Klitzman's Predators Book One Read online

  It is easy now to see the progression in our relationship which led me to my demise. At first, I tried to keep some distance. On my way to work I would insist to myself that I would make some excuse, my hair, a girlfriend, work, and take a night off from the physical and emotional frenzy Nikos brewed in me. By lunch time, my resolve would have dissipated and I would be wondering why he hadn't called, where he was, what he was doing. Did he love me? Really? Would he call? Why hadn't he called yet?

  Lunch would be like a wasteland, nibbling at my sandwich or salad, literally trembling as I brought hand to mouth. After lunch I would dive into my work, confirmed that all was over, that nothing was happening between us. Finally, a call, his voice, delirium.

  My need for Nikos, as he called himself, began to dominate my life.

  I would come home, nervously opening the door, my heart pounding as the wait for his arrival began. When he did come, sometimes while I was still taking the keys from the door, I would almost faint with anticipation. A kiss hello, a caress, and I was off to the races. More often than not he would take me right there and then, pushing up my skirt, piling me pell mell over the settee, plowing me, his tongue down my throat, his arms pinning me down, imprisoning me in his embrace. I would be on fire as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through me. He would take me slowly, rhythmically, even to his climax, controlling his physical self, while I, ratcheted higher with each thrust, fought wildly to draw him deeper inside me, to have him penetrate my very soul.

  I didn't realize it, but it was my soul, my very essence, which he was pursuing and which I was rapidly surrendering to him. After a few weeks, we stopped going anywhere at all. I gave him a copy of my key so that he could wait for me at his leisure or, if he decided to come very late, he could admit himself and surprise me in my bed. He never stayed the night.

  After greeting me after work with, if not a fuck, then bringing me to climax with his mouth or his hand, he would slowly strip me, kissing each part of me as the clothes were peeled away. I would remain naked throughout the evening, through dinner, through the cleanup, through coffee and dessert. And then, in the bedroom, an hour, maybe two, caressing, kissing, lovemaking. I would suck him gently, lovingly, each touch of my tongue on his cock an electric jolt to my mind. While I circled his manhood with my lips, he would speak gently, soothingly, urging me on, admiring my body, pulling and pinching my nipples, delicately at first, then harder and then harder still, until I could no longer restrain a moan, both of pain and passion, a moan stifled only by the presence of his swollen, pulsating member in my mouth.

  It did not seem odd to me that Nikos spoke so little about himself or his life. Or maybe it did seem odd, but I just didn't care. The apartment where we had gone the first night turned out not to be his own, but borrowed. He had no fixed place of employment, and was mostly unavailable when he was not with me. I didn't question his need to go out many nights after our lovemaking or think necessary to ask him where he spent those nights. I was frankly intrigued by the hints of the illicit in our love. I would fantasize his involvement in a myriad of underworld schemes, his political subversiveness or maybe some darker, evil scheme.

  More than once he told me that he would be away for a couple of days. He would miss me he said (I believed him), he would be back soon (I desperately needed to believe him) and he told me he would call. By then I was locked into him irretrievably and I didn't think it strange that he insisted that I maintain as best I could our routine and customs (as he called them) to remain naked, alone, while I awaited his return, dressing only to go to work and come home. I was to maintain my sexual activity, by myself, according to instructions given by him, caressing myself before my bedroom mirror, legs akimbo, thinking of him.

  And think of him I did. At the appointed hour I placed the chair before the mirror on the inside of the bedroom door, and stroked myself, first my breasts, my stomach my thighs and then my loins, bringing myself to climax, with his name on my lips.

  Nor did it seem unusual when, one evening, he brought out video and still cameras and had me pose, legs spread, bent over, breasts pushed up and offered to the camera. I undressed for the video, slowly, sensuously, and then, as I had before him on many occasions, and had done alone, on his instructions, caressed myself until shuddering and crying out I came, shamelessly, without reservation.

  I did anything he asked or demanded. Several times I met him at downtown hotels, an hour's workout, then back to work. Once he called me during the middle of the afternoon and instructed me to go to the ladies room and bring myself off. I was shocked, fearful. Not only was this an intrusion into my last sanctuary from my relentless need for him, but what would someone think, coming into the john to hear me panting and moaning behind the swinging door of a stall? But I did it. I did it because, well, I don't know why other than the fact that his demand made me want to. To satisfy him, yes, but more. I needed to ensure that other demands, a continuous stream of them would be given to me, proof of his wanting, needing me, the more the better. I had given myself over totally to my need of him. Or so I thought. Events were to prove that I had one more thing to give.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HARRY GETS AN AU PAIR

  A few nights later, Estelle and I headed in to the City as per our instructions from Draco. We left Florez the fox to guard the chicken coop. Estelle had picked up a hitchhiker, a child like 18 year old, and made her her prisoner. Estelle got special treatment because she was good at her job and it was hard to find a woman as ruthless and callous as her. A couple more girls were delivered by Draco’s other crews. Florez would bathe and feed the girls in the lockup, and, I imagined, explore their more intimate attributes at the same time. Well, that was no business of mine. Only, he was playing with fire. If Draco believed Florez had disobeyed the standing orders not to molest the recruits, he would take him out in a second. But, again, that was Florez' problem. Me, I just had resort to good old Sally to relieve the pressures built up by a day of such close proximity to our imprisoned pulchritude. Sally was always there in time of need, and after the times I had spent with virtually instantaneous gratification of every sexual whim, this was a time of need.

  Estelle was no help. Although she was quite a looker, she batted lefty. She was in this for the flesh. I understood from Draco that she had her own little seraglio at one of Klitzman's South American resorts. No, she wouldn't be interested in doing a guy a little favor. She'd just as soon cut ‘em off and put ‘em in a blender. Yeah she was a toughie. Her build wasn’t exactly heavy, but, with a few more pounds and maybe an inch or two, she could play tight end for the Dallas Cowboys. She was strong and an expert in judo and karate. Thus, could she be left to handle the “guest room” alone since, even if a girl or two broke free from their chains, they would have to battle the mammaried mauler in order to escape.

  I watched her that morning as she washed, fed and otherwise attended to the physical needs of her wards. One by one, the girls were stood up, hands fastened behind their backs, and taken first to the john, then the sink and then to a chair where they were given a 8 oz. glass of mush to drink. Their hoods were removed only to wash their face; the gags only long enough to drink the mush and then to have their mouths washed out and teeth cleaned. Estelle seemed to revel in her tasks and the girls were deathly afraid of her.

  We left the house about two o’clock in the afternoon. We were to meet in the City with one of Draco's recruiters. We were dressed, as ordered, like a gentrified husband and wife team. Estelle wore a calf length skirt over a pair of Topsiders, with a blue and white striped blouse, her hair pulled back in a bun. Me, I was dressed in a pair of tan bucks with chinos and a crew necked polo shirt with a little animal on the breast pocket. Perfect for an informal meeting with Draco's friend.

  We pulled up to a brownstone in the Village and parked in a spot which had been reserved for us by one of Draco’s operatives. That was the way he was. He seemed to have a million guys working for him and you never knew when one of t
hem would pop up. The guy on the street gave us a nod and disappeared. It was probable he had no idea what our game was. In our “club”, the cognoscenti were extremely few. Mere knowledge of the nature of our operations could be a death warrant. That would be a tough penalty for double parking.

  We exited the car and walked up the steps to the brownstone. A sign on the door said “Village Au Pairs”. Pairs of what, I thought, as Estelle rang the bell and we were buzzed in.

  We were greeted by a receptionist, a pretty young thing, about 21 or so years old. Businesslike, she asked our names and confirmed our appointment. Within a minute we were ushered into a plush inner office, a matronly woman, about 45, rose from her desk and greeted us.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Harris, so good to see you. It's been a while”. A while? I had never seen this broad before in my life. Oh yeah, I got it, she was in on it. The recruiter. What a front! But how could she provide girls who could disappear without a trace? An answer came shortly.

  The receptionist left the room and Estelle and the other broad made like old times. Vivian Burgess was her name, or at least the name she called herself. This was her agency and a good business it was too. But she had a little sideline it seemed and it involved us and Draco and Klitzman and the rest. She handed Estelle an 8 x 10 of a young girl, blond hair, bright, friendly eyes, an unpracticed smile. Her gaze was directly into the camera.

  Estelle perused the picture like the proper judge of flesh that she was. The girl was dressed demurely enough for the purposes expressed to her I'm sure: the viewing by a prospective employer. But the dress was just slightly tight around the waist, the bodice just slightly lowered, enough so that a good measure was given of her charms. Her clean, unblemished face, fresh, bright, cheery, pure, spoke for itself. An attractive girl, eighteen, maybe nineteen. And now, in more trouble than she could have ever imagined.

  There was a soft knock on the door. Vivian called for the supplicant to enter. And enter she did. The very definition of a sweet young thing. She glided gracefully across the room, her eyes directly on Vivian. She stepped up to the desk between Estelle and me. As she stood about two feet away from me I could smell the freshness of her body, a light touch of perfume. Just enough. She was wearing a red and black plaid shirtwaist dress, buttons up the front, the hem just below her knees. Her blond hair lay on her shoulders, soft, fine. Her breasts were full. Her figure was somewhat heavy, but her legs were delicate and smooth. She was trembling slightly, a movement which caused her breasts to stir gently. A small wisp of hair lay across her face. She brushed it aside. “You rang for me Mrs. Burgess?”

  Ah yes, a voice as sweet and fresh as her face. Perfect. And her doom was thus sealed.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Harris have need of an au pair for the summer, Cassie. They’ve looked over your resume and like you very much.” Vivian was laying the bait.

  “Yes, Mrs. Burgess, that’s nice.” She turned first to Estelle and then to me “I’m happy to make your acquaintance. May I ask how old your child is?” Apparently, Vivian had schooled her in the proper etiquette.

  Estelle started laying it on. “Well my dear, there are two children, a little boy, Jamie, who is three, and our daughter, Marie who will be eight in July. We’re all going to vacation in the islands for a few weeks and then we will spend the rest of the winter in Boca Raton. Do you like sailing Cassie? Can I call you that?” Cassie nodded affirmatively.

  “We want to make sure that you will be responsible and take care of our children properly. Mrs. Burgess recommends you highly. Do you think that you can handle two children?”

  “Oh, yes, Mrs. Harris. I have three brothers and sisters at home. I took care of them all the time.”

  I had been wondering what had caused this young thing to fall into Vivian’s clutches and now I began to see. Cassie had left her Midwestern home to get away from taking care of her brothers and sisters. She had probably hit town a few days ago and been handed a leaflet as she got off of the bus. “Village Au Pairs”, an invitation to get herself started. A few hours of wandering around the Big Apple would surely have caused her to consider a safe harbor. And what could be safer than to be an au pair. People with children wouldn’t hurt you, would they? And she knew how to take care of children. Only this time she would be paid.

  “Well,” Estelle continued, “we would expect you to care for the children six days a week. We’ll pay double the standard rate. Your evenings after the children go to bed will be your own. But we won’t tolerate any running around with boys. You can see them of course on your own time, but, well, I think you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Harris. You can be sure I’ll follow your rules to the letter.”

  Boy, if she only knew the truth of that statement, I thought. My guess was that in about three hours she would find out.

  Estelle spoke to Vivian. “She’s fine, very fine. I don’t think we’ll need to see any of the other girls. I like her. What do you think Harry?”

  I tried to act the nonplused, bored father. “Yes, yes, Estelle, if you wish. But don’t forget we have to catch a plane in five hours. And we have to go home first and get the bags and the kids. Let’s get on with this.”

  Vivian’s eyes perked up. “Oh, you have to leave right away? Cassie, are your things packed? Can you leave immediately?”

  “I-I ...” Cassie stuttered.

  “Oh, I’m sure she can,” Estelle interjected. “We’ll buy her some clothes when we get there. Cassie, just throw some things together, Mrs. Burgess will take care of the rest of your things. Okay?”

  Cassie tottered on the brink. The Caribbean sounded fine. Nights off, sailing, the hook went in. “Oh yes, Mrs. Harris. Just let me run upstairs and get a few things and I’ll be right down.”

  “Fine, Cassie, fine,” Vivian knew she could count her commission right now. I wonder if she was in the habit of taking Caribbean trips. If so, she might be seeing Cassie again very soon. That is, if some fat lecher hadn’t bought her and taken her off into the unknown.

  “I’ll have the papers ready when you come downstairs. Hurry now,” Vivian waived Cassie off.

  Cassie spun on her heels and skipped out the door. She was obviously pleased that she had found such a great job and also probably counting her money. And to think that she had been worried about making it in New York. This was easy. A wonderful vacation ahead and a big bankroll at the end. Money would indeed change hands, and she would, I was sure, have a busy time of it.

  As the girl left, Vivian and Estelle exchanged knowing glances. Vivian’s real face came out. A dragon lady. She looked like she had just swallowed cream.

  “I think you’ll be very happy with Cassie. She needs to be thinned out a bit, but I’m sure our friends will be able to handle that.” Vivian’s smile could freeze butter.

  “To be sure,” Estelle answered her. “And I believe that you will be able to see her in a few weeks. I’m taking a few weeks off myself and I’ll make arrangements for her to be available. I think her skin is quite lovely, don’t you?”

  Vivian nodded her assent, “It will probably bruise easily.” Vivian was so practical.

  I rose from my chair as I heard Cassie’s footsteps come running down the stairs. The two women joined me as I headed for the door. Once outside, in the hallway, I could see Cassie holding a small suitcase, battered, with the remnants of a Winnie the Pooh sticker on the side. A childhood keepsake. I wondered if her Teddy bear was in there. Estelle would have fun with that.

  The girl’s chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Would she remember with bitterness her anxiousness to be placed into bondage? As she was branded, whipped and abused, as her mouth, sex and rear were ravaged, soiled, would she think back to this moment? No doubt she would, a thousand times. But her fate was really sealed the moment she walked into Vivian’s web, when she looked down at that leaflet off the bus or train as she arrived in the city, or maybe even back there in Oshkosh or wherever she was from, when she first though wistfully of freedom, of e
xcitement, of running away from home. Her eyes were wide with anticipation. I looked away.

  “Come on Cassie, let’s go. Sign the papers and let’s get on our way.” Estelle’s first order to the slave.

  Vivian placed a contract on the hallway table and Cassie paced her mark on it. Estelle and I signed too. Of course the whole thing was destined for the shredder in a few minutes. There would be no trace of Cassie left here. No evidence she had ever crossed the threshold. Vivian had a real au pair business, of course, but the real business was conducted elsewhere. Here, only the “special cases” were handled. Those who would be missed only by those hundreds or thousands of miles away, in Minnesota, Iowa, Kentucky, even California and Canada. I found out later from Estelle that she made this little trip at least once every other month, sometimes picking up pairs. Young girls harvested for the market.

  As we moved toward the door and passed the young receptionist, I wondered how this voice was kept silenced about the traffic in flesh. Could Vivian keep one so close to her in the dark about her real purpose? My answer came shortly. As we passed by the slight redhead who had buzzed us through to Vivian earlier, Vivian dropped the contract which she had kept in her hand. The redhead rose swiftly and squatted to retrieve it. Her blouse rose up her back and there was a gap between it and her low slung skirt. It all became clear. There, just below her right hip, the cursive k, branded deeply. Vivian’s eyes caught mine as the girl rose and handed the papers to her. She smiled. Well, Vivian wouldn’t be lonely tonight.

  We sped out of the city. Cassie was sitting in the back, unbeknownst to her, the doors locked, already a prisoner. I was driving and Estelle was chatting Cassie up, asking her about her past, where she had grown up, about her boyfriends, getting into her head. Cassie would soon have no secrets. Part of the training of new slaves was the complete revelation of their sexual past. One never knew what little tidbit of information could be helpful in reducing a woman to abjection. Did her boyfriend come in her mouth? Oh no? Well, to be sure, that deficiency would be remedied. Did she like it in her ass? She would be accommodated. Had she ever eaten pussy? That tendency would be happily noted. The knowledge that her most private past was as open as her body would add to the despair and hopelessness which was the precursors of submission.