Welcome to Djian


Taskforce	Back to S	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
update august 13 - 2009

M+/f, slavery, nc, kidnap, blackml, modif, exhib, bnd, BDsm, humil, rough

1 | 2 | 3

Taskforce
by J Lewis

tjlewis132 (at) aol (dot) com

A trip to France…Business and pleasure

Part Thirteen

His long awaited vacation has arrived. It’s time to get away from the everyday bullshit; visit his recent investment across the pond for awhile before getting back to his trade of cleansing the city of its rubbish. The good fucking news is he’s going to have a travelling companion tagging along. Demi’s been coerced to accept an offer ‘she can’t refuse’ including traveling as his obedient companion to visit the vineyards of southern France for the next couple weeks on her own quasi work assignment, the emphasis being on ‘obedient’. More then a subtle hint of the need for his services has also been bandied about while spending some time over there, something about some maybe not so minor and irritating problems that could be handled by his way of doing things. Thinking that’ll just give him something else to do in his lax time, he doesn’t mind.

As far as Demi, actually, he finds she’s rapidly metamorphosed dramatically since her ill-fated undercover experience at the estate just days before, with her painful and humiliating initiation followed by an immediate, next day meeting behind closed doors with her newspaper’s prominent owner. Having a couple of his close acquaintances present, even recognizable to her as part of the group that witnessed her treatment, she’s informed they’re both prominent, powerful officials. The one-way briefing intimidating from the start, her fate’s sealed when they share access to her new and blatant underground triple x videos in her presence. Explained their obvious legal and even criminal consequences, especially with the young girl, given an unconditional ultimatum, she realizes she can’t refuse and reluctantly agrees to the terms, the first of which is resigning from the paper and writing for another of one of his more discreet publications. Promised to be fairly compensated when the assignment’s complete along with the promising of the destruction of the videos, she’s to submit a few private articles for their exclusive circle of select members.

The kicker is the second term, much more ominous and nonnegotiable. She’s advised her initial assignment of articles will be on reporting on the functions of their society located in their wine vineyards in the south of France, a fist hand day to day account if you will on the training of a fresh submissive, with her being that submissive. And, she’ll be under the tutelage of a certain detective also making the trip, as they emphasize the obedience and submissiveness to him she’s expected to abide by.

Chapter 34

The time’s come, sitting on the transatlantic flight midway over the ocean, her leaning back, restless beside him but now seeming to be that model of obedience, he glances down toward the vast blue water below the sparse clouds under the nearly full moon as his mind drifts over the past few weeks. The last of the women handled, shipped off to their new obscure destinations, the crimes against both their devastated families will soon be tossed in with the overflowing pile of unsolved files, as they’ll obviously remain. Now it’s about time for a little break, some R and R.

Glancing over toward her leaning back in her seat, just watching her head tilted away from him on a pillow with the plane dimly lit in the first class section, he smiles at the gesture of the club’s inner circle, his ‘gift’ for the next couple of weeks from them for his appreciated contributions to the society, his very own private submissive to share during the trip. With a few hours to kill, he thinks, what the fuck. Already belonging to the mile high club, maybe now’s the time to join the five mile club, he thinks, that’s if there is such a thing. The plane sparsely filled and the aisle empty, he nudges her arm, taps her hand that’s lying across the armrest between them, might as well keep her busy.

Groggily turning her head from lack of sleep the past few days, glancing toward him through blurry eyes, he slips his finger toward his lips in a sign to remain silent as he barely rises, slowly glances up and down the aisle toward the closed curtains at either end. Reaching up behind her head, slipping the pillow further down behind her back, he tilts her forward, forces her chest outward as her hands remain on the armrest. Another sign with his finger, this time across her lips, he slowly unbuttons the top button of her white silk blouse. Watching her eyes locking on his fingers as her head tilts back against the seat, he slips his hand across hers on the arm rest, motioning for her hands to remain there. Fingers again across her blouse, he gently unbuttons the second button, the third and a forth. Watching her chest slowly rise, lower as the blouse separates across her French cut bra, noticing her fingers gripping the armrests even tighter, slipping his hand between the silk material and bottom of the lace material, he lifts upward, fully exposing the left cup. Her head tilting hesitantly toward the aisle, back toward his hand, he slides his fingers inside the bra, tweaks her stretching areola between his forefinger and thumb and tugs her breast upward, outward as he twists. Her back arching as she gently moans, her breast bared, he releases her puckered nipple, cups the firm globe, adjusts it above the stretched brassiere and outside her spread blouse. Her bare breast totally exposed, it shimmers from the faint light of the moon reflecting off the portal.

Cupping, melding her breast, tweaking the nipple as she remains virtually motionless, silent, he leans closer to her ear, whispering, nodding while still manipulating the bare globe, his words causing her to glance apprehensively back and forth down the empty aisle. A momentary hesitation, she slips her right hand up across the lace cup covering her right breast and tugs it downward while arching her back further out from the seat. Exposing her other breast, slipping the silk blouse further apart, down toward her ribcage, her fingers reluctantly begin tweaking that freshly exposed nipple. Closing her eyes, tilting her head back against the chair’s headrest, she hesitantly but obediently follows his instructions, follows his lead as she awkwardly mimics the manipulations of his fingers on her other breast, tweaking, pinching, massaging, just as he’s suggested for her to do, appearing just a tad harsher even.

Leaning back himself, head resting, turned comfortably toward her; he watches the quivering silhouette of her arched bare chest glisten in the shadows beneath their mixed pair of roving hands. Pressing down, feeling the firmness of her globular mound thrusting outward, seeing just the faintest signs of the welt’s remnants from her lashings just a few days before, he’s impressed she’s become so submissive in so short of time as he slides his fingers from across her breast to up behind her neck, turning her eyes toward his crotch while using his other hand to carefully unzip his trousers. Her lips are looking pretty fucking tempting too.

Chapter 35

Leaving the plane, not its memories, he lets the young, dark toned chauffeur carry and load the luggage inside the trunk of the impressive Bentley limousine parked and waiting in front of the terminal. Demi’s bra and panties still stuffed in his pants pocket from the overnight intermingling above the Atlantic, he still thinks she looks rather attractive after cleaning up the last half hour of the flight in the woman’s restroom. Minimal makeup, her hair drawn strictly back from her face and wrapped behind her head in a harried but respectively formed bun, jacketless, the sheer silk blouse, brilliant white, contrasts nicely with her tanned complexion. Clinging to her svelte body, it virtually forms to her firm breasts, not overly large but with ideal areolas and nipples, actually the kind that seem to make up for lack of abundant size. Her black leather short skirt also tight, mid thigh, her fingers seem to reflexively tug at its edges as if trying to stretch them a little further down as they walk amongst the number of people using the concourse. Four inch matching patent leather heels give the impression of her legs appearing impressively long, thoroughbred sleek even.

Watching the chauffeur help her into the passenger side, smiling at the dumb fuck paying more attention to her almost bared ass as she bends across the seat more then anything else, he figures he may as well give him a little show on the way to the vineyards, after all, from the looks of the maps, it’s a good two, three hour drive through the countryside. Sliding in next to her, leaning over her shoulder, whispering toward her ear, a quiet list of orders are given as the chauffeur steps around to load the trunk before positioning himself behind the wheel. A couple nods of her head, even a hesitant groan or two during the one way conversation and flipping down the middle jump seat, she obediently climbs across it to face forward, toward the glass partition between the driver and rear seats. Even while straddling, positioning herself, the Bentley slowly pulls from the curb.

Leaning well back into the leather seat next to the passenger window, out of sight from the outside but still able to reach out and touch her, he can see the reflection of the driver’s eyes in the limo’s rear view mirror as its adjusted for a perfect angle to watch what’s going on, her. Flipping the power buttons to the rear door windows, lowering both, he mutters. “Okay… Now.” A soft command, almost a whisper, she’s given a gentle nudge on the back side of the skin tight skirt.

Again, just the slightest of a hesitation, she reaches down toward the bottom of her blouse and slowly starts up the row of a half dozen buttons as the limo passes by groups of pedestrians crossing back and forth, more then a couple getting a glance inside at her. Unfastening, slowly spreading the virtually translucent blouse as she works her way upward one button at a time, she also arches her back exposing her navel, her flat stomach just above the hem of her skirt. The blouse spreading across her flattening breasts beneath her hands, just a couple buttons left, she reaches up and unbuttons the top one as she bows her shoulders back, the blouse stretching away, the final button tugging, stretching between her spreading nipples, the white silk material appearing either ready to rip or tear off that last button.

Lowering her hands, unfastening the side of her skirt, raising her hips while shuffling on the jump seat, her breasts bounce, a nipple poking out from the stretching blouse as she slips the hem of the skirt down across her bare hips, down past her knees. Slipping the skirt down off one heel, the other, she straightens, spreads her naked thighs back across the clinging warm leather, centering herself. Gently swaying with the motion of the limo as it slowly maneuvers through the parking area, the mingling pedestrians, she glances down toward the remaining button as she arches her chest outward, slowly fingering, finally flipping it apart. Letting her breasts jaunt outward as they cling to the fluttering material by the nubs of her hardening nipples, arching her arms back as her thighs part even wider, she lets the blouse slide down off her bare shoulders, clinging to the globular sides of her naked breasts swaying apart as the fluttering blouse drops down across her wrists behind her.

Flushing, staring straight ahead into the mirror, her eyes momentarily connects directly with the chauffeur’s taking in her surreal image as he stops in the traffic. People crossing in front, in back, stepping between the mounting jam of vehicles get a look, some even seeming to stop, turn and even point into the open windows, staring toward the shocking, but erotic sight of her naked body mounted, straddling across the jump seat facing forward inside of the Bentley. Finally, the limousine pulls away from the gawking, vocal crowd, onto the highway and toward the estate as the windows roll quietly upward.

A matter of moments, the ride now smoother, feeling her butt cheek unexpectedly pinched, giving a reflexive jerk, she arches herself forward, fully exposed to the eyes again in the mirror as her thighs grip the edges of the leather seat. Her naked body already spread-eagled, her breasts jaunting outward, spreading across her quivering chest, a second pinch and she bows her body even further, revealing everything she has to reveal as she feels her blouse also being slid on down past her hands.

Leaning back, actually appreciating her obvious humiliation as she straddles the seat, assuming her pose facing forward as the chauffeur’s eyes are on her more then the road, he glances over her nakedness as she attempts to constantly adjust to the swaying motions of the limo, her hands gripping palms down on the rear of the jump seat behind her spread butt cheeks as her body contorts, sways. Realizing she’s to be used anyway he desires; he thinks just how damn enjoyable this vacation’s going to be. If she only knew all the dark secrets, he smiles to himself; on the other hand, he’s not going to treat her like the other sluts, she’s just going to be for his personal amusement for awhile, help break her in for the exclusive club he’s become quite the center of attention for. Various degrees of pain, that’s for fucking sure, but mainly humiliation, nothing physically severe or permanent, but more in step with how the Mistress abuses her sub missives. After all, Demi is a rarity for him, not a criminal by any means. Just too bad for her that she’s got that conniving cunt streak in her, and got on his wrong side, and that certainly ain’t fucking hard to do! She can just keep that pose for awhile, until they arrive at the vineyard.

A leisurely drive, leaving the main highway, he’s impressed with the rural terrain, the winding roads, finally the guard shack at the gated entrance to the estate. Watching the long sleeved coated men with shotguns slinged with straps across their shoulders, he smirks at the thought that a ghetto must be close by. Entering the secured grounds, winding through the vineyards with what seems like acres of real grapes he realizes, for Christ sake, they really do make wine over here.

The Chateau coming into view, not an imitation, the real deal, its more like a fortress, though immaculate with the gardeners doing their thing, the acres of shrubs, hedges perfectly trimmed, shaped along the stone laid walkways, fountains. Slowing, parking along the veranda in front of the entrance fit for a five star hotel, a doorman steps to the side of the Bentley, opens the door. Stepping out toward the curb, watching the chauffeur step around to the popped trunk, he turns and watches Demi sliding out, head down, still totally naked except for her stilettos.

Almost appearing bowlegged from the long ride straddling the jump seat, glancing toward him, down toward her feet, she arches her shoulders back, lets her hands lay across her thighs palms out as instructed toward the end of the ride. Bare breasts gently rising, lowering with each measured breath as she lets her lips part, her flushed face contrasts with the rest of her tanned body glistening in the sunlight as a number of the hired help pause and watch.

Fuck, she learns quick, he thinks as he holds back a grin, really enjoying her obvious humiliation as he watches her remaining virtually motionless with the exception of her breasts slightly swaying and just a tremor rippling up her thighs as she stands on the uneven stone footing beneath her. Glancing toward the doorman, seeing the meticulous woman stepping out the doorway, he does a second take as she speaks.

“Welcome………… Don’t look so surprised!”

The tone of the voice even eerily familiar, but erotic in a way with its obvious French accent, he again glances toward the Bentley, back toward her as she steps toward him.

“We’re identical… In practically every way.” She smiles as she reaches out a hand. “She takes care of the colony while I handle this side of the Atlantic.” Shaking his hand, a gleam, a piercing stare and she continues. “Twins… And yes… She’s told me so much about you!... I’m fascinated to see the man who… Well… Let’s just say, has shown her pleasures she’s never experienced before!... Yet… Can also anger her so easily!”

Holy fuck, the Mistress has a twin, he thinks, amazed as he grips her hand, even senses her same unique fragrance. “Let me guess… You’re left handed?” He asks as her eyes narrow with an inquisitive smile.

“Well… Yes… How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch… An old myth about identical twins mirroring one another… Your sister’s right handed… You’re left… So with that being said… She’s kinda’ of on the Dykish side!... You?….”

“I guess then we’re not identical in two different areas then!” She smiles as she gives him a slight peck on the cheek, lifts the back of his hand toward her substantial chest. “Then again we are so alike in other areas… And by the way… She’s already warned me you’re such an… How should I discreetly say it?... Such an arrogant asshole!”

“Well… Thank her for me the next time you talk to her.” He smiles as he lets the back of his hand brush firmly across her breast before twisting his wrist, momentarily cupping the firm melon. “You’re right… There are similarities.”

Stepping past him toward Demi, she smiles. “So… This is your personal assistant we’re suppose to help train, huh?” Glancing her up and down as she’s remained stationary, she lets the back of her hand glide across Demi’s left breast, it’s flattened nipple as she adds. “Looks like you don’t give her much of a clothing allowance… Nice shoes though.”

“She’s mine for the duration of the vacation… Yeh… To be trained for the society by you, too.” He answers as he steps between them. “New to her lifestyle… Needs some training… And I’m sure I’ve brought her to just the right person to help while we’re over here!”

“Certainly.” She smiles. “Let me have someone show her to her quarters adjacent to yours so she can refresh while I take you a nice little tour to view our little paradise… Then if it’s mutually agreeable with you… After dinner later this evening, we can start on her right away and I can impress you with my skills administering a nice little workout across those breasts standing out so nicely there for us to admire… And we won’t forget that tight looking little cunt too!” She adds, tapping Demi’s shaven pubic area, glancing back toward him. “You’ll be welcome to compare me to my sister.” Glancing, nodding toward the help, back toward Demi, she turns toward the chateau. “They’ll take her from here… Come with me… Okay?”

“That’ll work… Hopefully, I’ll get to compare you in more ways then one.” He smiles toward the Mistress, following her.

Strolling into the Chateaux, she leads him through the first floor foyer, the vast banquet room, gathering rooms. Glancing up the impressive staircase, her brief descriptions of the layout of the upper stories of the main house quickly explained, its corridors leading to separate wings of suites for the guests. While down below, the other chambers in the basement, the sub basement, she walks with him as they pass antiques, masterful paintings, with the exquisite furniture filling the vast spaces leading to its ominous entryway.

“We like giving our guests, our club members the best atmosphere possible; after all, they do contribute unimaginable sums to our foundation.” She explains. “In return, they receive ample compensation with enormous latitude in fulfilling their pleasures… To a degree that is.” Staring down past the stairway as they start down, she adds. “The passageways divide below the first level… Separate areas for the nationalities of our sub missives… Seems the more popular group at the moment is the young American girls.” Glancing toward him, a flashing smile, she adds. “Seems Americans are feistier… Spunkier… More of a challenge to initially break in for our guests.”

A quick glance around the different hallways leading in different directions, starting down the other flight of stairs, she continues. “Then of course, the old wine cellars… Half their space is already converted into the various chambers, themes for our guests… From small isolated discipline cells to the lavish chamber that’ll hold quite a few at a time for our exhibitions.”

A slow stroll past the various rooms, up another flight of stairs, they’re again on the first floor. Stepping into the rear gardens of the estate, a brief glimpse of the other outbuildings, servant’s quarters all meticulously maintained, she stops, turns and faces him. Glancing around the grounds, gripping his hand, she stares into his eyes with a different look, almost vulnerable. “I understand you have a unique way of handling certain situations… I think it’s even been mentioned to you that we may need the service of your skills so to speak… I’d certainly be grateful... And would want to show my appreciation………….”

Glancing around the momentarily vacant grounds himself, then into her eyes, he butts in. “It’s been discussed… And yes, I’m certainly capable of helping.” Fucking right, he thinks as he feels her warm grip as she leans against him, her breasts pressing across his chest as she gives him an appreciative hug. Figuring she’ll show her appreciation all right… Down on her fucking hands and knees, looking up with her mouth open, her legs apart, he’ll show her more then just one of his skills.

“Good… Then we can discuss that little matter later… Maybe in the morning?” She smiles as she leans back, grips his hand to lead him. “But for now then.” She speaks in her delicious French accent. “Just what can I personally do to help you relax for awhile?… Your trip must have exhausted you… Come with me.”

End Part 13

Part 14

Chapter 36

The first few days interesting to say the least, besides watching Demi being worked out between exhibiting her sexual prowess with him, he’s found the Mistress also quite pleasant sexually. And, he’s heard Althea and Ariel’s been a real pleasant surprise, especially when being used in a hot fucking threesome, they’ve come a long way in learning to satisfy men, and women. So far, the only fly in the ointment so to speak has been the Mistresses’ problems with the arrogant, well connected asshole from the Ukraine who seems to overindulge sadistically with the sub missives, especially with American girls. Inflicting pain and humiliation seeming not to be enough, he wants to go over the edge, wanting to maim and even worse with almost every visit, which has been nearly nightly for over a week.

Having a serious discussion with the Mistress, it’s been decided it’s time to protect the company’s investments from him, but with the Bolshevik’s influence, in a way not to include the society’s knowledge or to do it on the grounds. Anyway, in the next few minutes he’ll be facing the motherfucker face to face as he’d already scheduled a session with the young American cousins that began some time ago.

Walking down the hall toward one of the last cells, its door shut but not bolted, he hears the sounds of the girl’s screeches echoing off the walls as he steps in front of the doorway, watches through the barred slot. Both the girls’ naked, elbows above their heads, their wrists are cuffed crisscrossed behind their necks to wide, black leather chocker collars. Perspiring, their glistening thighs, pubic areas are already discolored, bruised as they face off in front of each other as the burly Russian holds a thick strap in his fist between them.

“Harder bitch!” His voice gruff as he scowls toward Ariel before glancing back toward Althea. “And you… Spread those fucking legs apart wider… Push that pussy out and stand still!” Glancing toward the door, the unexpected visitor, he practically ignores the intrusion as he flicks the strap backhanded, forehanded. ‘Thwack!... Thwack… Thwack!’

“Oomph!... Oomph… Fuck!” Ariel’s grunt’s barely audible as she grits her teeth, the strap curling back and forth across her flattening breasts as she twists, bows forward unable to protect her exposed discolored melons, but then again, she’s the tough one.

“Kick that bitch’s cunt… And hard!” He scowls as he points the strap toward the other girl’s trembling thighs pressing outward. “Do it!... Now!”

Shaking her head, twisting her hips, Ariel kicks outward with her left leg, the top of her foot sinking into the puffy flesh between her cousin’s thighs. ‘Smack!’

“Aaaggghhh!” Lifting upwards onto her tiptoes, shaking her head back and forth as her hair flails across her bowing shoulders, Althea’s knees twist together as she bends forward, her bruised breasts swaying beneath her.

“The tits now…. Quick, those tits again… Now!.... Hard, kick em hard!” He screams in his strong accent, swinging the strap again backhanded. ‘Thwack!’

“Oomph!” Another flattening smash of the wide leather against her bruised shoulders and Ariel grunts from that blow as she quickly obeys, lunges forward kicking her right leg upwards toward her cousin’s chest. ‘Thwack!’

“Humph!” Falling backwards, slamming against the wall from the force of Ariel’s foot slamming into her swaying breasts, Althea slips, sprawls across the floor on her side, mumbles. “Ohhh!…. Oh God that hurts!... So bad!... Oomph!”

“Kick that bitch’s cunt now… Go ahead bitch… Kick it… And keep kicking it!” Again screaming as he lunges toward Ariel, the strap flails, curling first across her naked breasts, then her bare back, then beneath her up stretched arms, flattening her bruising breasts again. ‘Thwack… Thwack!... Thwack!’

Jerking, twisting, she can’t ward off the blows battering her already bruised breasts, her scraped back as she kicks her left foot outward between Althea’s spread legs, the top of the foot sinking into the tender flesh of her swollen vagina. ‘Thump!’ Her leg rearing back, lunging forward, another kick, and another. ‘Thump……… Thump!’ Kicking back and forth, the third kick the harshest; she slips and falls on the floor herself.

The hulking man sweating, quickly kneels, almost frantically grabs her by the back of her head, twists her hair as he slashes the strap downward between her legs, her swollen bare vagina. ‘Thwack!... Thwack!’ Twisting her naked body over onto her backside, gripping the strap in both hands, he jerks it around her throat twisting, tugging. “Bitch… Fucking bitch!.... I said kick the shit out of her fucking cunt!”

“Times up!... Times up!” Yelling, jerking the door open, lunging toward the madman, he grabs the strap around Ariel’s chocker collar, the man’s wrist. “Fucking time’s up!”

Glaring, the whites of his eyes completely surrounding his glazed pupils, spittle flicking from his mouth, the Bolshevik shouts back. “Fuck you asshole!... Get the fuck out of here or I’ll fucking use this on you too!”

Gripping the strap tighter, feeling the strength of the obviously over the edge madman, glaring straight back into his black eyes, pissed himself, he emphatically orders in his coldest tone. “Let go… Now!… Or I’ll ram this fucking strap down your Russian throat and yank it out your goddamn asshole!”

Silence, except for the girl’s whimpering, the men’s eyes lock as the Russian’s body trembles in rage. Obviously never spoken to like that by anyone before, staring back like a frothing dog, his fists remains tight on the strap, his fingers twitching.

Staring him down, figuring another couple seconds and if the bastard makes the wrong move, fuck the chateau, the society, his fucking thumbs are going straight in the cocksucker’s eye sockets and jerking back out with a pair of squashed Russian eyeballs. The adrenaline flowing, actually deep down kind of hoping for the worst, he senses the bastard backing down, the slightest of a twitch in his angry expression.

Letting his fingers flex, releasing the strap from the girl’s wheezing throat, the Russian slumps slightly back, face flushed with still the bad ass glare as he points a trembling finger, angrily mumbles. “The next time you interfere… I fuck you up… Bad.”

Nodding with a slight grin, even a smirk, using more restraint then he even knew he had, thinking to himself the next time the fucking coroner’s going to be needed for a goddamn dead Bolshevik, he also leans back. “Go get your fucking money back for tonight… This was on the house.” He speaks, slowly standing with the strap in his hand.

Also standing, a smirk on his face as he towers above whom he realizes is a fucking crazy American, he scowls. “I fucking expected that!... You ain’t doing me no damn favor… Tomorrow I get this shit straight… You won’t interfere again when I use these sluts!” Glaring toward the girls, he mumbles. “I’m here for two more days and I’ll be back tomorrow… For sure!... And you’re both going to really pay the price for his fucking arrogance!... You’ll see who’ll protect you then!”

“If you come back… You have my word you can do whatever you want with whoever you want!” He instigates the Russian, still glaring into the black eyes knowing he won’t be coming back.

Slowly walking past the open door, the Russian passes through the hallway, leaving the room behind, obviously pissed. The girls leaning against the wall, bruised, drenched in their perspiration, both wide eyed from the threat, they remain virtually motionless as he unbinds their restraints, collects the collars and cuffs. “Go to your rooms and clean up… And don’t worry… He won’t be coming back.” He instructs as he stands, waits for them to get up, leave the room ahead of him. Watching both hobbling, holding their hands down in front of their thighs, he sullenly adds. “I’ve got some business to attend to now.” Following them up the stairs to the submissive wing, letting both in their rooms, he makes sure he leaves the chateau before the Bolshevik; they’re both going to be meeting again tonight if the address the Mistress already gave him is correct.

Chapter 37

Waiting in the lakeside cottage, the Russian’s private getaway for visiting the Chateau, listening to the grandfather clock ticking back and forth, he glances around the rustic furniture, the paintings making up the asshole’s idea of his own little world. Glancing through the bedroom closet, the dresser drawers to kill some time, finding some disgusting sex toys, the pervert’s sexual tendencies appear to swing both fucking ways, even kinkier, he’s literally a cocksucker! The feeling deep inside returning just as it does back at home as the time approaches, he steps back into the living room area, waiting for the door to open, the motherfucker to step inside, into his private Hell. Putting off ambushing him, instead wanting to show him just who the real bad ass motherfucker is, he’s going to give the Russian a fighting chance before doing what’s going to be done.

The car’s lights flashing through the curtained windows, the crackling of gravel under the bastard’s car’s tires, and it’s about show time. The outside darkening as the car lights blink off, the footsteps of a single person steps across the front porch, the key scratching in the lock. Standing in the middle of the room a few feet from the door as it swings open, he catches the instant glare, the look on the face of the entering man filling the doorway, half of surprise the other half almost of satisfaction as the door swings shut.

“So… What we have here?… A punk ass burglar huh?” The annoying voice is even more annoying with the asshole accent. Obviously recognizing his intruder, he smirks. “Before I call police… I fuck you up!... Real good!”

Still silent he watches the Bolshevik smacking his fist into his other palm as he steps forward. Thinking to himself, yea, right motherfucker, come and get it, waiting, letting him get just a little closer, the roundhouse’s telegraphed from a mile away with the asshole’s awkward lunge. Almost too easily ducking the half-ass swing, automatically reverting into the old golden-gloves stance from his teenage years, blocking the blow with his left forearm, he slashes a short, forceful uppercut just beneath the oncoming protruding chin, but instead of a completely closed fist to easily break his fucking jaw, he aims a tad lower with just the tip of the stiff thumb of his clenched right fist, feels the asshole’s larynx crushing around his lethal thumbnail.

A grunting gasp for air, dropping like a rock, or more like a two hundred and forty pound boulder, both the Russian’s hands grasp at his own gurgling throat, the perverted bastard sprawling downward across his knees. Eyes rolling back in his head, he’s barely able to kneel as he glares wide eyed into the shadows. Coughing, his eyes twitching, widening, he gasps for air that’s not coming as the intruder steps slowly around him.

“Cocksucker… I’m not some helpless fucking cunt you’re tough enough to brutalize.” He scolds as he knows he’s only got a few seconds to fuck with the piece of shit. “You’ve only got seconds left… Just haven’t got enough sense to realize it yet!” Grabbing him by the hair of his head, twisting it back, he glares into the dark eyes nearly bulging, the look of fear, of horror, just like all the other bad asses just when they realize they’re at the end of the line motherfuckers and there’s not a goddamn thing they can do about it. “You punk-ass… One fucking jab and your lard-ass is down there on the fucking floor… And you’re out for the count!”

Glancing around, seeing the phone on the table, grabbing it, dropping it down next to him, he watches as the trembling body slumps over on its side in spasms, blood tracing out both corners of the gasping mouth. “Here’s the fucking phone… Go ahead and call the police!” Knowing he can’t as he watches the twitching, also grinning to himself of the irony that he is the fucking police, he adds. “And… Don’t forget the coroner too…. Asshole!”

Watching the jerking legs, hearing the final gurgling breaths with flecks of blood spewing across the prone body, he feels the surging deep inside again, the excitement, satisfaction of feeling like the kid of years ago, this time in the middle of the squared ring with another motherfucker flat on his back, the startled crowd not knowing how to react, a kid that young wasn’t suppose to be that fucking brutal, even in golden-gloves. Then again, the sooner you knocked the motherfuckers out, the less you got punched yourself. The secret though was to get them against the ropes, in the corner so you could pound the hell out of them for awhile before they could finally fall down or have the referee stop the bout. Yea, watching the ringsiders cringe from the blood spraying along with the flailing mouthpiece connected with a couple teeth! Fucken’ right! That made all the fucking sense in the world then, still does.

Then again, thinking back to all his youthful activities, seems he was always getting kicked out, his vigor for winning at all costs unappreciated. After all, there’s that old saying’s, it’s not if you win or lose but how you played the game. Fuck that, if that was the case, they wouldn’t keep fucking score, would they?!”

Kind of disappointed it only took a single fucking punch, the plan was to really fuck him up, inflict a hell of a lot more pain then that. Shaking his head while shutting the door behind him, he slips around the side of the cabin and onto the Triumph Bonneville T120 C motorcycle he rode in on from the chateau’s garage, as they say, an oldie but a goody. Coasting around the parked Saab 900, then on out the gravel driveway, putting on his black helmet he rides off into the darkness thinking that back in the states he’d be riding a real motorcycle, his Harley Night Train. But invigorated, thinking it’s about time he can have one of his Marlboros, it’ll still be a few minutes as he realizes he can’t be leaving any fucking butts behind; besides, this little favor should be getting him another piece of ass as soon as he gets back to the vineyard. Fuck, let the cousins heal up for a couple days and he’ll find out personally how good they are in a threesome.

End Part 14

Part 15

The problem eliminated, another few days of at times leisurely sex while at other times not so leisurely, all while consuming an abundant amount of the vineyard’s wines and he’d even been invited to a larger then usual gathering at the chateau for a weekend of frolicking and debauchery before heading back to the states. Demi reluctantly but obediently responding to her role, that mixed with a couple of frolics with the young cousins, it all just adds to the raw sexual relationship with the twin Mistress who would like to get him to stay. He’s sure this will become more then just an annual sabbatical as he prepares to leave.

The trip to the airport, the flight back with Demi, the jetlag with the differences in the time zones, and they all add up to the last couple days of his vacation being spent alone, researching the next trash to clean from the streets. While killing a fresh pack of Marlboros, digging deeper into the asshole’s background running the corner of the old closed grocery deep in the hood, he obviously qualifies. Going through BMV, finding a deuce and a quarter registered to the asshole, it’s time to get back to work.

Chapter 38

The Beamer still at his disposal, the old work van’s more to his liking at the moment. Fuck, it’s been a couple weeks and he’s actually missing this shit. Time to cruise the hood, lookup the asshole on the old grocery’s corner, find him alone and see just how fucking tough he is, hopefully more then that punk ass Russian. An after hours trip to the impound lot, swapping out for the van, and the drizzle’s threatening to become a real rain, everything’s falling into place.

Two weeks, seems like months. It’s already after midnight, still drizzling but actually picking up to a steady patter. And, there’s the same punks, same scams being run as he drives through the heart of the hood. Pulling toward the familiar intersection for the second time with his Elvis impersonating rose tinted, gold trimmed sunglasses on, listening, lip sinking to ‘Kentucky Rain’ on the radio’s am channel, glancing at his reflection in the rear view mirror, a mimicking sneer and he thinks to himself, yea, after all, when you’re cool, the sun always shines. Ignoring his favorite cigarette burning down between his fingertips, tugging the navy blue skull cap further down across his forehead, the wipers slowly swipes back and forth across the cracked windshield, the smashed bugs smearing here and there on the streaking glass.

Sitting at the red light, he glances toward the rustic riddled awning with the graffiti smeared 10 cent coca-cola slogan, imagine that, a bottle of coke for a fucking dime! How fucking long ago was that store in the building? Damn, Marlboros where less then a quarter a pack back then too, he thinks to himself as he glances at the smoldering butt beginning to heat up the yellowish stain between his fingers before he flattens it in the overfilled dash ashtray. Light changing, slowly driving through the intersection, he casually scans the area, looking for the Buick as he passes the punk and his posse.

Leaking, dripping, the overhanging dilapidated tin roof hanging off the front of the building’s still functional enough to shelter the group of wannabe’s surrounding the smug asshole with his hoes tripping in and out of the old grocery’s open doorway. Fucking drugs being sold out in the open, the tramps openly plying their wares to any passing John with a buck in his pocket, and still, he feels that rush deep inside from being back home, working his environment while going through his second pack of five dollar Marlboros for the day.

Another pass-by and he thinks it’s about time to make it happen; sensing the obvious way to get to the shithead, she’s standing right next to the punk, apparently auditioning for slut of the month. One thing’s noticeable, the piece of shit must have something for white girls, likes to keep one around, whore her up, dress her like cheap trash. Yea, he seems to always have one close by. This latest one with the dyed black hair, her not so big tits hanging out, the young cunt can’t fucking be much out of her teens, if that. Bet her fucking parents must be proud, certainly gotta’ be a couple of liberal pukes, should’ve used their right to choice a couple decades ago. Then again, clean the bitch up; teach her some manners his way and she’s going to make a lot of people happy, just like the rest of the unrepentant bitches he drags off the streets.

Circling from the other direction, scanning the area, finding the pimped out ride parked in the old door-less corrugated metal garage back off the street attached next to the grocery building, the license plate matches. Shaking his head, he just smiles. It figures, the fucking jumbo chrome wheels with spinners cost more then the car. Now, finding a spot down the street and hopefully, he’ll just wait ‘til the punk cruises later tonight.

Circling, finding a spot in front of a fire hydrant just a half block or so up the street under a burnt out street lamp, perfect. Parking, flipping the key to accessory, he turns the radio down lower as an early Elvis song ‘Good Rockin’ Tonight’ plays out. The tinted shades actually cool, helping light up the dark, he again smirks into the mirror, pushes the rims up his nose with his thumb. The van doors locked, his ‘Dirty Harry’ revolver on the seat beneath his crotch, he slumps lower back into the seat watching through the streaking rain water on the windshield, not wanting to have some punk fuck the night up trying to break in.

The rain a little harder, listening to the patter on the flat metal roof of the van, he holds off on another cigarette as it pushes two o’clock. The streets emptying, the locals obviously afraid to get wet, god forbid it might wash some of the stench off their filthy asses, he figures he’ll give another half hour or so, but again, rain always brings luck. Resting back against the headrest, he keeps his eyes glued toward the corner.

Another fifteen minutes, the movement in the shadows down the street, he sees the silhouettes of a couple people turning the corner of the building toward the old garage. Rising up in his seat, a slight squint as he turns the key in the ignition and he smiles as he watches his newest favorite couple disappear toward the Buick. Lights flashing on, the deuce rolling out onto the street toward the intersection in front of the building, he slowly rolls the van out from in front of the hydrant with the lights still off. Shaking his head at the look of the punk’s ride, it’s even fucking gaudier out on the street.

The Buick turning left at the intersection, flipping the van’s headlights on, passing the now empty stoop of the building, he follows a few car lengths behind inconspicuously in the other lane. Cranking up the radio, the tribute to Elvis marathon an all-nighter, he listens to the commercials as he bides his time, leans toward the passenger seat to check the open satchel. The feeling exuberating, the hunt reaching its pinnacle, he knows its just moments before the shit hits the fan. Out of the hood, onto the nearly empty rain drenched parkway, he tries to figure something out, to make sense of it. Why’s parkway’s for driving, and driveway’s for parking? That’s fucked up.

No traffic to speak of, an intersection approaching, the light changing to yellow, to red, he grins as the Buick’s brake lights flash on. Fuck, the guy’s a law abiding citizen tonight! Cranking up Elvis belching out the first lyrics to ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ as he slows the van, he lets the front bumper barely nudge the Buick’s retro appearing continental kit hanging out over its rear bumper, smirks as he watches the convenience lights flashing on inside the car, the animated driver swinging open his car door even before the vehicles quit rocking.

“Hey motherfucker!” Jumping out, obviously pissed, his pants hanging down across his hips, the verbal abuse continues as he points fingers, twists his body around, almost resembling a caricature of a mad pimp. “What the fuck?... You hit my fucking ride asshole!”

Flipping the van door open, stepping out into the scattered raindrops while sliding the Magnum inside the back of his waist band, he shakes his head while sliding the oversized shades up his nose with his free thumb. The wailing music blaring from the van, glancing toward the syringe from the top of the satchel, having it ready like he’s done so many times before, he stutters. “Dude…. Sorry dude… But why’d you fucking stop?... Thought you’d go on through!” The voice his best hillbilly impression, seeing the bad ass glare from the irate asshole, enjoying it immensely, he decides to push it a little further.

Glancing toward the front of his beat up van, the wipers still scraping back and forth across the smudged windshield, he shakes his head back and forth, whines as the shades slide down the bridge of his nose. “Hope you didn’t hurt my van, man…. I need it for work… I mean when I work!... Shit!” Slipping the shades back up with a thumb, shaking his head back and forth, reaching back behind his waistband, he feels his fingers comfortably tensing on the .41 caliber revolver, just waiting for the next move.

More then pissed, the whites of his eyes, a flashing gold tooth or two contrasting with his dark brown skin, stepping, almost lurching down the side of his car, it’s obvious the punk thinks he’s fucking with a dumb ass white boy as he bends over to check the slightest of a scrape across the metal tire cover above the license plate. “Mother fucker… You fucking redneck honkie!” Whipping a short barreled .32 from his side pocket, holding a punk ass gun sideways like a punk ass would, he shoves it outward, growls. “Motherfucker… I think I’ll just cap your lily white ass… Right here!”

Arm jabbing outward, his own thumb sliding between the cocked hammer and frame of the chromed steel revolver pointing at his face, at the same time his own .41 Magnum flashing out, shoved upward beneath the punk’s startled face, he forces him up on his tiptoes forcing him to bounce on the balls of his feet. Catching the startled punk off guard, watching his eyes glaring, twitching, he pushes the six inch blue steel .41 caliber barrel harsher up under his jawbone, jamming it obviously painfully beneath his chin as he feels the .32’s hammer slamming against his thumb.

“Mother fucker?... Mother fucker… You said?... You piece of shit!” The hillbilly voice gone, the ice cold monotone replacing it, adrenaline almost oozes from his pores as he glances toward the girl ducking down in the front seat, probably shitting her pants. Glancing back toward the punk, the cannon’s barrel sinking even deeper up under his quivering chin, he scowls. “This being the most powerful handgun in the world… And can blow your head clean off… You’ve got to ask yourself a question… Do you feel lucky?... Well… Do you?... Punk!”

“Wha…What?” The girlish squeal, the startled expression priceless, grabbing the .32 from the asshole’s fist, shoving the six inch model 57 Smith and Wesson even harder into the throat area, he continues. “I said man… Do you feel fucking lucky with this bei… Oh fuck it!... Step your ass over here mother fucker!”

Forcing him hastily back toward the van with the magnum under his chin, reaching in the open door, tossing the .32 on the passenger seat, grabbing the syringe in one swift motion, he jams it in the punk’s neck, empties it in one forceful jab.

“Aaaggghh!... Ohh!.... Ohhhh……..” Slumping, dropping to the wet pavement on his knees, quivering, spasms, eyes rolling, the rain keeps falling as he does also, his clenching fingers slipping from his throat as he slumps face first across a puddle in the street, eyes still staring.

Watching him drop, the thought humorously crosses his mind; the motherfucker’s last thoughts are of a fucking Elvis impersonator impersonating fucking Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry! What a fucking way to go, especially if he’d done any recent drugs tonight!

Quickly stepping around the front of the Buick, he slams the .41 Magnum back down into his waistband. Jerking the passenger door open, grabbing the slumping, terrified girl’s arm, he drags her from the car, to the side of the van. Jerking the side door open, quickly cuffing her hands behind her back, grabbing the shackle bolted to the center of the floor, slapping it around her ankle, he slams the door shut, all in less then a handful of seconds. Climbing inside the van, the song ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ blaring it final notes, he slips the rose colored shades up the bridge of his nose again with his thumb as he reaches for a Marlboro and presses the lighter into the dash. Waiting for the lighter to pop back out, drawing on the cigarette, sliding the lighter back into its holder, he takes a long, slow draw as he glances toward the carnage in front of the van.

Shoving the column shift into reverse, backing up the van, driving around the Buick, its driver sprawled across the wet street, no longer in the state of mind to drive it, but then again, won’t ever be, he glances in the rear view mirror at the image of the sniveling girl laying on her side, curled across the tarp covering the flat metal floorboard as he drives the blaring van into the wet darkness. Taking another soothing deep draw on the Marlboro as he takes a look for the first time at his freshly bruised thumb, he flexes it a couple times as he listens to another commercial break between Elvis songs. Yea, motherfucker, look who just TCB, he thinks to himself, admiring the reflection of his smirk in the mirror as he flicks the rose tinted shades up the bridge of his nose. E would be fucking proud, but then, so would Clint, even though Clint’s famous lines involved a model 29 S and W, a .44 caliber magnum as the most powerful. Oh well, everyone has their own opinions.

First night back on the job, the drive to the mansion and the girl’s already in a cell, stripped naked, bound and prepared with the ever optional ball gag. Her slender body actually near flawless, again a couple half ass small tattoos, one on the hip, the other on a tit, she needs her ass kicked for marring what can be such a hot little fucking body he thinks to himself. Stepping around her with a Marlboro dangling from his lip, the barber straight razor in his hand, he slaps it back and forth a few times across the wide flat brown leather strap attached next to the columns. Leaning toward her, the glistening blade in his clenched fist, he tugs her neck back by her jet black hair as he slips the shinning blade just beneath her earlobe, pressing against her jugular. Feeling the thumping of her heartbeat through the hard steel, taking a slow, long draw on the butt, glancing into her terrified eyes, he flips the cigarette onto the floor as a trickle of urine spatters between her bare thighs.

Trembling in her bindings, her dark eyes wide, darting as she feels the freshly sharpened blade sliding upward across her neck, she squints her eyes shut, both her fists and toes sporadically curling as her naked body tautly flexes spread-eagled between the columns. She can only pitifully grunt through the crimson ball gag as the warm liquid drips across her shoulders, trickles downward across, off her heaving bare breasts as the wet blade presses inward, calculatingly slides up past her ear, the wet sharp steel pressing against her throat.

Her terror obvious at the sensation of the razor pressing against her flesh, he briefly smiles at his twisted torment of the naked girl as he continues, sliding the blade upward, across her scalp, crisscrossing back and forth. Again he grins to himself as he sees she finally realizes her hair’s being shaved with the ominous steel blade as it continues to swipe back and forth, dip into the basin of hot soapy water. Her short black hair falling to the floor in chunks, some strands sticking across her wet shoulders, her exposed scalp glistens, much paler then the rest of her twitching body.

Taking his time with the blade, he continues with her eyebrows, what there was of ‘em, then obviously her pubic hair, even as it already was a bikini cut, and finally he’s pretty much done. Stepping back, lighting another smoke, he takes his first real look at the girl’s naked body, virtually hairless, her slim frame a tad too slim, but her tits more then a handful each, actually larger looking because of her slenderness, and well formed and extra firm. Her highly mounted puffy nipples pointing upwards from the globular appearance of both glistening mounds, he’s sure she can be beefed up, add a few pounds and make a nice addition for one of the Mistresses.

For now, she can hang between the columns for the rest of the night; contemplate what she’s in for. Stepping toward the door, flicking off the light, he leaves her with her thoughts while lighting his last Marlboro.

End Part 15

Back to S Collection | Back to main page