Klitzman's Empire (The Klitzman Stories Book 2) Page 6

  I reached out and caressed her right breast, soft, fluid under my hand, warm and firm. The girl let out a small whine from fear. Walking behind her I turned her towards the Englishman. I put my hand between her legs from behind. “Do you beg forgiveness from this guest?”

  “Yes, master,” she replied. I bet she did. Her voice was desperately unhappy, undoubtedly despondent at yet another act of injustice against her.

  “Do you beg punishment?” I asked her. If she said ‘no’,she knew she would be whipped to an inch of her life.

  “Y-yes, master,”she answered in a low, barely audible voice.

  I could feel her slit growing wet and hot from the combination of my hand and her fear. The Englishman was loving it. I could see the fervor of his desire on his face. He licked his lips and sipped at his scotch.

  I went to the cabinet on the side of the room and pulled out a ball gag. I wanted her to see the blows, but there was no need to hear her screams.

  Before I could put it in, the Englishman spoke, “No, please, don't gag her.” I put the gag back. He wanted to hear her suffer, to beg for mercy. It was not my place to say that he couldn’t.

  Behind the Englishman was a full length mirror. The slave girl, formerly Freda, could see me clearly as I walked over and took the riding crop down from the wall behind her. I stepped up to her and, rearing back as she watched, swung it hard against her back. The tall, beautiful, young woman jumped and yelled with pain. Her whole body tensed as if jolted by electricity. “Aaaaaaow!” she cried out, her feet twittering on the floor as if she was trying to dance away.

  Five times I struck her. Each blow left a large welt. They covered her from the small of her back down to the back of her thighs. After the first blow, she started screaming loudly. The Englishman was riveted by the display. Each time the girl cried out in anguish, his eyes lit up and he took another gulp of his scotch. I felt excitement in my own loins as I watched each line of red appear on the girl’s pale flesh each time the riding crop kissed her skin. Her wailing and crying was stoking my fires.

  After five blows, I crossed in front of her and, careful not to obstruct the Englishman's view, struck her five more times across her front, from the breasts to her knees. Each blow of the whip left a wide, angry red mark on her skin. Each time the whip landed, she uttered a loud, wailing cry. After the third stroke, one that landed athwart her generous, pale white breasts, she begged and pleaded to be spared, apologizing fervently, begging forgiveness. By the time I was finished, she was no longer screaming, but was sobbing loudly, hopelessly, swinging back and forth on her chain.

  Her head hung down between her shoulders. I looked to the Englishman and asked, “Is that sufficient?”

  He was in apoplexy. He nodded and rose from the chair. “Thank you,” he murmured, eyes wide, staring fiercely at the girl before him. She was still sobbing, but less loudly now. So now I had done it, I had taken a whip in my hand and struck this woman, who may have committed the great crime of spilling a drink on this fucking gutless sack of shit. I glared at him as he glared in turn at the girl. I was sure they didn't have this service at his Londonclub.

  The Englishman cut his reverie short. Grabbing the glass of whiskey at his chair, he threw it back into his throat. Having gorged himself on this girl's suffering, he was now sated. He murmured, “Thank you,” again and slipped from the room.

  The slave and I were now alone. My cock was throbbing as I caressed the girl's naked body with my eyes. I desired her. The exercise of my power over her had caused the steam to build up inside me. I was overcome with lust. I quickly unlocked her hands from the chain and led her to the bed. “Frog” I commanded. She climbed onto the plush mattress and knelt there, head down, with her hands on the bed beside her head. Her pose was that of a frog, ready to hop, her legs spread wide, her twin portals open, presented to my view.

  Slipping my robe loose, I crawled up on the bed behind her and pressed my rampant cock against the entranceway to her sex. She was already wet and ready for me. In spite of her alleged faux pas, she was well trained indeed. I entered her slowly, letting her hot canal send a wave of pleasure through me. For a moment, I was transfixed. Her cunt was as hot as fire. I reveled in her tight, moist sheath. Slowly, I began to rock back and forth, my hands caressing the welts that I had created, rising red on her back and thighs. I let the head of my throbbing cock caress the outside of her distended labia, teasing her flesh, slowing the build of my climax.

  When I ran my cock slowly back into her, up to the very hilt, we both moaned, pulses of pleasure shooting through us. I felt my juices rising and began to plunge my cock back and forth in her tender hole feverishly. Each time I plowed my rock hard meat past her hard, distended clit, the girl moaned. As my pace increased, I could feel her body responding to mine. She met my thrusts with her hips, squeezing her legs tightly, causing her steaming pussy to clasp my cock tightly. As my lust finally overcame me, I gave out a loud groan. Each pump of cock sent shivers of pleasure through me. I reached under the girl and grabbed her tender, red laced tits and squeezed them hard. At this, the girl’s own lust exploded and she cried out again and again at each contraction of her meat filled hole. Each contraction of her quim sent another pulse of pleasure through me until her spasms finally subsided.

  I lay there atop her, my sweaty chest pressed against her striped back, spent, slowly recovering my control. The girl was panting, moaning beneath me. I rose from her slowly, my now torpid cock slipping out from between her thighs. I went over to the chair and poured myself another whiskey. The girl, of course remained still, as she had not been commanded to move.

  I knew I should go back upstairs and resume my duties. I finished the whiskey and ordered the girl to her feet and to the middle of the room. I picked up the dress she had folded neatly on the floor and tied it around her neck. I turned her around and fastened her wrists together behind her. As I grabbed her collar to lead her back upstairs, I could see the forlorn look on her face. After all, she had only spilled a drink. To be deprived of lounge girl status was a big thing. Lounge girls got regular days off. They were rarely whipped, as it would interfere with the pretense that they were just kind of hanging out in your neighborhood lounge. She would now spend at least a month in Rukimo's dungeon, away from the caresses of her fellow slaves during her free time, deprived of the services of a slave servant who helped bathe her and make her up, even deprived of the dignity of a few scraps of clothing.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” I thought. I grabbed the slave hood that I had brought her down in and placed it back over her head. I took a last look at her and, as I did so, I knew that I would never forget the face of the girl who I had whipped so brutally, nor the passion which I had found coursing through my veins. Something had changed. I had crossed a line. I had enjoyed beating this girl. I would probably enjoy doing it again, to her, or to any one of the multitudinous females on the island.

  I led the now nameless girl upstairs and brought her to the bartender. “This slave is to be retrained,” I said. He just nodded and, grabbing her collar, forced her to her knees behind the bar where he fastened her neck to a ring near the floor. I walked away, back to my other duties. I was now truly a master.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRENDA AND JOHNNY WERE LOVERS

  In a swank hotel on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, Brenda Frost knelt, impaled on the thick, rigid prick of her lover, Johnny Masterson. She was riding the pointed stem fiercely. Her body glistened with the sweat of her endeavors. Her breasts hung freely beneath her and swung wildly back and forth with every thrust of her hips.

  Beneath her, Johnny’s eyes were rolled back as he enjoyed the tight, wet warmth that was stroking his cock. His hands held onto Brenda’s hips tightly as if to encourage her machine like humping of his fleshy pole. “Aohhhhhhhhhh!” he moaned as he felt his fluids build towards release.

  “Not yet! Not yet!” Brenda yelled frantically. “Hold on. Oh! Oh! Oh,” she called out. The 27 year ol
d, chestnut haired beauty rubbed her stiff clit along the length of Johnny’s rod. Her long hair fell around her face, as she lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” she screamed as she felt her meat filled pussy begin to contract. “Ohhhhhhhh!” she moaned as her orgasm overwhelmed her senses.

  Johnny had been holding back the explosion of his lust, and when he saw the unmistakable evidence of Brenda’s climax, he let himself go, pumping his hot load deep inside the convulsing woman atop him.

  “Oh, god, yeah!” he exclaimed. “Oh yeah! Yeah! Yeah!”

  When their exquisite spasms abated, Brenda leaned over, letting her breasts fall onto Johnny’s chest and spread her legs, letting the lingering heat of Johnny’s cock inside her still tremoring pussy sooth her.

  “Oh, Johnny,” she said. “That was the best!”

  Johnny, like most men, was too dazed by his post coital bliss to engage in verbal communication. He answered the young woman by placing his hands on her buttocks and squeezing them.

  It was their third bout of lovemaking that afternoon. Johnny was not due at the bar until six and had all afternoon to fuck. Brenda was officially out ‘shopping’. Her fiancé, Jack, a wealthy Wall Street broker, was busily making money about a mile and a half away. Brenda had turned her cell phone off, but he was unlikely to call anyway, being so tied up in the non-stop action on the stock exchange floor.

  It was approaching four P.M. and it was time to break up the couple’s afternoon delight.

  “I’ve gotta get dressed,” Brenda sighed as she felt Johnny’s softening rod slip from her. She kissed the nipples on his chest and rose from the bed. She crossed the luxuriant room quickly and Johnny could hear the water begin to flow in the shower. He just leaned back and lit a cigarette.

  “What a piece of ass!” he thought. He checked out the $3,000 Rolex that she had brought him today. “And rich, too!” He had been fucking Brenda for about three months. She always paid for the room and usually brought him an expensive present. Two weeks ago, she had ‘loaned’ him $12,000 as startup money for his new business. It was supposed to be a bartender’s school, but Johnny had socked it away. He had a feeling that his business would need more cash soon. He wondered how much green he could get out of the lusty brunette.

  Brenda emerged from the bathroom smiling, rubbing the thick, fluffy cotton towel over her rotund breasts. She hadn’t bothered to shampoo, but would brush her long hair out before she left. She and Jack had been living together for three years. It was a marriage in everything but name and she had access to Jack’s considerable bank accounts. Brenda often siphoned money off of Jack’s account in the form of cash and deposited it in her own so that Jack could not see where she was spending her money. A debit to the Cheshire Hotel on 93rd Street in Manhattan would be but one of those items that she preferred Jack not see.

  “See you tonight, babe?” Johnny asked as he lit another cigarette.

  “Not tonight, honey,” Brenda answered. “It’s Jack’s birthday and we’re going out to dinner.”

  “See if you can dump him early,” Johnny replied. “I’ve gotta bartend until 12, then I’m off. Maybe we could have a few drinks,” he suggested, a late night blow job in the back of his mind.

  “Sorry, sweetie,” Brenda said as she nestled next to him in the bed. She had donned her tight, red dress and her sheer silk stockings. She ran her hand down Johnny’s thigh. “Not that I wouldn’t mind, tiger,” she said. “We’re leaving on a trip in the morning. To Europe. I smell thousands of dollars of Paris fashions coming my way,” she said, laughing. Her hand had circled around Johnny’s soft tool. “Jack wants to stop a couple places on the way back, the Azores, I think and some African place. I don’t know. He says it’s business and will let him deduct the trip. We’ll be gone for about a month.”

  “A month?” Johnny said, a tone of hurt in his voice. “What’ll I do without ya, babe?” he complained playfully.

  Brenda had begun to excite Johnny’s prick, and it was becoming firm in her expert hand. “Oh, you’ll think of something,” she said. “There’s lots of fluff hanging around the club. Just don’t get hooked on any of them. You’re mine.”

  “Honey, you don’t think….” Johnny started to say.

  Brenda put her free hand over his mouth, interrupting his protestations. “Don’t spoil it, lover. Don’t pretend you’re what you’re not, okay?”

  Johnny smiled. “Bring me back something nice from Paris,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Oh, I will, Johnny, I will,” the shapely young woman replied. “And here’s something to help tide you over until I get back,” she said.

  Johnny’s cock had sprung to life. Brenda’s hand caressed his heavy sac and she lowered her mouth to his stiff joint. The lean, muscular bartender sighed as her plump, hot lips engulfed his cock.

  Twenty five minutes later, Johnny was in the lobby of the hotel. Brenda had left first. He was emerging from the gift shop. He had put a couple of ties and a silk shirt on Brenda’s hotel tab. “She won’t even notice,” he thought.

  As he stepped into the busy East 93rd Street sidewalk, he lit a smoke. He turned left towards Third Avenue and had gotten to about the middle of the block when a dark limousine pulled up next to him. At the same time, two tough looking, heavy set guys came out of the alley way. Johnny was startled. The men approached him rapidly, giving him really no time to react. The limo door swung open and he felt a hard object thrust into his ribs.

  “Let’s take a ride, Johnny boy,” one of the men said. “Our buddy, Cholo, wants to talk to you about your girlfriend.” The man’s voice was full of menace. Johnny dropped his smoke and his small package. The two men grabbed his arms and hustled him to the car. Another set of hands dragged him in. The door slammed and the limo drove away. One of the men on the sidewalk picked up the paper bag that Johnny had been carrying and looked in. “Nice ties,” he said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HARRY DOES A JOB FOR THE BOSS

  For the next few weeks, life went on in a fairly monotonous way. I had my job, if you can call it a job, I worked out, I fucked a lot. I had started to get used to the concept that any female I saw, or at least just about any, I was able to fuck almost any time I wanted. Or I could whip her, watch her play tongue piano on a cunt, make her stand on her head, recite the Pledge of Allegiance backwards. Anything.

  Just as in the real world, however, I found myself being drawn more often than not to a type. I usually picked girls like Tracy, the waitress I had met on my fourth or fifth day at the resort. She was beautiful and willing. Some girls made an adjustment to sexual slavery and some did not. Not that any one of them wouldn’t have fled the island in an instant if they got the chance. After all, today might be all peaches and cream with a girl getting a well fucked cunt, driven to wild orgasm after orgasm, but tomorrow, she could be dancing at the business end of a whip, or purchased by some mad dog sadist. Or she could be assigned to Klitzman’s compound.

  From the little I had learned from the girls who I had talked to, life inside Klitzman’s mansion was a continual reign of terror. In fact, if a girl’s stay in his domain was anything other than a short fling, she usually ended up so used and worn that she was shipped down to permanent service in the guards’ or workers’ barracks. From there, there were brothels on the mainland and around the world that catered to, let’s just say, the working class.

  What I didn’t want was a continual crisis of conscience. On my first day, I had fallen into lust with a beautiful blond Dutch girl. She was just out of training and her first, or among her first, assignments was to be my body slave. I had been seduced by her forlorn demeanor, her winsome fear. I wanted to protect her from the harsh realities of her new life. The next day, when I returned to my quarters, she had been replaced by another slave girl. I found out that she had been sold. I took out my anger and frustration on the Dutch girl’s replacement. Since then, I avoided the morose, fragile types like the plague. Even so, unless I had made a spe
cific request for a girl (as a supervisor I could keep a girl as my personal servant for one week), I would often get girls right out of training. I tried to ignore their evident unhappiness and fear like the callous, amoral, sadistic slaver I was supposed to be.

  On this day, in my sixth week on the island, I had just emerged from the tight, hot ass of my body slave for the week, Patricia, when the telephone rang. It was Rukimo, and he wanted to see me. I had come to like Patricia over the past two weeks. She had been serving as a waitress at the café nearest to my dorm. I still bore a cachet as a small hero because of my fight with Thorndike. Even my whipping and demotion of the slave girl Freda had not lowered me in the collective admiration of the slave staff. Twice in the previous week, Patricia had rubbed her soft, white breast against my arm as she was serving me breakfast. She was one of those Black Irish types, jet black hair, fair skin. Her breasts were trim and round and swung loosely but gently as she walked. Her lips were full and gave her the look of a constant pout, a sauciness that bespoke passion. I decided to sample it.

  I did not regret my choice. After the first night, when she had me groaning and crying out in almost painful pleasure, I decided to keep her the week. The morning of the phone call from Rukimo I had awoken with her lips gently caressing my cock to hardness. It was a cardinal sin for a slave to make actual sexual advances to a master, but I had given the young girl instructions to wake me around 7 A.M. I liked to go for a little run in the mornings and, due to the tropical heat, I tried to do it as early as possible. Afterwards I would return for a nap and a fuck, or vice versa.

  My plans that morning went awry. I had let myself enjoy Patricia’s oral attentions to my prick for a while, and then, somewhat regretfully, I pushed her off gently so that I could prepare for my run. I needed to keep in shape. Every day was a test of my stamina and a threat to my cholesterol levels. She gave me a little frown, but acquiesced in my decision, as a good slave should. But after having emptied my bladder, a daunting task considering my hard on, I emerged from the bathroom only to see Patricia kneeling on the bed, her head buried in a pillow, her rear elevated and her legs spread. Her hands were underneath her and, through her legs, she was caressing her thighs.