldn't even have raised noteworthy suspicion. He was going to work in the same division as her, and no one would blame him for giving her a casual ride. They were colleagues. Nothing more.

Debbie had been asleep, when he returned to their house that night. He had expected her to be awake, had almost feared the prospect of coming face to face with her eager questions. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, he had glanced briefly into the living room, while his mind was already preparing his version of the events that had transpired. Events, which had kept him away from home longer than usual. He knew she was dying to hear him explain the new situation of their life, but he had nevertheless found her snoring in the bedroom. She was so pretty, pure and innocent in display. Her cheek resting upon his favorite pillow, chestnut brown hair cascading over the edges, her arms locked around a huge chunk of the bedding, as a sort of makeshift teddy bear. It was a clear sign of how much she had missed him, and though it disappointed him that she was not awake, it actually made everything easier for him. His explanation could do with a bit of polish, details had to be adjusted and made believable. So he did not wake her. Instead, he just crept close to her for a brief moment, heard her breathe, watched her chest rise and fall, then kissed her forehead and went downstairs to sleep on the couch in the living room. Well, at least he tried to doze off. He closed his eyes, hid his face underneath the blanket and fought hard to shut the world out. It was easy to turn off everything, except his own thoughts, and his mind managed to pull him back toward the same idea again and again. The features of her face, her reaction to his touch. Oh yes, he had noticed it. He had almost blocked it out in the situation, but now that they were apart, the truth became apparent to him. She had responded to him. A twisted part of him had salvaged the memory, and it wouldn't leave him alone. The sight stuck with him. The sight of her moving her head slightly to the side, as she surrendered a tiny part of her safety to lean against his touch. It made him warm to think about it. Warm and so hopelessly foolish. Every attempt at erasing it was in vain, and the moment he opened his eyes for the fifth time, he decided it was futile to try again.

He made a call to another of his old associates, the daughter of the now deceased Mortimer Mordel, mastermind behind the 2M Fashion House. No one else in the business would be able to answer his pleas in the middle of the night like Christy would. It paid to have intimate knowledge of other people's daily routines, and if there was someone in the fashion industry, who Tom knew at a most intimate level, it was Christy Mordel. They had been in touch multiple times in the past, sometimes more intimately than others. She had a thing for him, an odd interest, which Tom could never really return to the fullest. Sex was not a problem, it was great and all... but he didn't share her view of their connectivity. Truth was, she wanted him too much. Even so, he had done his homework brilliantly, and he knew how to get her attention. A single phone call was all it took for the otherwise emotionally distant fashion designer to melt and sigh with longing. She had quite the reputation in the business, and everyone knew who the talk revolved around if someone mentioned “the Bitch”. Of course, this foul monicker was not entirely without basis in reality, but most of the people, who dared call her by the name, were just envious of her.

His reason for calling her was simple. Christy was nocturnal. A workaholic, who drew her inspiration from the nightlife. Her greatest creations had come to life in the wee small hours, and she rarely allowed herself any proper rest. This made for some very strange meeting schedules, but it also presented Tom with the perfect opportunity to keep his word to his new colleague. Christy could provide him the clothes he had in mind, if she wanted to, and if he managed to dodge her advances before it was too late to back out. Initially, she didn't sound happy to hear his voice. There was a touch of coldness to her voice, a part of her, which he did not remember at all. It quickly turned out that is was a charade, her own little scheme to get back at him. She giggled at his request. The sound was familiar, made it easy for him to picture her sitting in her office with her slender legs resting casually on the table. She was probably wearing one of her own creations, something flimsy and unsuitable for the occasion. But okay, she had always been a provocateur, and who cared what she wore, when she was working alone at night?

Despite all the little games she played, it was easy to talk her into helping him. However, the moment he walked through the large back door of the building and greeted her with a tight hug, he knew it would not be easy to leave again. Quite unusual for her personality, it was clear that she was drunk. He could smell it in her breath and see it in the way she walked. It was hard to concentrate on finding a suitable outfit with her hovering around him like a lovesick teenage girl. Although, perhaps that was an unjust comparison. Christy acted more like... one of those awful, archetypical representations of a desperate woman usually seen in porn movies. She touched him, rubbed herself against him by accident. Went in the way on purpose, so that they would brush against each other when he passed by her. She flirted, laughed and teased him, obviously caring little about his silent rejections and his attempts at starting a more civilized discussion. It was almost funny, how he had to sneak away from her and go through the private stock of 2M's unreleased clothes and accessories to find what he was looking for. As a result, he didn't find the best of the lot. The majority of the selection was too extravagant in design to appeal to his taste, but it had one distinctive advantage: With a few exceptions, every little piece of clothing found in stock was Christy's size... and in terms of height and curves, Christy was very similar to Alexandra. He hadn't promised the girl anything fancy, and so, his final choice of outfit came out a bit dull in his own opinion. It was a pair of black slacks – tight but not skimpy – and a pink blouse of ordinary design. The colors contrasted nicely with each other. The black leather boots were almost an afterthought, but a pretty important one on it's own. The memory of her wearing leather boots for their first meeting was pretty dominant.

Now, the process of getting out of the building again proved to be a difficult task, just like he had predicted. In the end, he had settled down with her at her office desk and asked her what was going on. It turned out she had got drunk to quell her disappointment with her latest flame, a paper pushing guy without humor or fantasy. Tom's sudden call and visit had caused her to dip deeper into the bottle to brace herself for the awkward reunion. His response had been to use his charm and promise her they would find a day to eat lunch together. It was bad enough that he was alone with her in an empty office in the middle of the night. But having lunch with her in a crowded place in broad daylight... that was a promise he could keep without crossing any line. Her only answer was a nod and a skeptical look.

When he returned to Hotel Liberty about half an hour later, the lack of sleep was starting to have it's effect on him. There was not enough time for him to drive home and take a shower, so when he dropped the clothes off in the reception, he also asked permission to use the staff's bathroom. His friendship with the hotel's management proved valuable once again, and he was instead shown to the nearest available room on the second floor. After a long shower and a five cups of coffee, he adjusted his suit to the best of his abilities and left the hotel again, this time heading for the ConnectEve building in another part of town. And so, after arriving at the main building and searching aimlessly through several floors, he had finally managed to find his office. The only real help, which he received, came from an unexpected angle. A very anonymous girl had been considerate enough to lead him to his office. On the way there, Tom had noticed the choker around her neck. She was a slave just like Alexandra. No wonder she was eager to help him, then.

721. That was the number of his new office. It was nothing luxurious, but still more inviting than any other office he had occupied in the recent years. Once he had taken in the visible details of the room, he turned toward the woman to ask about her name. Sadly, she had already disappeared, so he sat down at his desk and turned on the PC instead. For some odd reason, the drawers in his desk were already full of valuable information meant for his eyes alone. Passwords, contracts, keys... even a note regarding the final details of his employment was hid inside one of the drawers. Now that he was in possession of his personal password to the database – security clearance 3, Product Managers and Senior Officials – he had to sate his curiosity by digging into it's wealth of information. Fingers moves swiftly over the keyboard, entered the first few letters of the name of the person he wanted to look up. Then he stopped, his index finger hovering right above the letter X, as though he had been paralyzed on the spot. It was insane. To use the database for the purpose of looking up information about her. It was obsessive, and a sign of weakness. What did he need to know about her, anyway? Why was it so important for him to stick his nose into her affairs?

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Alexandra was his colleague. True, Pratchett had supposedly... given... her to him. She seemed very convinced of it, and Tom had a feeling she would act according to her own belief, regardless of what he told her. Though, no matter what he believed himself, it wasn't his apparent ownership of her that really bothered him. He had spent his time in the shower thinking of a solution to the whole ordeal, a plan that would satisfy everyone's expectations. That is, if Alexandra and he could get it to work properly... but that was not important at the moment. His concern was directed at his desire to learn more about her. To get intimate knowledge about her that would make him understand, who she was. Was this really a crime? Wasn't it perfectly normal, this need to understand people around you? It wouldn't hurt anyone if he -

He shut the database down immediately, when he heard the door open. Ironically, his visitor was no other than the woman, who had taken up most of this thoughts the last twenty-four hours or so. Looking at her filled him with shame. He had not finished the search for her name in the database, but it still felt as though he had been about to do something immoral. Perhaps this was because he silently recognized his urge to get friendly with her stemmed from more than ordinary interest in her person. Whatever the case, he found no words to greet her by. He just stared at her, as he got to her knees in a pose that was foreign to him. Unfamiliar or not, it didn't change how his body reacted to the beautiful sight. He felt a sudden surge of heat his gut, and he forced his eyes away from her.

Her heard her greeting, and noticed the change in her voice. It no longer held any trace of weakness, fear or defeat. It was soft, swaying and pleasant to his ears, and it made him smile without reservation. Still, it was the voice of a strong and independent woman, and the words she used certainly belonged to the businesswoman, who he had met the other day. She mentioned her gratitude. She still held on to the idea that he had saved her, and judging by his boss' temperament, it was probably true. But Tom did not feel heroic at all, and a part of him even loathed her idolization of his supposed deed. He remained silent, convinced that she had more to convey than her gratitude, and she soon revealed the real reason behind her visit. She wanted him to observe an upcoming sales meeting. A meeting where a young woman would be sold for money, sold like a cow or a pig and then brought home to cater for the buyer's grotesque fantasies.

Did he want to witness this? No, he did not! The man behind the mask, the unfiltered Tom Delany, did not want to witness - let alone learn about - the process of matching a client with one of their products. It was despicable, it was evil... How could a strong brand like ConnectEve run such a rotten business without raising attention? He couldn't accept it. However, the mask had more to say than the man in this regard, and Tom had nowhere to run and hide anymore. The only sensible choice was to learn everything about selling the products as quickly as possible. That inevitably involved watching other sales as they went down. Tom had known this, even before she brought the matter up. The best way to learn was to observe and repeat what you had learned.

He nodded his head, stiffly, without making a sound or otherwise showing what he felt about the decision. He stole another glance at her posture on the floor. Was this ConnectEve's brand of submission, or was his memory merely starting to fail him? In any case, he waved his hand at her in a gesture, which brought back memories of the past. A Master granting his slave permission to stand. To his own surprise, Alexandra reacted positively to the command and got to her feet. With his eyes glued to her as she got up form the floor, it was impossible to miss how hard she was struggling to contain the pain. He saw it in her eyes and when she sat down at his desk. It was around that time he realized, he had forgotten all about arranging a physical check-up of her. The realization embarrassed him to a degree, where he overheard the first part of her instructions. It wasn't until she loaded up a picture of a young blonde that he managed to gather his thoughts and listen to her. Notes were printed out, information was shared. Another picture appeared on the screen, complete with statics like height, date of birth and eye color. Tom kept up the best he could, but was completely perplexed when he saw her wink. She was good at her job, and she clearly knew it. But still... the casual gesture touched something dangerous inside him.

“Alexandra...” he cleared his throat and glanced at the recently printed documents before him. “Let me start by saying I'm glad you are doing good. Under the circumstances, I mean. I see you wear the clothes with grace. Like they were meant to be worn by you. Their creator would be very proud, if she was to see you wearing her clothes.” There, now he had been nice to her, had expressed his emotions in a way that did not give away too many undesirable details about him. He deliberately avoided mentioning her gratitude and the new extend of their... relationship. “You already know my opinion regarding the business you... I mean 'we'... conduct here. I believe I told you that quite clearly during our initial meeting, and I also recall repeating it after you woke up at the hotel. That doesn't change anything. I will accompany you to your meeting, and I will observe you and the PM do your thing. But we also need to figure out certain aspects of our situation. Together. If you are as good at reading people as you claim to be, then you have probably already read between the lines of what happened last night. I would lie, if I said I was not attracted to you. I still am. I am not the first man to say this to you, and I am sure I won't be the last either. That wouldn't be a problem, if we were just ordinary colleagues. Sadly, nothing about this seems ordinary, not at all...”

“Now Pratchett – that bastard – has me right where he wants. I can't just turn my back and leave, because that wold mean the end of everything I love and treasure. It would also mean the end of your life, that much I am certain about. And if you are right in your claim that he gave you to me, then he'll expect me to discipline you, keep you under my watch.” Tom didn't appreciate the fact he was slowly exposing every single part of his beating heart to her, but it had to be done. It was better to get it over with, now that he had the chance. They would both have to consider the situation before he presented her with his... ideas. “John... Pratchett.... believes I will force you to submit, and punish you whenever yo fail to obey. Question is... is this who I am? Is it me, it is someone else? You mentioned it as well... the game. The game of Master and slave. Maybe I was like that once. Perhaps I still am, somehow. Maybe I was even ruthless once. But all I did, was to satisfy someone strong enough to let herself be dominated. One who needed it to breath properly, a woman, who desired the crop as much as any man's erect manhood. This woman... I found her attractive on so many levels. She...” He grew silent and raised his eyes toward her. This was not important, so why was he even telling her about it? “Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? What does matter is... we are here. We both have a job to do. Fate, or whatever it is, has brought us together here, today. My point is... I need you to think really carefully about what you are willing to do to stay alive. Think about it, and then we'll discuss it later. And now I believe we should be heading toward the designated location of the negotiation. You have products to sell... don't you?”

 

[AmbrosiaCaress]

GINGER

“You like this, don't you? She can't come unless I tell her to. Isn't that right, sweetie? How much do you want it? Tell me just how much you want to let go.... how much you want to thrash your sweet cunt against my fingers to get off. Go ahead. Say it. Tell me what you are. Tell me what you want. Tell your Master what a good, obedient girl you are, and how much you deserve this. Tell me what you are. Tell me exactly what you are, and how much you want it. Tell me what a horny little thing you are, and how much you ache to be filled. Say it! SAY IT!”

He was looming over her, touching her, caressing her, penetrating her, fingers, voice, caressing, stroking, massaging, rubbing, pinching, thrusting. His fingers exploring her pussy lips, her clit, before then finding and equally exploring her lips and mouth. Ginger was lost in a myriad of sensations, that ran the gauntlet from fear to lust to need to love to hate.

SAY IT!

Tell me what you want...

"You Master... only YOU"... his fingertips traced along the motion of her lips as she whispered....

Tell your Master what a good, obedient girl you are...

"Your good puppy Master.. always loyal.. always obedient Master..always"... she never purposefully disobeyed, or displeased him. It happened yes, but she was never disobedient... Again his fingers followed the movement of her lips, the sensation both erotic and relaxing. She wanted to dart her tongue out to lick at the tips, but dared not.

Tell me how much you deserve this...

"Mmmmaster..." the word was soft, begging, as her voice wove around his still caressing fingers... "a slave deserves nothing except punishment MMmaster... your slave begs for everything else you desire to ever give her... Your slave begs you... Master... "

Tell me what you are... Tell me exactly what you are...

"Nothing Master... I am nothing. I am only what YOU wish me to be. I am NOTHING MASTER... You are everything..." Her words were wet and dripping now, his fingers tickling the softness of her lips over and over as she struggled to answer.

Tell me how much you want it...

"MMMaster... please... I do not want.. a slave has no right to want... only hunger Master... hunger for you Master... YOU" ... her lips vibrating slightly as she spoke...

Tell me what a horny little thing you are, how much you ache to be filled...

Tears were wet in her eyes, her body was shuddering against his, she struggling to stay in position as she fought to speak... His fingers still stimulating her lips, teasing, as if seeing if she would hesitate as she spoke... And each answer was gettting harder and harder to give, harder and harder to articulate, yet she knew better than to not try and answer. Never mind the fact she was more than terrified she would give the wrong answer and only serve to anger him...

"Heated, lusting, wanton, empty for you Master... Empty... Master, only you can fill this slave's body, this slave's soul. You Masterrrrrr" she was moaning now as the word faded from her lips. A mere moment later and his fingers slipped within her lips, she beginning the soft, gentle task of cleaning each of them, tongue licking, mouth suckling, the wet sound mingling with her breathing and his own.

Her body was shaking, from the effort to remain in position, from the jolts of electricity that had been shooting thru her since he had begun his assault on her, to the absolute need for sexual release that had now been awakened in her. He had her trained so well, that her body craved him, like a drug. And to be denied in any way, was almost painful. Ginger had hated her body's reaction to him, had hated when he fucked her, when he touched her, but that hate had been ripped away from her in the span of her training. Now, all she knew was her deeply seated hunger for him. A hunger that grew inside her as soon as she was in his presence. A hunger that desperately needed to be sated. A hunger that threatened to tear her apart if left to fester....

"Need you... NEED YOU MASTER... HUNGER FOR YOU" she cried out the words around his embedded fingers, just as he thrust himself forward, his hips hitting her own, his cock finding and dipping within the folds of her pussy, pushing into the depths of her... "MMMMASTERRRRR".... the word was garbled, sobbing, panting, as Ginger tensed at the deep penetration, the walls of her pussy, now so accustomed to his length and girth, wrapping around his shaft tightly, a glove of warmth and wetness that embraced him...

“You... are... a... bad... filthy... little... girl...” Each word were delivered with it's own thrust. She was panting, moaning, sucking hard on his fingers... Her entire body shook with every ramming of his hips into her, with every plunge of his cock into the tight hole of her pussy. Wet noises mixing with her gaspings.. skin against skin... in and out.. over and over.... The next time he pulled out of her, he also withdrew his fingers from her mouth, allowing her to take in a deep, so very needed breath, she shuddering for a moment as she did so. Ginger felt him exhale into her ear. “Tell me... what you are. Explain to me what the scar on your buttock means. The P that I gifted to you... Tell me what it stands for. Remind me, why you are your Master's favorite, his fuck-toy. Say it...”

“Scream it to the world, Ginger... Let anyone hear what you are... Who you belong to... SCREAM!”

Her eyes closed as she did just that... she screamed... in frustration, wanting to cum so badly and not yet being allowed... in shame, that she was being used as she was and had no control... in lust, her entire body was on fire, her pussy tingling, sending tendrils of heat racing to every nerve ending and so wanting, needing release... and in submission, screaming out what she was to him, submitting yet again to him thru her words, thru her body, thru her reactions...

"YOURS... MASTER... YOUR SLAVE... YOUR PUPPY... YOUR SLUT... YOUR POSSESSION... BODY AND SOUL THIS GIRL IS YOURS... I AM YOUR SLAVE MASTER... MARKED AND OWNED"

She was so close to collapsing, so close to climaxing, yet her body, so well conditioned now, would not allow her that transgression, thank heavens... He was pumping in and out of her now, his length soaking with her sweet, slick lubrication.. her cunt almost seeming to suckle him as he thrust within again... and again... and again...

"Fuck.... you are such a good girl... a tight girl... You will be good from now on... won't you, little one? Be good and your Master will always reward you... shower you with endless bliss... touch you... take you... rape you out of your mind... just like you want it. Like it was always meant to be... wouldn't you say so... puppy?”

Her eyes were open now, rolling back as she let the pleasure and humiliation take her. "yyyyyeeessss Master" she keened, the words running together like a flow of water, ending in a low moaning sound... "yeessssssss".... He had drawn her up now from her original bent over position, up and into his arms, her back to his chest, as he continued to pound within her pussy, now effectively impaling her. Her slight form was easy for him to handle, and she, arching her back, began rolling her hips in tandom with his thrusting motions. She screamed yet again "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM" when his fingers found her throbbing, swollen clit, the stimulation coupling with that of his cock within her body, nearly sent her over the edge... nearly... but again her training and fear took over and she managed to keep it in check, even tho he surely felt the walls of her pussy quivering, contracting, as if ready to release... but the floodgates were held back, at least for the moment.

Long red waves of her hair fell over his shoulder as her head lolled back a bit to rest there.. she daring to reach back with both hands to glide slender fingers into and through his short hair. It was more to anchor her body some as she continued to be impaled on his cock, her feet barely able to keep her steady on the floor, he supporting her against him. Again it was easy, she was slender and small and he strong and lean ...

"Yourssssss.... Master.... Yourssssss" she began keening, low and deep... "Yours to fuck... Yours to rape... Yours to use.... Yours to enjoy..." it was words she had said before... words that often came in the heat of passion, when her mind could not longer think clearly. That was when her training shone thru.... "Body.. and Soul... Yours..... MMMMMasterrr..... pppppleaseeeeeee"...

Please....

He knew what that word meant. In this context, as her pussy grasped him and pulsed against him, every beat of her heart easily felt thru the tight velvet grip around him... "ppppleaseeeeeee" again she begged, her breath coming in ragged gasps... her soaking moist juices coating his cock, dripping down over his balls, searing hot, flowing around him with every motion of his and her own body against one another....

"pppppleaseeeeeeee" she was sobbing, begging, needing, wanting.... "Mmmmaster.... I.... am.... Yours..... I love You Master... ppplease".....

She was right on the precipice. She needed only a word, or a gesture from him and she would explode......

Instead, she heard the ringing of a phone. To her, it sounded very distant, miles away. Yet a moment later, it was louder, more insistent... and he had stopped his thrusting motion for just a moment... leaving her... hanging... still impaled on his cock, panting, and desperately holding back her orgasm......

~*~​

Sometimes he just really hated calling his father. Not because he hated asking for the money. No, that had nothing to do with it. As far as JJ was concerned, that money was just as much his as his father's. His last name was Pratchett too, after all. He just hated having to listen to his father's bullshit to get it.

He hated listening to his father, almost as much as he hated losing when he gambled. And that's just what happened. He bet on a sure winner of a horse, and lost. And lost big. It had been a sure thing, the bookie had told him. A sure winner. 100 to 1. Never mind that the loss came as he was sitting at the Poker table, losing even more. Yeah, this was not his night. And now he had to deal with "Daddy" to get the money to pay off his losses. Great... just great...

"Yeah, Dad, it's me. Yeah, I need half a mil, as soon as you can get it here..... "

"At the Casino of course, that's a stupid question!!!!"

Damn he hated listening to his father rant!!!

~*~​

ALEX

It wasn't that she saw it on his face...
It wasn't that she heard it in his voice...
It wasn't that he tensed...

What it was, simply, was a chill that suddenly gripped her, cold, shivering... and then, nothing. When she winked as she spoke to him about the upcoming meeting, it was as if a cage opened inside him and something vicious reared it's ugly head, hissed a stream of frozen breath, and was gone. And as soon as it happened, her own walls came up, surrounding her, protecting her.

Did she need protection from him? That was a thought that had not occurred to her til now. She had held her own for some time with Pratchett. Well, until her recent punishment. And quite honestly, there was no protection from Pratchett, especially not for her, that much she knew. But Tom, was an entirely different person, and entirely different situation.

She took the liberty of getting to her feet as he spoke. Again, if he had been Pratchett, she never would have dared to move as she did, but Alex did have a certain modicum of freedom given her stature with ConnectEve. As she always seemed to do when she needed to think, she approached the window, the length of it taking up the entire wall, and she glanced down the 7 floors to the sidewalk below. Alex stood there, now that it was quiet, and just watched the people walking by. Did he realize how much she wished she could join them, and just walk away from this place. Walk away from her situation. Walk away from her life.

Did she need protection from him?

I would lie, if I said I was not attracted to you. I still am. I am not the first man to say this to you, and I am sure I won't be the last either. That wouldn't be a problem, if we were just ordinary colleagues. Sadly, nothing about this seems ordinary, not at all...

She was afraid of that statement. Terrified actually. The thing was, she was just as attracted to him. She had been the moment she had walked into that room that very first time. She couldn't even begin to guess what it was or why. She was good at reading people, as he had pointed out. The thing was, she was good at reading Buyers. Good at reading the product. They were easy. The Buyers were open, willing, excited, forthcoming about what they wanted and why. The girls, the product, were scared, and looking for someone, anyone, to trust. Figuring out the Buyers and girls, that was easy for Alex. The PMs... again open, forthcoming, they were salesmen. Salesmen were chatty cathys. Again easy. If she had been as good at reading the "regular Joe" out in the world, she would have figured out that her step-father was a perverted ass a long time ago. And she would have figured out that JJ Prachett was just downright dangerous.

What was Tom? Did she need protection from him?

He was attracted to her. He stated that fact pretty matter of factly. She already knew that, just as she knew how much she was attracted to him. This, of course, complicated things in a myriad of ways. Pratchett had gifted her to him in a moment of rage. Had he gifted her to any of the other PMs or one of the other officers of the Company, then more than likely, either last night, or in this very moment, despite her punishment and pain, she would be have been, or would be, on her back, with a cock buried inside her pussy, her new Master laying claim to what he saw as his. Of course, said Master would have OK'ed it with Pratchett most likely, or maybe... maybe not. Maybe this was another level, another layer, of his domination of her, of his possession of her, of his ongoing punishment of her. Currently, Alex was untouched, by orders of Pratchett. And to be honest, she was never quite sure why. Rape was quite the punishment. Alex had seen Pratchett and many others use rape as exactly that, a brutal and savage method of punishing a girl. She had heard the screams. She had seen the fear. She had witnessed the begging for it to stop, even as the man, or in some cases, men, thrust their cock or cocks, into the girl's pussy, ass or mouth. It was never pretty to watch. But Alex had been required to witness nearly every time rape was used as punishment, as if reminding her what she could face at any time, at Pratchett's whim. And given Pratchett blamed her for.. well.. everything in regards to what happened to his son... one would have thought....

But no, enslavement was her punishment, and she remained untouched. Alex attributed that to money. She would be worth more when sold if she remained virginal. But she knew there was more to it than that.... Was it because JJ had loved her and Pratchett didn't want another to touch her, out of some twisted love or honoring or something of his son? Or was it another form of punishment, to deny her the simple pleasure of human touch. Even slave girls desired human touch, the pleasure that a man can give a woman, the pleasure a woman can give a man.... and in reality, that denial could be even worse than rape... In fact, Alex was often required to also observe when potential Buyers sampled a girl, or after purchase, when a new Master wished to enjoy his new possession and not wait until arriving home to do so. It was as torturous to watch that as it was to watch a rape. Especially since Alex, herself, had not really been touched in such a long, long time. There was an occassional hand on the knee, or caress of a shoulder, but that was it. And she had never been intimate with anyone... Not even JJ... In fact, watching a rape was horrifying. But watching a Master and slave enjoy one another, and feeling her own emotions and body desperate to respond, made her feel so very... alone....

Maybe Pratchett was playing yet another game. The game of gifting her to another, allowing her to finally feel what it was like to be intimate with someone, and then take that away from her. Or worse, after a night of intimacy, to then subject her to nothing but rape.

It was all these thoughts, these emotions, these feelings, that were racing thru her as she stood there, her back to Tom, staring out the window, staring down at the people below, the free people below, but not really seeing anything. Her eyes had glazed over.... she didn't like the confusion she was feeling, the dread, the doubt, the fear. She'd rather face the whip or cane again. At least that kind of pain she could understand and deal with.

"You already know my opinion regarding the business you... I mean 'we'... conduct here. I believe I told you that quite clearly during our initial meeting, and I also recall repeating it after you woke up at the hotel. That doesn't change anything. I will accompany you to your meeting, and I will observe you and the PM do your thing. But we also need to figure out certain aspects of our situation. Together. If you are as good at reading people as you claim to be, then you have probably already read between the lines of what happened last night. I would lie, if I said I was not attracted to you. I still am. I am not the first man to say this to you, and I am sure I won't be the last either. That wouldn't be a problem, if we were just ordinary colleagues. Sadly, nothing about this seems ordinary, not at all...”

"No, none of this is ordinary" she affirmed, still not looking at him. "And as for our situation, that is actually less complicated than you think. I was gifted to you. If you doubt that, then speak to Master Pratchett. Attraction does not come into play.... " but in reality it did. She was already feeling a heat in the depths of her belly, a heat she had never felt with another before. It threatened to slither forth and possess her. It threatened to send her to his feet, begging him to touch her, taste her, use her..... And just the memory of his touch, along her cheek, the palm of his hand caressing, and even before that, when he had examined her collar when they first met, only a day or so ago, the light flutter of his fingertips along the edge, tickling her throat... she had caught her breath even then..... "I belong to you Master. And if you worry about your girl at home, I am no threat. I would never reveal myself to her unless you wished it..." He was so hard for her to read that she wasn't even sure if his girl at home was a concern, but she thought perhaps she was. He had walls up for a reason, and she had a distinct feeling that the girl at home was part of the reason. He was using her as a life raft, desperate to not be pulled back into his life before, yet Pratchett was effectively throwing him back into it...

Alex blinked at that thought.... his girl at home was a life raft.... then what was she? But she already knew that answer, she was the hole in his life raft....

“Now Pratchett – that bastard – has me right where he wants. I can't just turn my back and leave, because that would mean the end of everything I love and treasure. It would also mean the end of your life, that much I am certain about. And if you are right in your claim that he gave you to me, then he'll expect me to discipline you, keep you under my watch. John... Pratchett.... believes I will force you to submit, and punish you whenever yo fail to obey. Question is... is this who I am? Is it me, it is someone else? You mentioned it as well... the game. The game of Master and slave. Maybe I was like that once. Perhaps I still am, somehow. Maybe I was even ruthless once. But all I did, was to satisfy someone strong enough to let herself be dominated. One who needed it to breath properly, a woman, who desired the crop as much as any man's erect manhood. This woman... I found her attractive on so many levels. She...” He grew silent and raised his eyes toward her.

Alex's eyes shot up from looking down at the people on the sidewalk below when she heard his admission. She was right, she had known it. He tried to put a spin on it, but there it was. Dominance. His admission of dominating another, dominating a girl. A strong girl. One who desired to be dominated. They were few and far between, but they were often the strongest of personalities, and the most intelligent of slaves once they submit, and this, this was the kind of woman Tom had indeed dominated. That admission spoke volumes to Alex... and it affirmed to Alex that Pratchett was a better judge of dominance than even she was... no wonder he was so adamant on getting Tom to join. And another fact dawned on Alex in that moment as he spoke.... it was crystal clear to her now... maybe not to Tom, in fact, certainly not to Tom.. but it all came into focus for her...

Pratchett had given her to Tom so that she would draw out that ruthless, Dominant, that he knew was in there. It was confirmation to her that indeed, Pratchett and Tom had known each other for a very long time. What better way to tear apart a liferaft, to tear apart a facade, than to offer something that could not, in the end, be turned down. To offer something that appealed to be most basic of emotions inside a Dominant, the need to control.

“Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? What does matter is... we are here. We both have a job to do. Fate, or whatever it is, has brought us together here, today. My point is... I need you to think really carefully about what you are willing to do to stay alive. Think about it, and then we'll discuss it later. And now I believe we should be heading toward the designated location of the negotiation. You have products to sell... don't you?”

Fate.... he saw this as fate. Alex saw this as Inevitable. Pratchett had claws and tentacles that reached far and wide. Obviously he wanted Tom in his fold. She didn't know the reasons why, not yet at least. But now it all became clear to her. The punishment had just been a coincidence. One that she was sure Pratchett enjoyed to no end, but it had not been part of the plan. But, it had given him the perfect reason to put his plan and his gifting of her to Tom, in action.

His last point almost made her laugh hysterically, altho he wouldn't know why.... I need you to think really carefully about what you are willing to do to stay alive.... If he only knew what she had done, and was still doing, to stay alive... to survive... If he only knew that even now, she wore a silver collar around her throat, that she had knelt before him, that she had screamed in pain as Pratchett punished her, that she had danced, and supplicated, and submitted herself, in order to survive....

But Alex only nodded to his words. He was right, there was product to sell and in 2 minutes, she'd be late, and that would not bode well for her. Good thing that Dale liked her, well, actually had a huge crush on her.. so he forgave her transgression when she showed up a minute late for the meeting with him and the Buyer, Mr. Bernard Wilcox...

"Dale Chandler, this is Tom DeLany our newest PM... he will be observing the meeting with Mr. Wilcox..." Dale smiled, shaking Tom's hand. He let his gaze linger on Alex as he did so. It was so obvious of his crush on her, he was practically drooling.

Alex smiled and nodded as the 2 shook hands... "I will fetch Mr. Wilcox..." and with that, she disappeared from the room. "Welcome to ConnectEve, Tom" Dale said in a friendly tone. That was all the banter they had time for before Alex reappeared, with the Buyer. "Mr. Wilcox, this is your Product Manager, Dale... And Tom will be observing." Alex refrained from using last names before the Buyer. "As I explained already, I am Alex, we've met before... and I belong to...." she paused for a moment, blinking. She usually stated that she belonged to ConnectEve and her collar still stated that... but...." to the Company." It was best not to confuse the Buyer or Dale for that matter. "I am here because, as you know, I matched you already with your first girl, Candace..." Bernard smiled at that "yes, you did. She is wonderful"... "And I understand you are looking for a compliment for her....." Alex spent alittle time just chatting with the Buyer as they sat on the large, oversized, sofa. Bernard even went so far as to lay a hand on her knee, which Alex politely removed... "Now you know I am not for sale" she almost giggled. She was good at putting on the "face" and the "performance" for the Buyer. Dale was prepping the paperwork, as the first selection, Ashley, was lead into the adjoining room. The glass wall between rooms was one way, so the Buyer could see the product, but the product could not see the buyer....

Ashley was cute, blonde, petite and perky.

http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a360/AmbrosiaCaress/blonde.jpg

She was lead in by an unassuming younger guy... "Stable hand" Dale whispered to Tom. "Young guys hired to clean the stables, make sure the girls are fed and bathed, and bring the girls when and where they are needed. Usually they are homosexual. The reasoning being, the Company does not want the girls overused before sale, and the higher ups figured if they were being tended to by young, well... heterosexual guys... well, you know... soooo ..." Dale grinned... "it works out perfectly for everyone"....

Ashley was clad in a silk robe, that clung to her small, petite curves. "Disrobe" Dale spoke into the mic... A nod from the young man and he untied and slid the robe off the girl. She stood there, naked, pink nipples a bit peaked, her skin glistening... Bernard watched with a wide smile on his face. "She is similar in training and temperment to Candace, and as you can see, she is very similar in build as well." The stable hand moved Ashley to the bed facing the windowed wall. She was lain down, legs widely spread. Her trimmed pussy bared for all eyes to see... "She is trimmed, but can be shaved clean if you desire before you take possession. She is not virginal, but has minimul use. She has no scars or blemishes. She has shown a comfort with other females, which I know you would be interested in... Oh and she's 22 years old"... All this was spoken by Alex, directly to Bernard, she leaning close to him, speaking in a quiet, very conversational tone. "Honestly, I think you would very much enjoy her..." "Oh I would..." he agree'd... He was reaching into his jacket pocket, as if about to pull out his wallet to make the purchase... "but...." Alex stopped him, laying her own hand upon his arm... "I want you to consider this... " Alex rose to her feet and moved to the windowed wall. She showed no sign of pain, but in reality she ached, all over. A light tap in the window was all the stable hand needed. He tugged on the leash and Ashley got off the bed, the silk robe slipped back over her shoulders. She was walked out the door... and in her place, came Lora...

"This... is Lora"

http://i15.photobucket.com/albums/a360/AmbrosiaCaress/480500-bigthumbnail.jpg

Alex sat back down next to Bernard, leaning into him. "She is the polar opposite of both Candance and Ashley.. as you can see.. " Lora was taller, exotic, and stunning really. With a mane of chocolate brown, perpetually tanned skin, athletic, with long legs and slim hips. "Now, hear me out Mr. Wilcox... Candance, blonde, petite, perky, sweet. Lora, exotic, erotic, a bit moodier than Candance and Ashley, yes, but I think your strong hand can keep her in check. She is very well trained, she enjoys females as well as males, she is not virginal, but her use translates to talent, and ... experience... " Lora had been stripped bare as well of her robe and was laying on the bed, spread apart for inspection. She was shaved clean, the lips of her pussy showing a gleaming moisture, matching the arousal of her dark red nipples that sat atop her ample breasts. "As you can see, she is already aroused, again, having been used, she readies quickly and easily."

Bernard paused, before getting up and approaching the windowed wall. "Let me see her and Ashley together" he almost stammered. This was a good sign, as far as Alex and Dale were concerned. He wanted to see the 2 girls engage with each other, possibly he was considering purchasing both. "Absolutely" Alex answered. Dale made the quick call to the stable hand and a moment later, Ashely was lead back into the room. The stable hand stepped back into the shadows, to allow the 2 girls to interact with each other.

Lora got off the bed and quickly approached the smaller, more petite Ashley... Long slender fingers slid within short, pale blonde hair, gently arching back her head, red ruby lips locking with delicate pink in a long, deep, heated kiss. The mic picking up every sound, Alex, Dale, Tom, and Bernard, all heard the low whimpering moan that came purring from Ashley at that kiss.. Lora then lead the small blonde to the bed, peeling off the silken robe, and laying her naked form down... with her own growling moan, Lora then crawled between the girl's outstretched, spread legs...

Long dark tendrils of sable fall forward to gently tickle along the milky white thighs of the now squirming blonde, the blush pink glide of Lora's tongue easily finding, and beginning to taste along that moist slit. The girl was sweet, heated, with the slightest bit of a musky taste. Lora let her tongue stroke along the pinkened lips, feeling the velvet softness, and the heat that radiated from within. With a low moan of her own, her tongue dipped inside, seeking to sample the depths of the blonde, her eyes closing as she savored the juices that she drew forth. Ashely gripped the sheets of the bed, crying out at the sensations that now cascaded over her, hips lifting slight to that questing tongue. And Lora obliged, slithering her tongue deeper, before withdrawing to continue laving along those sensitive pussy lips . She found the girl's clit, swelling in arousal, and fluttered over it with the very tip of her tongue. Ashley hissing in her breath, her entire body quivering on the bed. Lora again ran her tongue over that small nub, knowing it would send another shockwave of pleasure thru the girl, and enjoying the way her body shook ... her own body beginning to tremble, and slowly rock as she licked, pleasured, lavished the blonde. Lora, between Ashely's legs, on her knees and bent down like a dog, her ass and hips up, her own darker pussy now dripping wet....

Alex stayed seated on the sofa as she watched the girls. Both Dale and Bernard were at the windowed wall, staring, and it was not lost on Alex that both of them were aroused. She did dare to look at Tom tho, and he, was unreadable, which Alex found very interesting.

"I'll take them both" Bernard announced. He knew the drill. He quickly signed the purchase and sale paperwork that Dale already had ready, and within 2 minutes, he was in the room with both his new possessions. Red faced, and hard as a rock, his pants were down and off in an instant and he was up on the bed, behind Lora. Alex, Dale and Tom all heard the loud grunt from Bernard as he jerked himself forward, his fat cock finding and shoving within the exotic girl's soaking cunt. Lora cried out into the pussy of Ashley as Bernard began pumping himself in and out of her, short stubby fingers gripping her hips, his grunts and groans overshadowing any sounds coming from the girls. Lora buried her tongue back into the warmth that was Ashely as she endured the man's fucking of her, knowing that this would be her life from now on.....

Dale, his own cock throbbing in his pants, looked at Alex for a moment, his own face getting redder and redder. He looked back at the show going on in the room, and then back at Alex, his hand grabbing at his hardness... "Dale.. you know better" Alex sternly said. Yes, she was a slave, but she knew the rules as much as Dale did. She belonged to ConnectEve, she was off limits unless Pratchett or someone else in authority gave permission... never mind the fact that she now belonged to Tom... Alex looked at Tom for a brief moment, before turning her eyes back to Dale... "you can inquire with the stable hand about the use of a girl Dale, you know that, now GO... Tom can handle the rest of the deal. This is good experience for him... "

Dale hesitated...

"Dale... I said... GO"....

He nodded, knowing she was right. He needed relief and dispite the fact he had a huge crush on her, he knew the rules when it came to Alex... He nodded to Tom as well and left. He couldn't get to the stable fast enough, and 10 minutes later, he was in a private room with one of the newer girls. "Bend over the bed" he managed to rasp as he yanked down his pants, wrapping one hand around his cock that felt like it was ready to explode, the other grabbed the girl's hip... pushing his cock deep inside her pussy with one hard thrust. "OH YEAH" Dale yelled, as he began rocking hard and fast into that warmth, spilling his seed shortly there after. He was not one for long fucks, that was for sure...

Alex, in the meantime, now alone with Tom once more, had moved toward the windowed wall to watch as Bernard pulled out of the exotic Lora, moving her out of the way as he climbed ontop of Ashley. The little blonde had already climaxed thanks to Lora's tongue, and was drenched with her own slick cum when the chubby, older Bernard mounted her and began fucking her, and fucking her hard. Lora, soaking wet herself, moved to the head of the bed, and straddled the girl's head and mouth with her dripping sex, and Ashley had her chance to feast, thrusting her tongue upwards into that dark pink hole and licking, tasting the girl, while Bernard grunted and rode her.... Alex had to silence her own low moan at what was happening right before her, the heat in the depths of her firing up and warming her....

 

[Lord_Poseidon]

Author's Note: Some paragraphs found in the following text were kindly provided by my skilled co-writer RainingHeat. Enjoy!​

As always the case when the intimacy between them finally unfolded into an unparalleled display of raw, mutual delight, John found his thoughts slipping away. Even though he fought hard to keep his composure, he always ended up letting go in the end. Every single part of himself dissolved into thin air, while he surrendered his entire being completely to the moment and the illusion, which he always sought so desperately to maintain. This obscure illusion - unbreakable and stern like the man himself – had been imprinted into her spine through every instrument available to a man in his position. Physical and emotional torture, seclusion, neglect, whips, crops, gloves, sharp blades and blunt objects... All had been used to train her, to bind her to him in a most perverse sensation of fear and safety, love and hate. She yielded to his command in every way possible. She humiliated herself, by stating how insignificant she was, and how little she deserved his gifts. She did it at his command. Every word she uttered, was meant to please him, and even when he couldn't hear what she said, her body still spoke to him. Every reaction, every little change in her posture was both monitored by his eyes and nurtured by his hands. She screamed out in frustration, twisted her body below his, did her best to meet the thrusts of his hips. She did everything to keep him happy, all for the sake of living up to an illusion, a game of resemblance, which she knew nothing about and never would understand.

Just when John thought it couldn't get any better, something wonderful happened. He felt her head fall back to rest against his shoulder, felt her hands move over his face and settle into his hair, her fingers sliding through his short haircut in a sensual touch that was out of place in the beastly interaction of their two bodies. In other words, she apparently decided to cuddle him of her own free will. She most likely did not grasp the possible danger of touching him, where he was most vulnerable, but that only enhanced the impact of her gesture. The sensation of her, as she braced herself against him, appealed to a set of emotions that lay dormant inside him at any other occasion. Always resting, never rising to the surface... except, of course, whenever he had sex with Ginger. The insatiable hunger was free to possess him all over again, and the force of his assault and the strength of his arms threatened to lift her off the ground, like she was a mere doll in the hands of a five year old child. Although, this was not a child playing with it's doll, this was a Master taking his favorite slave; His cock ravaging the tender inside of her burrow, fingers stimulating her clitoris, his nose pushing insistingly against her neck, strong teeth sinking into her shoulder...

All the while, she repeated words, which he had dictated to her throughout the intensive conditioning of her body and soul. All those little words of submission lead to the inevitable, her first step on the road to unconditional surrender. It was the only signal he needed, this single word consisting of six, tiny letters that cried out for mercy. She was begging him, begging for his permission. Her sobs of anguish blended together with his rapid breathing and the slippery sounds of their sexes interacting. Then the final straw came. Her signal, woven specifically to suit his needs. In the mist of the arousal that threatened to consume her, she uttered three words of devotion to him, her Master and protector. She said she loved him, and he believed her if only for the sake of fulfilling his fantasy. As he did so, the final piece of the mosaic fell into place. Even though her claim ultimately lacked substance, the words still triggered the ascension of John's private fantasy. In that moment, with the four words escaping her lips, the illusion finally reached it's peak and Ginger effectively became Charlene, her own mother. Voluminous hair of red, fair skin, beautiful blue eyes... and the affectionate display of love, which she had never given him.

Ginger was the definitive answer to his needs. He had craved her, from the first moment he had laid his eyes on her. She was so similar to her mother in appearance, and the little differences were easily ignored in the heat of passion, especially after he had driven the wild girl out of her for good. He had trained her to match his memory of her mother's timid nature, and with her personality set straight, she proved to be the best available replacement for his lost love. She hardly knew anything about the past, let alone why John favored her as his little puppy. There were no other girls for him. All the girls he had ever fucked, the occasional one-night stands, the girls in his stable... yes, even the mother of his son... each and every one of them were mere diversions with each their own purpose. No other woman could take her place, no matter how much they looked or sounded like her or her late mother. The two women were related by blood, and although Ginger was oblivious to the connection between her Master and her mother, she nevertheless lived up to her true potential with ease. He essentially depended on her to live on, but at the same time, he also loathed her for being so important to him. He most likely would have done anything to keep her happy, if she had been a free woman and not just... his slave.

“Oh, baby...” He rested his cheek against the top of her head for a few seconds, before he went on to bury his face in her red mane and gasp for air. The fantasy brought him close to the edge, and he knew, it wouldn't be long before his body gave in to the stimulation. He could smell her; the scent of his woman buried somewhere deep inside the exquisite smell of the young body, which he was using as a mere tool for his pleasure. The moist depths of her pussy welcomed him every time he thrust forward, her tunnel so soft and gentle that it couldn't belong to anyone else than his true desire. Soon, he would pump her full of seed, and she would love it, because it was the way of her life, and because it increased her chances of reaching a soothing climax. The thought was arousing on it's own, but his imagination added an extra layer to the scene's complexity; Ginger was the only remaining link to the love of his life, and she would take every last drop of his sticky essence, simply because her mother wasn't around to do so. It probably did not appealed to her to be penetrated by a man much older than herself. She was a stand-in, and now matter what kind of words she spoke, she didn't love him for real. Of course, none of his girls truly did, but their training compelled them to love everything he represented. Power, supremacy, control... by loving those aspects of his persona, they also came to love his alias, the almost divine role as their Master. Their first priority would always be to satisfy him before anything else, but a happy Pratchett usually meant a generous Pratchett as well. However, right now his generosity only showed itself through his undivided interest in keeping his puppy in an unbearable limbo between benumbing restraint and sexual ecstasy.

The first ring of his cell phone was an unpleasant reminder of the present. It did not bring him back to his senses completely, but it still brought a different set of thoughts into his mind. Fear got to him again for a brief moment, and he realized whatever sense of love and comfort he found in the act between them was nothing but an illusion. Still, he tried to ignore it and block out the memory of his cell phone ringing. His hips retained their steady pace, his hold on her almost forcing her petite form up and down on his hard member as he rammed into her from behind. He struggled to focus on the sensation, tried to get back into the delicious haze of his fantasy. The rhythmic motions of his body helped him on the way. He closed his eyes, inhaled her scent again and soon found himself falling back into the dream. The obsessive thought of him taking her... Charlene. Having sex with her; Hearing her scream in delight and in desperate longing for sweet release; Feeling her run her fingers through his hair, her body shivering against his touch; Hearing her admit how much she loved and needed him; Realizing that she would fulfill any repulsive requests he could think of; Knowing that she – finally – was in no position to reject him...

Just when every little detail seemed right, his cell phone rung for the second time that night, more insistent than before, but not any less annoying. The interruption effectively shattered the illusion and got through to him for good. He almost came, just then. It would have been a disastrous way to end the night. Losing focus for a mere second was all it took, but he managed to quell the volcano before it erupted and flooded her vagina with semen. His entire body froze on the spot, with one arm still wrapped around her slender waist and his cock buried inside her. The blood was pumping through his veins with a rapid beating, his member remaining stiff and hard despite the sudden change in stimulation. He felt how the tickling sensation ran through his body and tempted his brain to give in and push into her again. He was so unbearably close. Only two thrusts would be enough. Even just adjusting his stance a bit would probably be enough to trigger the explosion, which he so desired to lose himself into. However, his clear-sight helped him repel the idea, as going through with what his lust dictated at the moment would be a sign of weakness. Besides, a little break in their escapades could only enhance the satisfaction of the endgame. The young woman below him would probably agree when the time came for her to embrace the orgasm herself. He had to answer the phone, so he moved his right hand toward the pocket, where he always kept his cell phone in. It was the same hand, which up until that point had been responsible for teasing Ginger's swollen clitoris, and it felt as though her body tensed up, the moment he let go of the tender spot. In the blink of an eye, his cell phone was out in the open and ready for the conversation ahead.

“What is it now, JJ?” John's gravelly voice filled the empty room. Although his mind still echoed with the near-climax, his body had calmed down to a point, where he dared to move a little bit on the spot. He cleared his throat, pulled his arm away from around Ginger's waist and brought it to her chest instead, his free hand keeping her body locked in the posture she had assumed in the most heated moments of the act. With that part accomplished, it was easier to keep his mind on the gritty affair of dealing with his son. He knew it was him, even before he reached into the pocket of his trousers. No one else was daring or stupid enough to call him at this time of night. No one except JJ - John Pratchett Junior, his son and sole heir. Whenever he called, it usually meant he was in some sort of trouble and in need of help. In other words, 'Daddy' had to cover up for him in some way, and that was always an expensive experience. John didn't even care to talk around the subject or pretend money wasn't the reason for his son calling. “How much are we talking about? 200.000 like last time? Or is it closer to 500.000 this time?”

His son confirmed the number with an arrogance true to his personality. Half a million dollars, gone in just one evening of reckless behavior. A debt of that size wasn't even a big deal, considering what other kinds of mistakes he had made in the past. The Pratchett family had more money than one man could possibly spent in a life time full of gambling and whoring, so that was not really an issue. The real problem was his son's lack of interest in taking responsibility for his own actions. He even regarded the family's wealth as an expendable part of his life, even though each and every penny legally belonged to the head of the family. Still, money or no money, nothing was denied a man going by the last name Pratchett, and that made it too easy for JJ to get involved with the wrong kind of people. Thanks to his father's connections, he did not have to abide by the law like the rest. Mistakes could be erased with ease, people could be bribed to remain silent. Everything was so damn easy for his boy. “And where are you now? No wait, let me guess... you are at -”

JJ answered the question before John even got to take a guess. The only redeeming factor about his son's insolent reply was how it mirrored his own thoughts. It was - by all definitions - stupid to ask a question, if you already knew the answer. Of course his brat of a son was at the Casino, gambling other people's money away for the simple sake of spending time and feeling special. He was probably already preparing for another round of Blackjack of Poker, stubbornly holding on to the theoretical possibility that he could actually win his money back. Even if that came to pass, John would not hear about it or get a refund. No, Junior would make sure to spent his 'earnings' in the most fitting way for a man of his ego. He would gather a bunch of friends at some hot shot club and offer equal amounts of girls and booze to turn the occasion into a quite unforgettable party. Because he was cool and could afford it. Buying friends were easy. Drugs would flow, girls would be conquered and cars would crash. Scandal upon scandal, kept out of the news media thanks to his father's strong influence and brimming wallet. “I believe you expect me to set anything else aside and hurry to your rescue, like I always do? Isn't that so, son? Why do you even gamble, knowing full well you can't hold your own in a game of cards, let alone pick the correct horse? When will you stop wasting my money and instead spent them on something worthwhile? You would be amazed, if you only knew, what I could have achieved with such resources at my disposal when I was your age. The world is your to conquer. Start your own company. Trade stocks. Heck, I would even be impressed if you just invested a sum of money in some dillydally project in Bangkok or Malaysia. I have given you every chance to prove yourself -”

“Yeah, yeah – WHATEVER! Look I get it: You are Santa Claus, and I will always get charcoal for Christmas, because I'm such a huge disappointment to you. Why don't you tell mom how flawless you are? Oh right, I forgot... you froze her out so you could fuck your little harem in peace and quiet. Must be nice to be so perfect and watch the rest of us screw up all the time... At least I know what I am, and I stick by what I want... and right now, all I want is 500.000 dollars to pay off some sour-looking suit blocking my exit from the Casino. Half a million is peanuts to people like us. How do you expect me to make investments or build something from the ground up, if you don't trust me with the funds to do so, eh? If you gave me access to the account, I could -”

“I will not go into another argument about money, JJ. Rest assured it would be a huge mistake, if I gave you access to the family's bank account. Trust me, if I want us to go bankrupt, I will make it happen by my own effort. I don't need someone else to suck our resources dry.” In the pause that followed his remark, it felt like the two fighters went to each their corner of the ring and took a deep breath of air. They had been through this discussion before, it was always the same arguments and disagreements that kept them apart. “As for you mother... I've already told you several times why we split up. She's one of the most wealthy divorcees in the state. Besides, I'm not the only man in town with more than one girlfriend. You of all people should know that. By the way... how is your new peach doing? She was very feisty, when I shipped her to you less than two weeks ago. What was her name, again? Betsy? Britney? She was quite nice for a girl of her looks. I trust you have been nice to her in return?”

His question went unanswered. Remaining silent in the face of unpleasant questions was another trait, which his son mastered to the fullest. John knew perfectly well, how much his son hated talking about the girls, which he “borrowed” from ConnectEve. Fitting for the conversation's change of subject, John's left hand pulled at the neckline of Ginger's top and went on to cup her breasts one at a time. It served as a tiny reminder that she was still very much at the center of his attention, even though he was on the phone with his son. His nose picked up the familiar scent of her wetness; it came from his right hand, which was sticky with her juices after servicing her earlier. Unintentional as it was, it fueled his desire to end the conversation and resume the lovemaking. The sigh that escaped him was both a testament to the returning desire in his body and a sign of resignation. No matter how greatly he lectured him, it didn't change the fact he would always give in to his son's wishes. “Look son... I have some business to attend to right now, but I'll be there with the cash in twenty minutes. Actually... make that thirty minutes. Don't waste any more money until I get there. Yeah, I'll see you at the Casino. Bye.”

The conversation had barely come to an end, before the cell phone was back in the pocket. He hated disturbances, especially when it ruined one of his magical moments with his favorite. At other times, it would sent him into an spontaneous fit of anger, which he usually turned toward her. However, tonight would be different. He resisted the urge to speak ill of his son in the presence of a slave, and he fought the urge to fling the phone across the room to get rid of his frustrations. Instead, he forced himself to embrace the moment in it's entirety; this was what he wanted, having Ginger in his arms. His willing pet, so nice and young, leaning into him in the most erotic way possible, her soft curves within his reach, her juicy gender keeping him warm and happy. John's free hand found her chin and guided it upwards, forcing her to look at him. He had forgiven her, and he would keep his word. Did she even realize how exceptional it was? “Never mind that, my sweet puppy. It had nothing to do with us. Where were we, now? Ah. Yes, that is right... your pussy...“

He let go of her chin and guided his right hand back between her legs, where it immediately found her delicate button. The teasing began anew, with the tip of his thumb grinding against the area around her clitoris over and over again. Her body reacted to his stimulation, something that also aroused him to an extend where a new stream of blood pumped his member back to full strength and size. He withdrew from inside her, but pushed forward again as soon as his cock escaped her wet cave. As he found his way back into the rhythmic pounding of her pussy, he brought his lips close to her ear and started to speak again. “You have been a good girl, Ginger. You always are, and you truly deserve this gift I have for you. I know... how it is. You are close now. So very close to coming. Oh, but you are good. You fight it so well. I will count down from five... and when I reach the number one, you can let the orgasm take you. Isn't that just wonderful? Now, remember what I said... on my count...”

“Five...“

He allowed his left hand to move from her chest to her throat...

“Four....”

The ferocity of his thrusts reached another high point, where it almost became painful for both of them...

“Three...”

Nails carved into her slender neck like knives, marked her, while he twisted his hand around her throat... choking her slightly as they both approached their limit....

“Two... Ah, the suspense of waiting for that blissful permission. Waiting to… Oh fuck!”

He forgot to hold back. Ever since he began fucking her again, the heat had formed inside him at an almost dangerous pace. It had required a certain amount of discipline on his part to prolong the session as much as possible, but things started to fall together the moment he initiated the countdown. Until that point, he kept himself in check through sheer determination, but the moment he divided his attention to tease her again, his body automatically gave in. It was inevitable, and when the contractions in his balls suddenly came into play, he knew it was too late. Every sensation of their connection melted together in his head, and the last thought that went through his mind, before he quite simply exploded, was to keep teasing her clitoris at all cost... and as the first hot spurt of semen burst from the head of his phallus, he growled a single word into her ear:

“... Onnneee...!”

She didn't need to hear it...
She didn't need to answer it...

She only needed to feel it....

His permission...

Allowing her to give up the fight to keep her climax in check. Allowing her to be free, for a moment only, to enjoy the waves of pleasure that suddenly crashed over her. Ginger cried out as she shuddered, almost violently, her body so needing to release, that the flood that washed over her nearly drowned her. Her eyes rolling back, her breathing catching, the heat and the tingling broke thru inside her and covered her, the intense pleasure filling her.

It was almost poetic, the way in which she succumbed to the overwhelming sensations of the orgasm. His hands assaulted her on two fronts, choked and stimulated her at the same time in a desperate attempt to intensify the experience.

Of course she always came on his command, but when coupled with the fact that he was buried deep inside her, that he was stimulating her, only made the orgasm all the more surreal, and all the more intense.

Although she found sweet release, right before his climax was almost at an end, it did not ruin anything. When the beating of his ejaculation stopped, the contractions of her pussy took over and kept him begging for more. He titled his head to the side and locked his jaws around the back of her neck, his teeth sinking into her skin in another display of dominance. He was a predator, through and through... and Ginger would always be his favorite prey.

When she finally came down off that grand high, Ginger was panting, weakened, and still trembling....

… and finally, it was all over. Both of his hands came to rest on her slender hips; held her trembling form close to his, as he pulled out of her and exhaled into her hair for one last time. Then he helped her sit down on the cold surface of the stage floor. Actually, he didn't have to do much else than let go of her, and let her shaking knees do the rest. He watched her collapse in a heap before his feet, and the sight reminded him of a moment earlier that evening. Back when he had presented her with an ultimatum - the choice between speaking the truth and facing a grotesque kind of punishment - and though her answer contained the usual pleas and reassurances, it didn't change his decision. He had forgiven her, and now that she had experienced her moments of liberating bliss, it was time to put things back in order. So he knelt down next to her, and ran his fingers over her face... petted her with gentle caresses, as he leaned close and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“You really needed that.... didn't you, puppy?” His lips curled into a knowing smile, and he straightened up slightly. “You deserved it, you really did.... I would love to stay and take you all over again, but I have to go now. I will be very busy the next couple of days, but we will have all the time in the world come Thursday. Do you remember what I told you earlier? I forgave and ignored your mistakes.” He lowered his voice into a whisper, gentle and deceptive. “I did it, so that the evening would not be tainted by petty punishment. But that does not mean I have forgotten anything. I want you use the next couple of days to think really carefully. Do you recall my promise? You get to choose your own punishment for a change. The big question is... will it be sexual, or will it be more grim? What tools do you want to feel against your fair skin, and how severe do you want the punishment to be? I honestly can't wait to hear your decision. Oh, and one more thing... the bathtub in my private suite is at your disposal, so remember to clean yourself before you go to sleep.”

With those words, he rose from the stage floor and turned his back at her. On his way toward the exit, he glanced at the black skirt on the floor and smiled. He would not look back. She had already benefited from his compassion more than once during the session, and now it was time for them to resume their individual roles. He would go to the Casino to help out his son, while she would go back to his suite at Hotel D'vorché and spent her time by doing some... girly things. Hopefully, she would heed his words, and make good use of the chance to consider what their next encounter would have in store for both of them.

As John entered the backseat of his private limousine and gave his chauffeur the first set of instructions, his thoughts went back to the events of the evening. Not only had the meeting with the delegates of New York Industries went above all expectation, he had also discovered a new side to his puppy's talent. She understood how to appeal to his slumbering desires through the simple movements of her body. Yes, Ginger could dance in a way, which he had never imagined possible for the young woman. This ability increased her value immensely in his eyes. Charlene's unspoken rejection of him did not matter the least, as long as he had Ginger by his side. Mother or daughter... what did the little differences truly matter in the end?

***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***----***​

Tom remained largely silent during the sales meeting. In fact, the only time he opened his mouth to speak, was when he greeted the other product manager shortly before the potential customer was introduced to them. That instance aside, he kept his mouth shut and lived up to his status as an observer. He did his best to suck up every possible detail of the meeting without letting either side of the negotiation know, he was present at all. It was a very educational experience that stayed true to his expectations. Although, he had to admit, the most interesting aspect of the ordeal was watching Alexandra – and more specifically the technique she used – in action. It was fascinating and a bit unnerving, too. She was a good actor; a shape-shifter, who could adopt to almost any demands of the situation at hand. Her female assets were used to full effect; She flirted discreetly with Mr. Wilcox, but still held up small walls between them, which he accepted without hesitation or signs of dissatisfaction. Even before the meeting went into the part where the products were brought in for inspection, it became clear to Tom that Alexandra was more than a simple company assistant. It suddenly made sense where her earlier display of confidence originated from; Like a fish in water, she steered through the meeting with an underlying sense of know-how and determination, while still catering to the basic needs of the client. She was an asset to the company, and her performance further implied why that was the case. She was in charge; she was making the sale. Alexandra was effectively manager, seller and hostess all in one attractive package. Any other company – any normal company – would have replaced the so-called product manager and hired her to fill out his position. Compared to what she could do, Dale was a mere bystander, and his lack of influence in the conversation made him... quite expendable.

There was something about this Dale Chandler that Tom did not like. Something awfully familiar, like staring an old rival from your childhood straight into the eye without knowing his or her true intention. He appeared to be a good guy, he was friendly and informative, and nothing in his attitude indicated he regarded Tom as a threat. No, the bad feeling had more to do with his own past, than anything the other product manager did or said. Dale reminded him of male associates from his time in the business; Polite men, who, like himself, did their best to keep the wheels spinning. Most of them where normal people working in a business that was shunned by the taboos constructed by the same kind of people, who kept it alive. Official sources warned the public not to support the pimps and dealers by visiting the local whore houses, but when it came down to it, the most frequent visitors of the brothels where those with the power and position to get away with it. But again, the anonymous waitresses and bouncers found in such places, where generally normal people, who had been forced away from their normal lives, because they had no other alternative. Friendly people with smiles on their faces, people with dreams and desires that mirror any other part of society. Except... not all of his colleagues had been what they appeared to be. Some of them were weak willed, others were downright evil. Keeping the female entertainment safe from violent customers was hard in it's own right, but keeping them safe from sadistic members of the staff was almost impossible. Given that John Pratchett obviously represented the elite of ConnectEve, it was easy to assume that the majority of the product managers bore some kind of resemblance to him. Psychopaths were not uncommon in the business, sadly they were always hard to spot.

Another interesting thing, which Tom noticed several times during the conversation, was Dale's visible interest in their female companion. The product manager had stared at her from the first moment she and Tom had entered the room. It was obviously that Dale had a thing for Alexandra. He desired her, but it was near impossible to tell just how far his desire reached. Although it worried Tom a great deal, he still forced himself to look at it objectively. There was no way around it; Jealousy clearly played a part in his disapproval of the other man. It was an irrational response, because even thought Alexandra claimed to be his slave, his mind had not yet accepted it as fact. He had promised himself to do anything in his power not to get involved with her. His whole plan revolved around this resolute decision to avoid temptation, but it was already facing strong opposition from within himself. He tried to shrug it off through logical thoughts. It didn't really matter if Dale's interest turned into a problem in the long run. No, the big question was whether or not Alexandra had an interest in him. One thing was certain: Tom was not the only one, who kept his defenses at full alert.

She was hard to read. He had revealed private details to her, in the hope that she would pick up from there and return the favor bit by bit. Of course, there was still plenty of time for her to do exactly that, but her initial response to his honesty had been pretty uninformative. Even his confession had been met with an evasive statement about the current state of their relationship. It usually had a positive effect to tell a women she was attractive, but it appeared this one dodged the emotional impact of his words with ease. She guarded herself behind the simple notion that attraction was unimportant in their situation. Tom knew what she hinted at, knew what would already have happened to her, if he had been a different kind of man with only one thing on his mind. He also knew the thought itself was enough to tempt him. However, nothing Alexandra said could justify cheating on Debbie, and hearing her reassurances only strengthened the guilt he felt.

Strangely, guilt was not an issue when it came to the more delicate part of the selling, and it was clear his body's reaction to Alexandra had not been an isolated case. Watching the intimate showcasing of both girls caused his mouth to dry up and the heat to rise in his body, though he mainly contributed it to the dull life, which he had lived in the past five years. He moved in his seat next to Dale; kept his legs crossed, but brought his left hand up to support his chin with the thumb, while the tip of two fingers rested against his lips in a thoughtful expression. As a result, it made his expression harder to read, something that was fully intentional on his part. Debbie had been his only source of intimacy during that time, so the sight tickled his senses. Still, he did not feel attracted to the girls, like he felt attracted to Alexandra. They were both beautiful in their own way, but he did not want them. Mr. Wilcox, on the other hand, looked ready to explode, and it was obvious he would end up buying at least one of the products. It didn't take long for the client and the product manager to rise from their seats and approach the large window, which presented them all with a perfect view of the two young women. To be honest, the show on the opposite side of the wall was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic in nature; Ashley and Lora was polar opposite, one was strong, tall and exotic, the other was meek, petite and ordinary. Though, when put together, they formed a perfect unity on all levels, and the two men seemed to enjoy the sexual scene endlessly and without restraint. It didn't take long before Mr. Wilcox couldn't take it anymore and announced his intention to purchase both girls. It was a good deal for both parts.

What happened next filled Tom with disgust. The happy buyer was lead into the next room to take immediate possession of his new property. Without concerns of privacy or good taste, he went on to join the two girls on the bed, and even though Tom could turn his gaze away from the scene, he still heard their moans through the speakers, heard the slippery sounds produced when the older man melted together with one of the girls. Watching the act itself did not alienate Tom the least, it was only to be expected that the client wanted to intimately inspect his new girls. People in the business was exposed to sex at all possible times of the day, and Tom was no different. It could even be necessary at times to observe a client, when he or she indulged in some sort of sexual activity with one of the showgirls. Sex was not the issue. What bothered him, was the thought that he had just witnessed his first trading of slaves.... slaves to be used for sex. From this day forth, Lara and Ashley were bound by whatever rules Mr. Bernard Wilcox set up for them. Perhaps, if they were lucky, there was more to their new Master than the lust in his eyes. Perhaps they would experience a kind of peace, which they had not known during their time in captivity. Happiness was much less likely. In short time, he would be part of the transaction. He would be next to Alexandra, conversing with the clients about girls, sex and the weather. It was a fate, which Tom was yet to come to terms with. He couldn't comprehend, how a woman could stomach being a part of ConnectEve's sadistic machinery. He even couldn't spot or understand the faint glimmer of hope she could grant the products by picking the right buyer. A good match meant stability – if not safety – for the slave. But to him, the process of matching a buyer with a suitable product appeared to be all about maximizing the profit. The fact that Mr. Wilcox had ended up purchasing both girls only supported Tom's theory.

Then something else caught his attention. Dale's interest in Alexandra took a turn for the worse, when he sent her another longing glare and reached toward his crotch. It was an outrageous gesture, one that signified how much the bastard wanted her. To think that he couldn't even control himself, just because he got a little aroused. In some odd, pseudo-heroic way, Tom was silently preparing to intervene, when and if the product manager made a move on the woman. He found himself leaning forward in the comfortable chair, feet firmly placed on the floor, his body ready to burst into action. He would stop him, if he had to. Just like he had done in the past. It was true that old habits die hard, but it was a bit too convenient to blame his old job for his sudden aggression toward the other man. He knew all too well, he hadn't clenched his right hand into a fist out of old habit.

Luckily for both of them, Alexandra was smart enough to convince the product manager to change his mind, before things escalated. It didn't take much persuasion on her part, either. Soon, Dale had left the room, on his way to get some sexual relief. Watching him depart immediately made Tom relax, and he turned his attention toward the only other person in the room. Now it was she, who stood by the windowed wall and watched the perversion at the other side. This was Tom's cue, he rose from his seat and walked the short distance to the wall. There, he glanced briefly at the scene and smirked at the buyer's eagerness to try out his new purchases; The chubby man had already moved his focus from the experienced pussy of the tanned brunette to the untamed depths of the blonde. Tom shrugged and turned around to lean his back against the wall. His eyes dwelt on the woman next to him for a long time, before he finally said something.

“Charming fellow, that Dale Chandler... and he likes you quite a bit, in case you haven't noticed it....” Both remarks came out extremely dry - almost insulting - but his expression remained unchanged. Tom knew how risky it was to verbally attack the guy in front of Alexandra, but he just couldn't help himself. Only a fool would speak ill of someone else in the company of a stranger. It didn't take long before he regretted the approach completely, so he tried to lead the discussion into different territory. “It was a very impressive show you pulled off back there. Watching you with the client made me realize how talented you actually are. I don't think people let you know that too often. It also made me wonder why you have not been appointed Product Manager a long time ago. That would be an interesting match. Although... I guess that wouldn't really fit in with the system around here, do you?”

A beastly roar came out of the speakers and drew his attention. Another quick glance through the wall revealed to him that the buyer had just emptied his balls into the young woman on the bed. He looked exhausted, the way his chin rested on his rapidly rising chest, but the healthy grin on his face proclaimed how exceptionally happy he felt about the situation. All the while, the blonde was busy working her tongue's magic on the exotic beauty, who had guided her to sweet release in quite the same manner earlier. Yes, it was quite an entertaining act. It also got Tom speculating about something entirely different. “Why are you watching this?” He gave the question some time to sink in properly, kept his eyes locked on her, in case she suddenly lowered her defenses and gave him a hint of what she was thinking. Sadly, this never came to pass, and he stepped closer to her, as though his mere presence was enough to force an honest reply out of her. “You could easily turn your eyes away, leave the room and be free of it. Even the product manager has left now. Okay, he had his own reasons for doing so. I mean... I don't find this particularly erotic. It's arousing, of course it is. But doesn't it bother you that those two are ultimately being used? Do you not wonder what will become of them, now that they have been sold? I'm not implying Bernard Wilcox is a bad man... and I'm not saying it would be better if they were paid to have fun with him.... but I can't convince myself this is right. Not yet, at least. You, on the other hand, seem to have accepted it by now, even if you don't like it anymore than I do. Alex, no one is forcing you to stay... yet here you are, watching and listening as the products are being... what is the word? 'Tested'?”