4 comments/ 51424 views/ 9 favorites Underworld Ch. 01 By: Binah We were told not to speak unless spoken to. Of course, we knew that already. No one came through the doors of that house on Highbury Street without knowing the basics and usually more. We came with no clothing, no jewelry, no accessories or make up allowed. It was October that year that I arrived and we were allowed, or rather issued, a pair of simple canvas slippers, like ballet slippers to wear on the hardwood floors. The recruiter who had brought us carried with her a portfolio with eight neatly organized folders, all different colors. Mine was green. In those folders were pages of information about each of us; our identification, our marriage records, criminal records, educational transcripts and any other information that could be gathered. My file was notably the most sparse. I was the youngest. I had no children, no marriages, no criminal record, and my academic performance had been average and not worth writing about. Clipped into the file was a single page that mentioned I had been a mezzo soprano in a school choir, that I had taken twelve years of ballet classes and that I had once sang the national anthem at a baseball stadium in my hometown of Chicago. Those were probably the only things about me worth mentioning. "Stand still, shoulders back." The recruiter, a woman who called herself Ms. Ari, instructed. "Let them get a good look at you." I stole glances at the other slaves when I thought no one was looking. We were eight all together, five girls and three boys. I thought of us that way; as girls and boys instead of men and women, even though at nineteen I was the youngest. Somehow it seemed out of place to think of people who had given away their very control as full functioning adults. I felt like a scolded kid when the bitch of a recruiter smacked me on the ass with a thin birch switch. She didn't bother with leather straps and all the trappings. She was a real cowgirl, that one, down to the Texan accent. She wore a fucking cowboy hat, and those crocodile skin boots, jeans so tight she might bust out of them, and that black tank top she always wore (must have twenty of them!) that made her seem Absolutely not. Art man and part woman. But there was no mistaking she was all female. That first night at the hotel in Chicago, when she had told me about Highbury House, and how she wanted me to come with her to London, to meet Natanyel Sezayan, I had been entrance by her. It was that genuine swagger she had, almost like a man- stringy blond hair, fierce blue eyes, a golden tan that was very real. None of that Hollywood spray on bullshit. There were lines on her face, just around the eyes. There were calluses on her fingertips. Still, she was raw and very sexy. She did not ask me if I wanted to go to her room. She told me I wanted to go to her room. "You're so damn pretty, sweetheart." She said, just like a man in a bar. Her thumbs were hooked into the belt of her jeans. I drank a cosmopolitan. She drank whiskey. "You're dreamin' right now about bein' right up in between my legs with that little pink tongue, lickin' my clit, right down on your hands and knees, face in my pussy. Put that chick drink down and go on up to my room now. Wait for me. I'll be up there pretty soon." She had given me her key. I had never been that wet in my life. She courted me for a week. I hate to admit that's all it took. She told me about the training house, and not some half ass bullshit story either. She had all the books with her, the paperwork, the photos. The woman had phone numbers of people I could call for references. What exactly was Ms. Ari? What did she do? Plain and simple, Ms. Ari was a broker. She scouted potential sex slaves for the high level market. Yes, there is one. There is a low level market for this kind of thing too and trust me, it is a whole different scene. Ms. Ari rounded up the pretty and depraved from all corners of the globe and sold the right to train them. She was a recruiter. A headhunter. In that week, I had learned that her business had taken her to nine countries and that she had successfully recruited 127 slaves who were accepted into training by agents. These agents paid her $15,000 for each slave accepted. Do the math on that. The agents, who ran the training houses, then trained the slaves, hoping that the slave would turn out to be talented. The cream of the crop were placed in the private homes of the secretive and exclusive rich, as well as in private clubs, resorts and other training houses. Slaves were sold at auctions and sometimes by appointment. Negotiations were the kind that lawyers were called in to attend. Those who did not fare as well were sold to high priced brothels and to lower bidders with lower expectations. When a slave was sold, the trainer got thirty percent of the negotiated contract. The slave kept the rest, as well as any other negotiated perks. If you were average, this might mean a few thousand in cash and a year long contract with an owner who has a summer place in Maui. If you were sublime, it could mean millions, expensive cars, a yacht in Greece and a mansion in the South of France. Ms. Ari had showed me the files on a girl called Calliope who was trained by Natanyel Sezayen who was bought by a ridiculously rich Arab sheik who kept her in a palace in Morocco. Her contract was in the millions. Calliope was a girl with rubies and diamonds, gifts of private houses in Spain and France, and an owner who adored her. By all accounts, Calliope was the perfect pet. Natanyel Sezayen trained perfect pets. We did not all do this just for the money. I want to make that clear. Every single one of us was a natural born slave. It was just the way we were. If these training houses did not exist, if there were no auctions, we would all be kissing the boots of a master in a tract house in the Mid-West. The training houses, the auctions, the cloak and dagger world we threw ourselves into simply elevated what was already there. The money was nice too. And there I was, standing in a sterile white office that looked much like a doctor's office in any small town in America. The eight of us naked and standing upright, nervous as hell. Ms. Ari stood nearby, cowboy hat tipped down and chewing gum replacing her usual Winston cigarette. A slender female trainer was looking us over, and curtly ordering us to each step on the weight scale. We were measured for height, weight, our bust, waist and hips. I was surprised that she was not very attractive at all. An Asian woman of about forty, she looked past her prime and her face seemed stern, despite her smallness. She clicked a Bic pen against her teeth and wrote notes on a clipboard. She seemed like an office assistant, except that she wore a tight black dress with long sleeves and a high neck. The hem reached just above her knees. It would have been modest if it had not been so tight and paired with impossibly high heeled boots. She wore no make up except very red painted lips and the lips were done perfectly, like they were painted very carefully with a brush. We had just finished being weighed when the Asian suddenly stood at attention, like a soldier would. Down the staircase came a man who looked very much like a believably handsome college professor. He was not very tall, but carried himself with confidence. His hair was a flaxen blond crop of gentle curls which set over glittering dark blue eyes that almost looked gray. There were strands of gray in the curly hair too. He might have been forty-five or fifty-five. He was very fit, with a compact body. I could tell he kept himself in shape even under the soft cashmere sweater and unstructured jacket. I saw a gold watch glitter on his wrist. His hands were perfect with short, neatly clipped nails. Physically, he did not seem stern at all. He seemed more like a pre-Raphealite painting. I did not believe that this man could be one of the finest trainers in my cloak and dagger world. Until he set those gray eyes on me. "Ari, is this the best you can do?" he said. His voice was accented but I could not place where from. I heard Ms. Ari sigh irritably and felt the tension in the room. I found myself staring at his gray eyes and I immediately paid the price for it because he chose me to examine first. He ordered me to step forward out of the line. The mean little Asian woman stood close behind him. She handed him a latex glove and he slipped it over his hand without taking his eyes off of mine. "You should know better than to look at me." he said flatly. I cast my eyes down. Without warning, he lightly pinched my nipple and I flushed pink instantly. My nipple hardened and he tugged at it, rolling the point between his fingers. "Perfect breasts." he said aloud. The Asian woman noted every word on that clipboard. "A little large for her size but perfectly formed. "No piercings or tattoos?" He asked and the Asian shook her head. He slapped my breast then, watched it jiggle and then settle again. He held them both in his hands as if to test their weight and fullness. I took in a deep breath, trying not to moan, and with that breath I inhaled the scent of his cologne. The scent of him was dark and warm and it made me dizzy with desire. His hand traced down over my belly and to the thatch of hair between my legs. "You may answer me when I ask you a question." He said. "Do you want to be here?" "Yes, Sir... Master." "Sir is acceptable. Were you brought here by force or coerced?" "No, Sir." "Do you understand what it means to be here? That you will be trained as a sex slave and sold to the highest bidder?" "Yes, Sir." "Lean back on the desk and open your legs." A wave of horror rushed over me. I would be exposed, right here in this little office- the wicked Asian woman, my fellow slaves and this strangely fascinating man looking at me. I obeyed, laying back on the walnut desk and spreading my legs open, bent at the knee. The Asian woman held one of my knees, balancing me on the desk as he opened my pussy lips with his fingers. He instantly found my clit, hard and swollen already. My clit had always been hard for men to find. It is very small and hidden. He had no problem finding it and working it with his fingertip. "A very attractive vagina, everything in it's neat little place." he said softly, almost warmly- but not quite. Something just a little bit sinister. I heard the sound of a pen on paper. I was shaking, struggling not to throw my head back and wail in pleasure. "And this one gets wet very quickly. Very sweet, almost innocent look about her. Song, look at how her thighs are quivering. She is trying not to come." He then smiled almost warmly and worked a latex finger into my pussy, then a second, and then a third. I was biting my lip now, and struggling not to orgasm. I turned my head to the side and gasped to see the bare legs and abdomen of the other slaves, all watching me. I could not see their faces but I knew they were watching me. The three males were all hard, their cocks jutting up from neatly cropped thatches of hair. I saw a pretty blond pussy, the kind with just the little airstrip neatly shaved on it, and a manicured female hand, pale white, discretely slipping a finger in between soft pink lips. That was gonna do it for me. That would have sent me flying, but the fingers inside me were suddenly pulled out and I saw a flurry of action as the Master of the house pointed with a slick wet gloved hand at the pretty blond slave who was touching herself. "What is this, Ari, fucking amateur hour? Get her out of here! No self control, disgusting." Ari grabbed the blond girl's hands and clasped them behind her back, pushing her into another room, and I could hear Ari snapping at the girl- "there, you blew it, couldn't keep your hands off your cunt, and now you're gonna be on a plane back to California" and the girl was crying. "Stand up." Natanyel said to me. I obeyed him, terrified of being humiliated the way the blond had been. Then, to my horror, he roughly tilted up my chin and cranked open my mouth with his latex covered fingers. He examined my mouth the way an animal handler examines a horse's teeth. I could smell my own juices on the latex glove. I could taste my own wetness. Even worse, I had nowhere to look but right at him, his face so close to mine. If I closed my eyes he might be offended. If I looked at him, I would be disobeying. I chose to look to the side instead, my face horribly contorted. I imagined my eyes looked wide and possessed. To the side, I saw the men's cocks again, hard and hungry. Another flush of wetness between my legs. He seemed satisfied with my white teeth, and made a complimentary note of the small gap between my front teeth- "a sign of nobility centuries ago." He was so casual about everything, as if this was not sex at all. He could have been doing his taxes. He snapped off the latex glove and handed it to the woman named Song who quickly disposed of it and fitted him with a fresh one. I heard the latex snap onto his skin and I jolted. I heard him chuckle. "She is very responsive, Ari, I will give you that." He pulled me up from the desk and pushed my long hair over one shoulder. "Get on top of the desk, my dear, on your hands and knees, your elbows on the desk. The others, take note, this is exactly how I will examine you when I am finished with her." My face was burning red. I was completely exposed. The walnut desk top was cold and hard against my palms and my ass was pushed up in the air, legs open. I felt his hand again, fingers pushing against my asshole, and maddeningly, the smaller hands of Song, who assisted by pushing apart the cheeks. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She moved to the counter and came back with a bottle. Then cold liquid, like gel rubbed over fingers and rubbed into my asshole as slick fingertips pushed against the ring of muscle. "She's very tight," the strangely accented voice said. "Both the vagina and the anus. It could be youth, or a lack of proper experience. Ah, very lovely. She is contracting around my fingers. Superb, really. Very good muscular control." I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to be bent over that desk and fucked hard. I imagined what his cock looked like. It would be just a little above average in size but thick and hard, and I would suck it while those three male slaves took turns with me from behind. But that was my head talking. Natanyel Sezayan was clinical and uninterested, or at least he seemed to be. Once he felt inside my anus, he was finished with me. He removed his fingers, the glove and gave me one smack on the backside. "You will go to the young man with black hair and suck him until I am ready to examine him. You will do this on your knees with your hands behind your back. When I examine him, you will suck the next male slave until I am ready for him. When all of them have been examined, you may stop. And you, boys, will not come. If one of you comes into the girl's mouth, I will have you beaten, and then I will beat her for making you come. Understood?" Everyone nodded, and the men looked terrified. I was in Hell. I would have cocks in my mouth but my pussy was empty. I wanted desperately to be filled. I went to the black haired boy named Zachary and I got on my hands and knees. I clasped my hands behind my back and took his organ into my mouth. He was almost hairless and I sucked and licked at his balls as well. I felt him tighten, heard him gasp and struggle. When he became too tight, I backed off a little, just giving him little licks and nips with my teeth. I could hear what was going on behind me, the next slave, a female, being examined, much the same as I had been. When he was finished with her, he ordered her to do the same, but with a female slave, on her hands and knees, between the girl's legs. Next was another girl, and her orders were the same. Finally, Zachary was called to the desk. I instantly moved to the next male, a tall and muscular black man with a tattoo of a tiger on his inner thigh. I sucked at his cock, as I had Zachary's. He groaned and I hoped the Master did not hear it. I could hear the sounds of the girls sucking each other next to me, two of them, already examined, on the floor, heads cranked back to lick the pussies of the ones who were standing. I could hear Zachary moaning and the odd little comments from Natanyel quickly noted by Song. I wanted to see what they were doing so badly but I did not dare stop sucking. He examined the third male next, a handsome man with a surfer blond look, but I sucked and kept my face buried in thighs. When he finally examined the black man, my jaw was aching. I stayed on my knees but turned around to face them, hoping I would be allowed to stay that way. I was. The black man named Kamil was ordered to stand up tall and Natanyel casually took the thick black cock into his gloved hand, stroking it's length and rolling the fat head in his fingertips. "Beautiful, thick cock this one has on him. Song, get me a plug." Song moved to a cabinet and came back with a blue silicone anal plug about the size of two fingers. Natanyel bent Kamil over the desk and opened him up as Song slicked up the plug with gel that smelled like honey and almonds. Natanyel took the plug and gently pressed it against the secret hole. He seemed to be having trouble. Kamil's face contorted. He bit at his lip. "He is too tight. I cannot get a plug inside him. Tell me, have you been fucked by a man before?" "No, Sir." "Not in the anus?" "No, Sir." "Have you sucked a man's cock before?" "Yes, I have, Sir." "How many cocks have you sucked?" Kamil hesitated. "Maybe... six, Sir." "Did you like sucking those cocks?" "Yes, I did, Sir." "But you did not let them fuck you? Why?" "I'm real tight, and it hurts too much, Sir." "If I wanted to fuck you in the ass, right here, right now, would you let me?" I saw a shudder shake Kamil's shoulders. "Yes, yes Sir, I would." Natanyel smiled wickedly and ran his bare hand down Kamil's spine. He bent over him and said into his ear, "I can break you in." But then he rose up and snapped the glove off of his hand. He did not finish examining the slaves. Instead, he casually sat back in the chair at the desk and gave Ari a slightly annoyed look. "I'll take two of them. The redhead and the black one." "Only two? What about Rachel, you didn't even try her out?" "I only have places for two. It's those two or none at all." he leaned back in his chair lit a cigar. "And I'm not paying full price." "Nate, I swear to God..." "Don't give me any shit, Ari. You were supposed to have them here a month ago. Harvest Festival is in six weeks. No chance I will have them ready by then. Their debut will be half cocked and I lose money and reputation. Ari, I fear our business together is running sour and may end soon." Ari suddenly looked worried. "They're good, Nate. Look at them." "I'm looking. The two. And I pay this." He scribbled something on a note card and Song passed it to Ari who jerked it out of her hand. "You're fucking kidding me, Nate, this is insane! Is that what they pay in fucking Lithuania?" "Latvia, my dear, and that is what I pay for slaves who are late delivered and ill prepared. I will be understocked at the Harvest Festival. Take it or leave it, Ari, but if you leave it, then in the future I take my business to Adam Sterling." Ari had daggers in her eyes, but she took a pen and scribbled something on the note card, handing it back to Song. Natanyel looked at it and nodded. "I can agree to that. Song, have the papers drawn up and see that the new slaves are sent to the Facility at once. I want them put through the entire routine today. Ari, you can leave." I watched Cowgirl Ari storm out of the room, with the rejected slaves following her, all of them looking confused. The blond crying. A cute brunette sniffling, 'But this is all I want in the whole world, he's gotta take me!' I jolted when I felt Son's hands on mine, clasping them behind my back, and fixing some kind of cuffs to them. When I was firmly tethered, Natanyel went toward Kamil with a thick black marker in his hand. Quickly, he wrote "K A M I L" on his chest, then wrote "S T A R L A" on mine. Underworld Ch. 01 "Song, have proper collars made for them by this evening." I was accepted into Highbury House. Underworld Ch. 02 Kamil and I were dressed in simple black robes and taken to a sedan where Song drove us silently to the edge of town. The car stopped and she took two blindfolds out of her purse, reaching back to fix them on our heads. Blind, I felt my heart begin to pound. She was driving again, faster, and twisting and turning. I thought I might be sick. Kamil breathed heavily next to me. We're kidnap victims, I thought, except we did this to ourselves. I had no way of truly knowing the time, but i guessed the drive to be about an hour and a half. Song had clicked on the CD player and played Depeche Mode halfway through. After the hour and a half, the car slowed to a stop and she rolled her window down. I heard, "I'm bringing two from the downtown office. Mr. Serayen sent them." "ID and papers?" "Right here, for the girl, and here, this one is the boy." "They need to take off the blindfolds." a thunderous male voice said. "Of course." She reached into the back seat and lifted our blindfolds up to our foreheads. It was like breathing again. Light hit me and a huge Viking of a man peered into the car and looked us over, our photo ID cards in his hand for comparison. "Do they have anything with them?" "Nothing. Everything is in order." "Alright, put these on their wrists. You two, hear me? These bracelets track you. If I get a beep that you are off the grounds, I beat both your asses, we clear?" "Yes, Sir." We both said, scared shitless. The viking handed Song two thin metal bracelets with a glowing center like a watch-face. Song drove further down the long driveway- a massive cobblestone paved path to a mansion that was part Victorian ornate and part fortress. There were lush gardens. There were high walled stone fences that were surrounded by another layer of carefully protected gates. Rising high above it was something that should not be called a house. It was a living, breathing thing. I had gone to France on a high school French Club trip when I was seventeen and I had seen houses that grand but never in America. It seemed the driveway was a half a mile long. A dry fountain stood in the center of the circular drive in front of the house. It was Venus rising from the half shell- the only bit of kitsch in an otherwise elegant atmosphere. "Out of the car now, and stand still right here." Song instructed us. "You will not be dealing with me any more unless there is a problem. I trust I will not see either of you again?" It was a question. We both nodded. She looked annoyed and fished her cell phone out of her purse. She called someone and simply said, "The new arrivals are here." And then she hung up. She turned us both around and fixed those digital bracelets to our wrists. "If you are caught off of the grounds without permission, you will be beaten. He meant that. The man you saw is Reichen and he is a cruel son of a bitch so don't get on his nerves. You signed the forms so you are stuck here unless you decide to bail out in which case you need to tell your handler you want out. If that happens, you will sign another form to be released. If you are released, you will never again work in any training house in the guild. I suggest you don't be stupid and get yourself blacklisted. Now, I'm going to hand you over to your handlers and you'll both behave yourselves. I'll come around later with your collars." The huge front doors opened and a young man of about thirty-three stepped out. I was immediately shocked by how gorgeous he was. This was a man you could stand next to any Hollywood movie star and shame them. He was six feet tall and looked like a cross between Brad Pitt and a young Robert Redford. As he came closer I could see the definition of his face. Large, bright cornflower blue eyes, chiseled jaw, full lips in a Cupid's bow, the bottom lip thicker than the top, a light scattering of freckles just beneath his eyes that made him seem younger. He had smile lines at the corners of his mouth. He was smiling, bright and cheerful. I expected a trainer to have a stern face, and be wearing leather pants with a whip chained to his belt. None of that here. He wore olive green carpenter's pants and a v-neck white tee shirt that I could see the definition of his muscles through. His smile was radiant. His hair was wheat blond and a lock of it fell loosely into one eye before he swiped it back with his hand. Exquisite collarbone. Swagger of a walk. I could have worshiped him right then and there. "Good, good. You got here right on time. I hope you're not too tired because we have a lot of work to do. Have you both eaten today?" Not sure how to respond, we both nodded yes and added, "Yes, Sir." "You don't have to call me Sir. I'm not your trainer. I'm your handler. That's a bit different. Mr. Serayen is going to train you himself. But I will be looking after you when he isn't. It's my job to bathe you, feed you, make sure you get a work out, and see to your needs. My name is Micheal Jones, but everybody here calls me Jonesy. You can call me that if you like, or Micheal. Here's how it works. I don't want either of you to be confused, ok? In some ways, I am your master. You have to do what I tell you because it is the best course for your training. But I am also your councilor, your friend and your shrink if you need one. You can speak to me whenever you please, but first you have to ask, 'May I speak?' That's the standard here. With Mr. Serayen though, you don't speak at all unless spoken to. Let's get you both in the house and get your day started. You can ask me any questions you have while I get you scrubbed up. Follow me." He lead us into that grand house and down a long hallway passed open archways to a ballroom, a library and a solarium. At the end of the hallway was a narrow staircase that went upstairs to a narrow hallway linking together a series of brightly lit rooms. A large room was a bath house in the Turkish style, a hamam with a large heated stone in the center. A very pretty Indian woman appeared and set a stack of heated towels down on a tiled bench. "This is Priet. She is in her last months of training and in December she is going to the private house of a guy in Japan. She is trained as a bath slave and will be an eighteenth birthday present to the man's son. A hell of a birthday present! The father has quite a collection already. I'm going to miss her when she goes." he smiled that radiant sun touched smile again and to my surprise she melted against him, pressed in a wet kiss and then seemed to shake it off and go back to her duties with a playfully scolding look of 'you naughty boy.' I wanted to do the same to him, but if I did, what would happen? I was too afraid of being kicked out of this place. I had no more time to think about it, as my robe was slipped off by eager hands. My new bracelet was taken and put in a glass box. I glanced at Kamil, who was watching us with a dark look in his eyes. When I was naked again, Micheal took my hands and lead me to the marble slabs at the side of the room. Fixed to the wall were various hoses and fixtures for bathing. He switched on a shower head that spouted forth jets of hot water over my back as he laid me down on my stomach. He took from the wall a long hose, like a metal coiled snake with a little gun for a head and he sprayed me carefully with it until I was soaked. From a simple wooden bucket he took a rough sea sponge and dipped it in the foamy water in the bucket. The water was scented with various oils and florals. The abrasion rubbed me raw and the hot water jets stung my skin, but the feeling of his strong and capable hands on my body was a delicious pleasure mixed with the pain. I could see Kamil laid just the way I was on the marble, with the bath slave working his dark skin with soaps and salts. When I was pink and raw on my back, I was turned over and my front was scrubbed. He was detailed, a perfectionist. Micheal's hands did not miss an inch of me. I was entranced with his beauty. The carpenter's jeans were gone and replaced by white linen pants, the same as Priet's, and a simple white tank top graced his shoulders. His feet were bare. The water splashed over him and wet his clothes, and the sight of him that way was so erotic that I felt that familiar flush of wetness between my legs again. He pulled me up to sit on the marble and he gave me a sun drenched smile. "Now, on your knees right down here between my legs. I need to wash that gorgeous hair of yours." Taking a deep breath I lowered to my knees and positioned myself between his legs where he sat on the marble. My face was just inches from his cock and I could see it clearly through the thin, soaked linen, a pink, thick and meaty cock flanked by muscular and perfect thighs. I could see the thatch of wheat colored blond pubic curls and the balls that looked heavy and tight. I braced my hands on a metal bar beneath the marble slab and rocked with the motion of his hands in my hair. The smell of bright citrus filled the air and he worked a lather of sweet smelling soap into my long locks. "Do you know you have the most beautiful hair I have seen on a slave? I've tended to a lot of slaves and I've never seen flame red hair all the way down the back like that. And it's real, too. Gorgeous. Priet, look at this. Flame auburn hair on a tight little pussy like this." he twisted my hair into a soapy knot and reached down to pat his hand on my hip. "Open up your legs and show Priet your red hair. Go ahead, forehead on the floor." I obeyed him and felt a moan creep up from my throat. I bent my head to the cold marble floor and I spread my legs while on my knees, giving Kamil and Priet a view of my asshole and the pink folds of my vagina, lushly covered in auburn red hair. "Very pretty." Priet said, "You should groom a little heart into her pubic hair." The bath slave grinned. "And the boss would have me hung up by my ankles and whipped. No thank you. But she is a fine piece of work. Alright, Starla, stand up now and let me rinse you off." When I was rinsed, he laid me down again, this time taking my legs and strapping them into two thin cables that pulled out of the wall. "Be very still, I am going to trim you." He took scissors and neatly trimmed my pubic hair, then carefully shaved the sides with a razor. I was washed again, rinsed again and then to my surprise, his fingertips opened up my pussy lips and his fingers pushed inside me. He had put some kind of warm oil on his fingers and it was wonderfully soothing. He coated my inner passage with it, then rubbed it expertly into the soft pink folds, rubbing into every crevice until my pussy was warm and tingling. My hips were undulating, pressing against his hand. "Be careful, cherry, I'm not supposed to let you come." he said. I blushed that he called me cherry. "I think I'll call you that, a little luscious red cherry." Then I could not help myself, I bucked my hips hard against his hand, and I heard him laugh. He obliged me a moment, fucking me with his fingers before he clicked his tongue against his teeth and gave me a scolding look that was playful and boyish. "My Cherry is a naughty little fuck slut, isn't she?" he purred. He took his hand away and rinsed it in the shower spray. "Cherry, look... your friend Kamil is hard as a rock." I turned my head to the side and saw that Priet was smiling and working a soapy lather over Kamil's thighs, her hands moving up to grip the dark black cock and stroke it a few times before moving her hands back to his thighs. He looked tormented. His face tightened, balls ready to burst. Micheal gave a little pinch to my swollen nipples and then began to release my ankles from the cables. "I tell you what, Cherry, I'll let you come, but here's how you do it. Stand up, pretty. Now, go over there and climb up onto Kamil. You straddle him and ride him hard. I want you to come hard, but don't let him come. If he comes, I'm going to have to punish you and then I'll feel terrible. Can you do that?" Wide eyed, I nodded. He smacked me lightly on the ass and I went to the marble slab where Kamil lay on his back. I climbed over him, lowered my pussy onto his rigid cock and I began to rock on top of him. I heard him groan and felt his large hands grip my hips. He was bucking up into me, fucking me hard and fierce. Then I saw his mouth open and he let out a loud groan. Jets of hot come began to spray inside me and I started to bounce on him, letting him come in me. But Micheal would have none of this. He grabbed me by the waist and pulled me off of Kamil, the thick black cock bouncing back to rigid attention while still spraying thick jets of cream. I was a flopping rag doll in Micheal's arms. He stood me on top of a marble slab, standing higher than him, and he roughly sprayed me with the hose again, opening my legs and spraying the jets up into me, flushing me out. I was shaking then, shivering violently with need. I did not care about Kamil, or about the beautiful bath slave. All I felt was the stinging little jets of water against my clitoris and the taut slick linen muscles of Micheal's arms embracing me. I collapsed. If he had not been holding me, I would have slid onto the cold marble floor with a fast thud. But he held me and I felt the water jets abruptly stop. Dripping wet, I slowly slid down him, my cheek pressed to the soaked linen on his chest, his thigh, all the way down to his perfect bare feet. Even his feet had a glowing golden tan. I pressed my palms to the cool marble and took the position he had ordered me into before, with my elbows down onto the floor, my ass openly exposed, my back arched. Shaking with desire, and a crushing kind of adoration for him, I pressed my lips against the top of his foot and the kiss there. "Look how sweet you are, little Cherry," he stroked my wet hair. "but I told you I would have to punish you. Stand up, and we will get you groomed to see the rest of the house. I would punish you myself but the boss will surely want to have that privilege himself." he then leaned down and took a handful of my dripping hair in his hand, lips against my ear, "but believe me, I'll get a chance to put some stripes on that sweet ass of yours myself very soon. Keep that in mind." Quickly, I was pulled up to my feet by Priet and the girl's soft hands coaxed me toward an antechamber of the room where a row of dressing vanities stood with lit mirrors. I was crying, though even now I cannot explain why. Something about this intense eroticism overwhelmed me. I was dried with soft towels, my hair combed and fixed in curls. She rubbed aromatic oil into my skin, cleaned under my fingernails with a sharp little pin. I ached for Micheal to touch me, but he did nothing to come near me. It was part of the game Micheal played, making me want him even more. I saw him through the veil of my own hair that was tossed forward to be fixed with curls. He had stripped off the wet linen and put his jeans back on. He did not bother with a shirt. Leaning back against the windowsill, he folded his arms across his chest and watched me with that warm sunshine smile. He would leave me like this, aching between my legs and wanting to be fucked. I saw him pat Kamil on the back when the big black man sat down to have similar treatment done. Micheal cleaned under his fingernails, rubbed almond oil onto his glistening skin and then took the now flacid cock in his hand and rubbed oil onto it. I hoped he would make him hard again, or suck him, but none of that happened. His touch was warm but clinical and he was now just a slave's handler doing his task of preparing a slave for the day. That very first day, I knew Micheal Jones would be trouble for me.