Slaver's Dozen (The Klitzman Stories) Read online

  With a sob, Carol placed her mouth over the detumescing prick and wiped it clean with her pursed lips and tongue. She tasted the mixture of Klitzman’s spewm, her own musky discharge and the blood from her ravishment. She cried, overwhelmed by the mixtures of feelings that coursed through her. After a few moments, she felt her head pushed back and she was shoved rudely to the floor.

  “Good work, cunt,” Klitzman told her. “A good start. Now we’ve got to get you marked.” He spat out a command to the guards in their native tongue. A large ottoman was produced and Carol was picked up and draped over it on her stomach. Straps bound her there. Her buttocks were prominently displayed. Through her befogged, mind she wondered what the fat man meant by being ‘marked’.

  “First a taste of the lash, I think,” Klitzman ordered. One of the black guards took a long, thin reed from the wall. Carol’s mind had cleared at the mention of the lash, and, remembering what Kit had suffered, began to beg and plea to be spared.

  “Oh, please don’t whip me, please!” she shouted out. “I’ll do whatever you want, please, please!”

  “You’ll do whatever I want regardless, slut. Now take your whipping for my pleasure and your instruction,” Klitzman replied. To the guard he said, “Gag the bitch. I’ve had enough of her caterwauling.”

  Carol felt a thick, rubber plug installed in her mouth. A thin tube led from it to a small rubber bag. A large black hand began to pump the bag and the plug in her mouth sprang to life. As the air filled it, Carol realized that she would be effectively silenced, no longer able to beg for mercy. “Oh, G….” was all she was able to say, as the plug rapidly expanded to fill her oral cavity. She felt the rubber tube pinched off and a slight hiss as a valve on the front of the plug was shut. “Mmmmmpf!” was the only sound that she could make.

  Suddenly a line of fire exploded on her buttocks. She tried to scream, but her voice was silenced. Another and another blow fell across her pale white rear cheeks. She struggled at the bonds that held her to the stool to no avail. Her whole ass was afire, like hot oil had been poured over it. Kit had gotten five blows on her back and rear. Carol expected the guard to stop once he had reached that number, but he did not. Lash after lash descended on her. She screamed into her gag, the sounds emerging as muffled moans. The pain was unbearable, but had to be borne, as she no longer controlled what sensations her flesh would experience. Klitzman was her master, her lord, her ruler. And when he said to stop, the guards would stop, and not a moment sooner.

  What Klitzman was waiting for was for the tool of enslavement to finish heating up. He had had built an electric branding iron. It took less time to heat up and left a cleaner, more precise brand. Rukimo still preferred the old fashioned way of heating a steel rod in a brazier until its tip glowed red. But Klitzman had not the patience for any subtle forms of torture. What he wanted, he wanted now.

  When the guard noted that the branding iron was ready, Klitzman signaled the whipping to stop. Carol continued to cry and moan while she squirmed on the stool, her ass ablaze with the tongues of a hundred flames. She could not see the guard with the branding iron, she did not know that her idea of what pain was was about to be substantially altered. Three of the other slaves moved to hold the girl down, to smother her squirming reactions to her torture.

  When she was stilled, the guard pressed forward. The angry red tip of the iron kissed Carol’s flesh. Her body jolted as she felt the first excruciating messages of pain emerge from the surface of her already tender skin. The pain turned into a deep, mind wrenching torment as the rod pushed in on her flesh, on the upper right portion of her right buttock. The black man counted slowly to three, ensuring a deep, clean burn. Carol’s screech of agony echoed through the room, tempered slightly by the rubber plug in her mouth. Mercifully, she fainted.

  When Carol came to, she was still draped over the stool. Her ass was on fire. She felt physically drained, as if her physical reaction to the heretofore unimaginable pain had depleted all of her energy. A black satin bag had been placed over her head, and she could hear, but not see, the resumed gluttonous activity of the fat man behind her. She could not see, of course, the angry wound on her rear, or the red tinged salve that had been placed over it. She heard her tormentor bark strange and obscene orders to his slaves, give instructions to the guards, answer a telephone. And then she heard a voice that she recognized.

  “Mr. Klitzman, I am happy to see you,” the voice said. It was not quite the same as she had previously heard it; the lilt had gone from the voice, also the gentleness and kindness. But there was no mistaking whose it was. Paderovski! “That evil bastard!” she thought, casting aside her demure upbringing, invoking all of the coarse epithets that she could think of.

  “Nicholai!” Klitzman answered. “Come in, come in! I must congratulate you on your success. Please, come in.”

  Nicholai Kodar, thief, murderer and stealer of women entered the room. He saw the proffered ass of the young woman draped over the stool, saw her long brown hair and the angry evidence of her recent branding.

  “I see you’ve met Carol,” he said to the smiling, obese man.

  “Yes, Carol the cunt,” Klitzman replied, “a former virgin.”

  Nicholai laughed. “You don’t waste any time, Mr. Klitzman.” “I never waste time, Nicholai,” the fat man responded. “I enjoy every moment of every day, just some more than others. And it was an extreme joy to deflower this fresh piece of ass you have brought me.”

  Carol heard her ravishment bandied about dismally. “A piece of ass, a cunt, a slut, a bitch, was that what she was, what she was becoming? Her mind protested. “I’m none of those things,” she thought, her mind rebelling at the implications of the crude appellations.

  “So how’s the plane?” Klitzman asked.

  “It’s going to work like a charm. It’s already being repainted and remodeled. A few changes in the wing structure and the nose and no one will ever know that this is the same plane that was reported crashed over the Atlantic Ocean last night.” Nicholai answered.

  Carol blanched at this bit of information. She had wondered how their flight could have just disappeared, why authorities all over the world were not streaming to the god-forsaken place to save her and her pretty, young friends. Despair washed over her. If they thought that she and the other girls were dead, there would be no rescue, no search, and no reprieve from her dreadful fate.

  “A good scheme,” Klitzman stated. “My company obtained the plane for virtually nothing as a result of a nice piece of extortion. We’ll collect the insurance, $2.5 million, and by next week the refurbished plane will be sold for a million and a quarter. It’s a pity we can’t get more, but who wants a hot plane?”

  “I am pleased to bring us both a healthy profit, Mr. Klitzman.”

  ‘Yes, your very considerable share will be on the way to your Cayman Islands account in a few weeks. In the meantime, stay and enjoy our hospitality. Get laid!”

  Both men gave out hearty laughs. Get laid indeed.

  “And the slave who helped you, she is returned as well?” Klitzman asked.

  “Oh, yes, she was quite useful. She is back in retraining I believe.”

  “Many of the girls do well on the outside and are quite reliable. Most of them have families and loved ones. A simple reminder of what could happen to them is enough to assure loyalty and compliance.”

  “Well it worked well this time. The girls just fawned over her. And she was an excellent fuck too.”

  Both men laughed again.

  “It is a crowning achievement to bring in ten beautiful young women at the same time as earning us both a pretty penny,” Klitzman remarked.

  “Well, the plane needed some cover for the flight. As long as we needed our passengers to disappear when the plane did, why not take advantage and bring some delectable whores with us? And it was fun to ensnare them; I enjoyed our charade. It was just a matter of discretion that I limited it to ten. I could have brought fifty. But I brought you a
slaver’s dozen. You know that one or two always get away.”

  The fat man laughed. “A slaver’s dozen indeed. But fifty,” Klitzman mused. “That may be something to work on. A college trip perhaps, the Senior Girl Guides.”

  “Well, that will be someone else’s game,” Nicholai said. “With this last payday, I’m retired. Officially.”

  “Nobody really retires, Nicholai,” Klitzman returned. “Once you’re in the game, you can never give it up. Too much is never enough.”

  “An interesting way to put it. We’ll see. At least let’s call it an extended sabbatical. Okay?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Klitzman laughed, his whole body bounced and jiggled as his mirth was translated to his considerable folds of flesh. “A sabbatical it is. In the mean time, we’ve reserved a cottage for you and staffed it with some delectable females. Have a good time and we’ll talk again when the money clears.” “Thank you, Mr. Kliztman.”

  “And Nicholai,” Klitzman added, “I must repeat, ‘a job well done’!”

  “Thanks, Mr. Klitzman, thanks.” With that, and with one last look at the bound, pretty little Carol, Nicholai, aka Mr. Paderovski, exited her life.

  It was time for Klitzman’s siesta. He pushed the women who were fawning over him away and struggled to his feet. “Release the new cunt,” he told the guards.

  Strong hands loosened Carol’s bonds. She fell to the floor, too despondent to care what the fat man did to her. Klitzman called out an order in an African dialect and one of the guards brought him a small cage mounted on large rubber wheels. The bag was pulled from Carol’s head. “Get on your knees, cunt,” Klitzman ordered harshly. Carol quickly reconsidered her incipient urge to rebellion and pulled herself to her knees. She saw the steel cage, its door open and beckoning to her. Her hands were still bound behind her and her mouth cruelly gagged.

  “Get in, slut,” Klitzman ordered. “You still have two holes I haven’t plowed.”

  Carol cringed at the obese man’s order. It was clear that this gluttonous, callous man could do anything with her. He could torture her, kill her if he wanted. She was dead to her family, dead to the world. She no longer existed except as this cruel man’s new toy, his slut. She was reduced to the value of her orifices and the pleasure she could give through her suffering. Her body had been permanently marked. If she could hasten her death, she would. But this man had shown her what real suffering could be. She was sure that she had endured only a fraction of what he was capable of inflicting or having inflicted on his orders. That, she wanted at all costs to avoid. So there was no choice. Obey, and perhaps her suffering could be moderated. Disobey, and find a whole new world of pain.

  Despondently, Carol crawled over to the cage. She had to shuffle herself over on her knees. She knew that the fat man was watching her and she rued the swaying and jiggling of her desirable breasts as she moved. If only she could make herself ugly and deformed, she thought.

  She poked her head past the cage door and shimmied her way in. The interior of the cage gave her little room to move and she had to kneel with her torso bent over, her knees jammed into her still unmarred breasts. Her long, brown hair splayed across her back like a tattered cloak. She felt the door closed behind her, jamming up against her naked feet. There was a long leather leash attached to the front of the cage. Klitzman took the leash in hand and turned his massive form to walk to his bedroom. Carol watched his revolting form waddle in front of her. The cage rolled behind him, away from her former world, away from every kindness and warmth she had ever known. Slowly, helplessly, she was drawn deeper and deeper into the depths of Klitzman’s hell.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KIT'S TURN

  The sobbing and crying column of newly enslaved females was led down the long hallway to a steel encased door. A buzzer rang them through, and they entered a long, dimly lit room with cells on both sides. The line of grieving young women stopped in front of the cells. Mary and the other girls looked on with horror at what was certainly to be their new homes for the foreseeable future. Narrow cots sat against the wall in each cell and a thick steel chain hung from the ceiling. A small toilet sat in the corner. There were cells on both sides of the room and the girls could see the cells on the left occupied by naked, hooded women. All of the cells on the right side were empty, as if they had been especially reserved for them, which, of course, they had.

  The tall, black guards started from the end of the line. Brittany was first. They unfastened the chain that led to her collar. One of them opened the cell door and guided her inside. The cell was no more than five by ten, just enough room for the cot and a small space next to it. Brittany sobbed as she was separated from her sister. She sobbed as her hands were unfastened from behind her back and fastened to the chain that descended from the ceiling. She sobbed as a hood was lowered over her head.

  The hood had tiny ear plugs that emitted a steady hiss of static. The girl would be literally cut off from the world in her cell, neither able to see nor to hear. The chain was tightened so that she was pulled up onto the tips of her toes. After tweaking her delectable breasts, the men stepped from the cell and slammed the door shut.

  Danielle and the others had watched as Brittany was confined in her cell. Tears and moans abounded, as the girls saw their own fate. After Danielle and Brenda had been securely fastened, Rene, who was next in line, decided that she would not go docilely. When her wrists were unfastened from behind her, she yanked her arms free and pushed one of the guards out of her way. She ran to the door they had just entered and pulled desperately at the handle. Finding it locked, she cried out frantically from behind her gag, cursing her fate, cursing the guards, cursing the evil man who had enticed her here. The guards laughed as they watched her futile efforts. One of them pulled his baton from his belt and, sticking it between the girl’s legs from behind, pulled the trigger. A loud ‘crack!’ resounded in the room and Rene fell to the floor in agony. The baton was placed against her breast and another ‘crack!’ echoed from the concrete walls.

  Moans of fright came from the other girls still in the coffle line. Unconsciously, they bunched together, seeking protection and comfort in their diminishing numbers. Rene lay almost lifeless on the floor, moaning, curled into a ball. When the baton was laid against her skin once more, she lost all heart and begged with her wide open, frightened eyes for mercy. But slave girls must learn their lessons well. A third jolt from the baton coursed through her. She jerked in pain, moaning and crying. Deciding that she had had enough, a guard grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. She was roughly dragged into the next empty cell and her wrists attached to the overhead chain. The insidious hood was installed and Rene was a problem no more. But note had been taken of her tendency to rebellion. She would garner special attention because of it.

  The rest of the girls meekly submitted to their confinement. All but Kit, that is. Kit had decided to offer no resistance, but she was surprised when, instead of being placed in a cell, she was taken by the arm and escorted through a door on the far side of the room. She was dragged down another white walled corridor and through another steel encased door. She was pushed into the room and the door slammed shut.

  Kit looked back at the door, taken aback that she had been left alone. She looked around her. There was a dais in the middle of the room, raised several feet from the floor. Soft, overstuffed easy chairs sat in a semicircle before the platform. Small spotlights lit the dais and cast a dim glow through the rest of the room. Something special was planned for her, she just knew it. And she knew that that wasn’t good.

  The girl was alone in the room for at least an hour. At first she sat in one of the chairs and cried. All her life she had been treated with special deference. She had led the ‘in crowd’ at school. She had had the best clothes, the coolest car, spent her time at the finest resorts and hotels. Servants kowtowed to her, waiters fawned on her. She had set the trends, made the rules. She could make or break anyone’s social life with a caustic comment or eve
n a sneer. What was happening was not right.

  If only she could speak to her captors, she thought. Her family was rich. Her father would help her. There had to be some way that she could convince her captors to allow her to be ransomed. Money had always solved her problems. It had to work the same magic now. Her captors must know who she is, must know that there would be immense profit in returning her to her world. That must be the reason she had been singled out from the other girls, she thought. It had to be.

  The naked and bound girl got up from the chair and began to explore the room nervously. It didn’t take long to traverse the four strong, silent walls. Her nervousness and fear prevented her from sitting still. She had been whipped in front of all the other girls. She could not understand how she could be treated so meanly.

  After about an hour, Kit heard the door to the room opening. The huge black man who had called himself Rukimo entered the room, followed by two of the giant, fierce looking guards. Kit retreated to the far wall, whining and moaning. All of her resolve to seek exemption from the terrible fate that faced the other girls melted away.

  Rukimo stood silently, his eyes boring into the frightened girl’s. She knew what he wanted, what he expected. Timidly, she slowly crept across the room until she stood before him. When she looked up at his terrible face, he smiled. “Hello, Kit,” he said.

  He knew who she was! There was hope! Kit, conscious of her nakedness, mumbled a return greeting through her gag. There was an empty place in her stomach that was churning. Her hands were all sweaty. Unconsciously, she emitted a little whine.

  Rukimo put his finger through the ring in the front of the girl’s collar and pulled her over to one of the chairs. Sitting in it, he pulled her on to his lap. “It’s time we got acquainted, Kit. You have such lovely tits. Do you mind if I play with them?”