Sex, Slaves and Punishment

MF, M+F, FF, nc, bdsm, oral, anal, piercing, humil

Sex, Slaves and Punishment

Bangkok Slaver Series #7

by Stroker Ace

** WARNING: This story is fiction, and should be treated as such. The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, DO NOT read any further. If it is illegal in your location, DO NOT read it.

Reposting or any other use of it is strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder, except that it may be posted as part of a review or posted to a free-access, noncommercial archive site.

** SPECIAL NOTE! This is the Bangkok Slaver Series. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this series, it was written by three authors, Parker, Marlissa, Stroker Ace & Spoonbender. Parker started it, when he wrote “Doctor’s Orders”, which I guess technically, isn’t really in Bangkok, as it takes place in Southern California, and ends up in Mexico, but many of the characters, in this story, end up in several or more of the other 7 stories. Marlissa then took it up, and wrote “The Newlywed” & “The Stewardess & Her Daughter”. Parker wrote the next story, simply called “A Bangkok Slaver Story”. Then Stroker Ace took over and wrote, “Lollipops”, “Beyond Chiang Mai” & “Sex, Slaves, and Punishment.” And Theododer Spoonbender then wrote, what seems to be the final story of the series, “Fitting up Katie”.

Sex, Slaves and Punishment – A Bangkok Slaver Story 7 ” And then the good witch said, `whatever you wish, whatever you brew, sooner or later will come back to you.’ Now go to sleep little Joey, for tomorrow will be your first day of kindergarten.”

Sex, Slaves and Punishment Chapter 1 — Coming Down

I never did like coming down. Not now, not when I was with the firm, and definitely not when I was in the East. Damn, those were some crazy wild ass years. The years all blur together, like looking at a girl through the bottom of a whisky bottle. Singapore, Hong Kong when it was wild, Bangkok. Damn Joy Town. That hell hole really fucked me up. The plane was bumping, groaning, rain streaked over the tiny porthole. Not even first class. Worse, can’t even get a decent drink. When you are on the run, you travel economy on unheard of, discount lines. The stewardess repeated for the umteenth time “fasten your seat belts,” in a dull, plain voice. “We will be landing in twenty minutes.” Tired from overwork, her smile had long since disappeared, now it was a barely masked snarl. The tie of her uniform was skewed. It was the same blue but the material lighter, cheaper and definitely not as elegant as the royal blue of British Airways. Like her, attractive enough but not as refined as… Best not to think of that now. Better to nap…

Refined and elegant, blue jacket and skirt under long sculptured legs. Navy blue heels dangle from her toe, but she won’t let them fall. They kick out madly, swinging above her waist, slicing the stale air above her discarded uniform. Her arms are slender, not made for supporting her weight, but now she hangs from them, a single rope digs into the milky white of each delicate wrist. Her pain is else where.

“Take her down! Take her down, you have me!” she cries to the woman.

The woman has her back to her. Black hair falls long and heavy to her waist. A tiny waist, narrow hips, a tiny band of black vinyl for a skirt, tall spike heels. The woman is pulling the plaid skirt from the shrieking young girl. It comes away with a ripping sound, leaving fleshy legs, pale and bare dancing in the air.

“Let my daughter go. You don’t need her. You have me. Take me! Sarah. Oh my Sarah.” the elegant woman wails. “Sarah!”

The skirt falls away, the woman admires the naked girl’s body and turns around. It is Tam, the Thai whore trainer only her face is a skull.

“Mister! Wake up! Are you all right?”

“Where? Oh. Yeah, I’m fine. Just another bad dream, that’s all.”

Relieved that nothing more is expected of her, the stewardess forces a quick smile and says, “You should see someone about that. Go to therapy or something. You were screaming, your face is covered with sweat. Are you sure that you’re OK? Now fasten your seat belt, we will be landing in five minutes.” I don’t know which of us will be happier to end this damnflight.


The airport is crowed. A sea of faces. I have taken to scanning faces with my chin down. I don’t need to catch the eye of some overly ambitious, still wet behind the ears agent. I hurried through the crowd, and stopped dead cold in my tracks. Passengers spilled all around me.

Poised and relaxed Roxanne Bodwell sat with the other stewardesses by the gate. Older, but the same woman, I would have recognize her anywhere.

“Hey, get out of the way, Mister. Some of us want to get off the plane.” one of my fellow passengers shouted.

She looked up towards the commotion. There was no avoiding her now. Slowly she stood, her eyes fixed on mine. Their conversation drifted to a stop, as the girls watched her stand and slowly walk towards me. I pushed through the crowd to meet her halfway. Her mouth opened but she was silent. Her face was drawn, older than I remembered, but the same irrepressible sea green eyes. Still, her face was harder, more drawn. Tiny lines ran from the corners of her eyes. Her jaw line was as proud as ever. She was still beautiful, a mature beauty, like the fine wine that she was. She always had been a woman of character. Even when she was naked, whipped and crying, but defiant, trusting herself, always facing adversity with dignity and character. That character was what made it so tough for her when I sold her to some shit hole sex club in Joy Town. Sold her and her daughter into a lifetime of fulfilling every sexual deviant’s craziest fantasies. But I guess that same character is also what gave her a will to survive. Survive as a sex slave and now turn up here, a world away, a different world, a different time. “What are you doing here?”

“I fly for the airline,” Roxanne pointed to the counter.

“I mean, here. Last time I saw you was in Joy Town. Big man Vopat was grinning like a fool. He was all over you. That must have been seven, eight years ago.” “Nine. You had just sold Sarah and I, back to that prick. You bastard, you sold us twice! Bastard! For years I have dreamed about meeting you, and what I would say, but now.”

“Roxy, we have to board.” A heavy set stewardess was calling. Another pulled a suitcase through the gate. “Roxy?”

“You were with British Airways. A prestigious line. Why did you hook up with this screwed up shuttle outfit?”

“I couldn’t go back. Not after all that. Here they let me fly a few flights a week. Part time, you know. They are not much, the pay is shit, but it is flying. Maybe one day I will give it another go.” She brushed her wavy blonde hair from her eyes. “Just a minute!” she called to her companion without turning away. “There are bad days and not so bad days. I get therapy two days a week and work out. I keep busy.”

We were talking, as if two old friends, meeting late in the evening. She still held the strap, her suitcase tethered behind like a terrier. I guess we were old friends. The devil knows that I have known her as well as any man has ever had a woman. I took her body, her sex and her fears. I used her in every way possible, and as brutally as I wanted, both mentally and sexually. Chained in my apartment, she depended upon me for the time of day, and even permission to speak.

“And you? I thought ass holes like you could only existed in Joy Town.” She looked me straight in the face.

“I guess, I deserve that. Still, I remember how glad you were when I took you out of Candy Land.”

“Roxanne! We must board now!” The lady had her hands on her ample hips. “Do you hear me?” she yelled.

Roxanne turned to face her, “Yes, I hear you. Everyone can hear you. Now bugger off you dizzy bitch.”

“Roxanne! What has gotten into you? You are so fired!” She stormed off down the boarding ramp, her big ass swaying.

Again she faced me, her voice returning to her arousing tone, “Yes. As bad as you were, there were worse. Like that Thai bitch..” Those green eyes turned glossy. “She caused me more pain than any man.”

A distorted voice slurred something about another flight boarding. A line began to form.

“But you sold us back. Why? We belonged to you. We worked to please you. You taught us to anticipate your every desire. In bed, you debased us, humiliated my daughter and I for your amusement. I thought we were doing well. Did we not please you? Why did you sell us back to him? A man doesn’t know what a woman goes through to mold herself, her sexual being to his pleasures. Then to immediately have to reform yourself to learn a new man. A man can never understand the misery. You disappear. There is nothing left of Roxanne Bodwell. I would rather be whipped.”

Her voice trailed off. People were staring, but Roxanne was lost in her own personal hell. I recognized it. I had the horrid dreams too. I took her arm. Tight, up high just under her shoulder, where it was damp, like how I use to lead her to the bedroom. No explanation, I didn’t need any then. She fell in step beside me. In just the way she was trained.

We walked the length of the concourse to the baggage area.

“Where are you taking me? This is not Joy Town, you know? I could scream. I bet you would prefer to avoid the authorities. Men like you always do.” She always was smart.

Outside was dark. A pair of overweight cops lounged just inside the exit. “Stop. Let me go.” She said it softly, but it was not a request. Each cop had a Smith & Wesson, and at least fifty pounds on me. Better to run to the next door than try to barge through.

“Tell me, what are you doing here?” she wanted to know.

I turned to watch the cops out of the corner of my eye. “I had to get out. I was in too deep. When you know too much it becomes unhealthy. The syndicate realized I was worth more dead than alive. Without me there were no witnesses to name names, clubs, girls, the parties. I ran, before they had to carry me out.”

I shut up. I had said more than I intended. I was talking to a woman that had satisfied my every desire. Sex slaves are like that, you do anything under the sun that you want with them. You don’t have to hide anything, for they are nothing, just a fuck toy. It becomes easy to open up, to say too much. Too easy.

Her face, a girl’s ass bent over it, I can’t remember whose. Her mouth is open, tongue white with cum and sticking out, pressed close to that delicious ass. Two holes, an ass, a mouth, a slug of Klosters beer ice cold going down, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, dick hard and plunge in. “You get them too?” She is right looking through me. “The flashbacks, you get them too?” she repeats.

She holds unkempt blond locks to one side, to give me a clear view of her head working my tool. She has been careful of her hair since Tam threatened to shave her head. While she sucks, I admire Tam’s handiwork. Whip marks criss-cross her back making a waffle pattern of red stripes across milky white flesh as her head bobs, engulfing my cock.

“No. it’s nothing. Just another damn headache. Nothing a drink wouldn’t cure.”

“We are two peas in a pod, Joe. You and I. You used me. Fucked my body, fucked my mind and used me up, but it consumed you too.” She waited until it registered in my face, then added, “Now we can go.”

Chapter 2 — Going Down

“There is not much out here for an agent on the run. So I have been laying low trying to stay one step ahead of the firm, the syndicate and everyone else who wants a piece of me. Trying to stay clean. I flew out here to meet some one. A special friend.” I answered.

Pointing to a late model car. “There, that one. That is the right model. Five seconds on the trunk lock. Reach in, as if getting the spare, a sharp push and the back seat collapses. See, less obvious than a slim Jim on the door.”

Roxanne nods her head in admiration, “Very convenient.”

“It all feels so comfortable. Not safe, not especially appealing, but somehow a feeling of knowing what will happen.” she says, talking as if to the windshield.

We are driving, doubling back, not quite lost, talking with an honesty of old lovers. “Do you feel it too, Joe? I could have been killed dozens of times over there. If that is what that bitch or that fat bastard or even if you wanted, it would have happened already. No one would speak of it, but it was there. An understanding. A pact, as clear as any written contract. Simple, but so bloody devastating in it’s purity. Surrender everything, no questions, never resist and that final line is never crossed. But the price is high, so very high.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “It’s being outside that is scary.”

I was left standing outside in the light rain. Rain drops beaded on the pair of coffins. The honor guard gave me the folded flag. The last few family members drifted off without saying a word to me.

“The Director offers his condolences, Joe.”

“He couldn’t even pay his respects in person. So he sends his clean-up man. Fuck it Bill. This never should have happened. Christ, my wife and daughter. How?”

“You did not hear this from me. There was a fuck up in the field office. They broke your cover and hit your family. The operation was blown wide open. They are looking for a scape goat, Joe. The Director is going to pin it on you. That way if you talk, they can deny everything that the traitor says. Monday they seal your bank account, even your pension.”

“Then tell him to kiss, my ass. If he can find it.”

“Joe, if you run, you will be on the outside forever. You can never come in.” “JOE! Watch out! That bloke almost hit us. You should get some sleep, you look tired.”

Shit. Way too close. “I am going to pull in here.” She was right. I did not survive this long, to buy it in some fucking car crash. “I will get a room.” The vacancy sign flashed, red neon in the cool night air.

A giant tongue licking in red neon. Lollipops. Lollipops. Lollipops. But it is only my head playing tricks on me. Again. *Focus, Joe. Get your shit together.*

The motel is a dump. The hot car parked well off the street. The interstate passes over the dimly lit parking lot. A scroungy looking German shepherd runs across the lot, his tail between his legs. Probably scared shitless to be out after dark in this neighborhood.

“Looks like you have a lot of vacancies, Gramps.” The owner is an old man, watching television on an ancient black and white set with rabbit ear antennas. “Yeah, since they completed the freeway, nobody comes here no more. Not even the pimps. Ain’t no business doing down here. Gonna give it up soon. Soon as we get some money, the old lady and I are packing up and heading south.” “Well buddy, it’s your lucky day. I want that far room, the one with a kitchen. For a week. Give us some extra towels, because I don’t want any maid service. No nothing. You understand me, Gramps? I pay cash, in advance.” “You got it, mister.” He scooped the bills up. The television ignored. “Do not disturb. Got it.”


Standing at the foot of the king sized bed, turning around, absorbing it all, the desk and lamp, comfortable but worn chairs, the tiny kitchen area, one look and she can find her way in total darkness. A motel room, like so many others.

“I should call in. I owe them. The airline hired me when no one else would. I was starting to rebuild my life, now I will never fly again.” Her gaze darted from me to the phone, to the bed, to the door and back to me again. “Flying has always been my life. My daughter and flying.”

She watched silently, as I snatched the phone wire from the wall, and then with a growing understanding as the door lock was reversed. A dead bolt kept strangers out, the reversed lock keeping the familiar in. “Once I lock it, that’s it.” After all that she had been through, I owed her that much. My fat boss back in Joy Town would have said that I was going soft. Perhaps, but for him, none are hard enough. “Last chance.” I cautioned.

Her eyes were on mine, clear and green as the China sea. Her answer was to hold her purse straight out. I took the leather bag from a steady hand. She reached up, fingers wrapped together behind her neck, her breast thrust out proudly, as she undid the few buttons. Her arms crossed and the blouse slipped past her face. A nice chin, proud yet graceful, cheek bones high, giving her a timeless beauty. A shake of her head straightened her hair, a glance in my direction and she wriggled her hips free of the blue skirt. Her underwear was modest, cut for comfort, for a day of work. She pulled the strap from her shoulder, slipping an arm through, freeing her breasts the bra. She slid it to the front and unhooked it. Raising each foot through, she stepped from her panties, leaving them on the floor. Head raising, she sought my approval. “Pardon the heels. I recall that you prefer them higher.”

“The necklace too.”

“Yes. Everything. Now I am completely bare.”

She remembered. My eyes regained her beauty. A tall slender frame. Oh how the locals loved her. At first, the big man reserved her for his best clients. The business men from Malaysia, Hong Kong. Tokyo. A western beauty, in their eyes, with her long legs, and a wave, in her natural blonde hair, she could be a model or a princess. For a few lousy baht, they could see her orgasm or put fear in her eyes. But the big boss was not satisfied, he had a sense for money. Like any good business man, he knew what the traffic would bear. So he put her on the local market. For the price of a cover charge and two drink minimum, any street vendor or taxi driver in Joy Town could experience British royalty. Fat man Vopat, wasn’t above embellishing the truth. Promotion, the big man called it.

Others broke. Succumbed. Gave in to Tam’s whip. They let themselves go. Started to mimic Tam’s broken English. Spoke in short simple sentences. Mostly, “You want Fuckee?” It didn’t matter who. They preferred the dogs for they would do their business and get off. The men would want to play. To string them up, play with them, see how it felt to swing a whip. Oh, they did the same with Roxanne too. It was just that she never waved that white flag. I was captivated with her, wanted her for my own pet. So I bought her and her daughter. Cost me dearly too. Did some research on her background. Her father, it turned out, was an honest to God, British war hero. Military Medal and everything. He was in some jungle conflict, a counter insurgency they called it. The whole sordid affair hushed up by Whitehall. Parachuted in the jungle, his squad betrayed by a bar girl. The guerrillas held him. Tortured and executed his squad, one by one, then turned on him. But he never talked, he held on until the foreign office arranged his ransom. He would have been proud of his cute daughter, Roxanne.

“Where is Sarah? She must be, what, 25 now?”

“Full grown. A beautiful woman. She errr. She works.”

I can see in her face, that now was not the time to pursue it. Anyway, I was ready for something else. Roxanne saw it growing too.

She laid back on the bed. Navy two inch heels drawn up tight to a curvy rump. Slowly, Roxanne let her knees fall apart revealing her sex. Fluffy in natural blonde, trimmed and neat. I have not seen her with pussy hair since the day I took her from the airport. She wet two fingers on her tongue, and reaching between her legs, pokes them into her bottom, pauses, then slides them up over and into her pussy. Then higher still she rubs, giving herself a little reward. Damn. It is her greeting. I trained her to do that and she remembered. It worked. I am all over her, tasting her, struggling from clothing reacquainting myself with each curve, each nerve of her lucious body. Her face tastes of makeup, her lips of red desire, her nipples hard as rocks, sweet and so sensitive, a promise of what lays below. She responds, her body trained to mine, her mind racing to catch up, reflexing into an orgasm under my hand. Mine nearly exploding on her tongue, she pleases me as she was prepared to do, during weeks of schooling. She quivers around me as I enter. Fucking her hard and fast, feeling another quake as she comes. And another as I come deep against her, deep inside.

“May I tell you something? Back then, it was cruel to keep that shock collar on me when you fucked me. I can’t be silent during sex.”

Chapter 3 — Going Up

I was running late. I left Roxanne locked in the shabby room and raced across town. The directions led me to modern apartment building, luxury cars filled the well lighted lot. I dumped the stolen Ford four blocks away and walked it. The lobby was plush, the elevator all glass and chrome. She had done all right for herself. One light tap on the door and she was there. Deep guitar chords of country music spilled from the room. My Deana was waiting for me. “Joey, I am so glad you came! Woo, woo!” she cried in joy. She did a little jiggle of her chest, a dance step to the country music, and then ran into my arms. “When you didn’t call, I thought the worse, that you changed your mind about me.”

“No way, baby. Never.” I murmured in her ear. Embracing her, but tighter, caressing her, but reaching further. Over her back, her bottom, then sliding a hand inside of her jeans, and kicking the door shut. I whipped my belt buckle open to make room for her hands. “Sorry to be late, honey. Met an old friend at the airport, had to stop and catch up on old times.” “Old times? But you never talk of your past. You said that you worked for the CIA and some other thing, NSA or something, but I don’t care, you are with me now. You can tell me when you want to. In the mean time, I will tell you everything about me. Since I met you at that show in Raleigh, I just knew that you were the man for me, and now you are here in my house. The bedroom is this way, I can show you the rest latter.

The night was a feast of passionate sex. Deana’s willing body pushed hard by her desire to love, pushed me harder to please. We rested, ate cold sandwiches and were all over each other again, like horny teenagers. Morning’s light found us together, snuggling like new lovers.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” She was sitting at the table, pink nipples almost in her scrambled eggs, as she reached across the table. “You were standing on the stage, looking bored. I remember being green with envy. Your hand rubbed the curves of the boat like it was a penis.” “Joey!” She threw a small clump of scrambled egg at me as I made the coffee. “I did no such thing!”

“You wore white jeans and a black top, with the companies logo over your boobs. Damn, that top showed off your tits.”

“Guys! That is all they ever look at. OK wise guy. What shoes did I have on?” “Black sandals with a heel. Your toes were done in red. Got ya!” I leaned over and kissed her fully on red luscious lips.

“Oh Joey, I will do anything to keep you. Love you more than anything.” “I know, honey.”

“Let me finish. I never thought that I would ever meet a man like you. Someone that I could trust completely. I am thirty-seven now. I have not dated for years and years. No children, my modeling work is everything for me. I put everything I have earned into this condo. It is my pride and joy. Eleven months a year, I am on the road doing boat shows, car shows, tractor pulls, you name it. Anywhere they need a pretty girl. Never quite made the big time, guess I am not the right type, too down home. Too much jeans and t-shirts for the New York crowd. One time I tried to hook up with a country band, sang background stuff, but they folded. A single woman on the road, I get offers all of the time. I could have bought this apartment cash, if I wanted to turn tricks. But that is not me. Oh, I am no virgin, but I save myself for one man. I guess, that I am just a good ole, country gal at heart. I worked hard for what little I that I do have.” She picked up the cowboy hat from the back of the chair. “Happy in boots and a black Stetson.”

“And nothing else, I see.” Nude in the morning light, the aroma of morning coffee drifting in the air, her blonde hair spilled from beneath the black hat. Her face beamed in a broad smile.

There was only one thing I could say, “I love you, Deana Clark. I mean that.”

Chapter 4 — Down and Out

That is how it started. Days walking through the park hand in hand with Deana. Midnight dinners by candlelight. Nights of sweet romance. Stolen breaks away to see Roxanne, while Deana worked the local household suppliers convention. Locked in her motel room, I became Roxanne’s lifeline. Unlocking the door, restocking the little refrigerator, providing her only human contact. She had become a kept woman long ago. Kept for sex. Fantasy fulfilling sex. Though not necessarily for her.

Strong leather bracelets on her wrists and ankles were tied to the corners pulled her limbs tight. Her whole body was taunt tight, trembling like a guitar string. Roxanne gulps for air. Her naked body is covered in sweat even though the men around her are comfortably sipping cold beers. I feel myself shrinking from her. I collapse spent on her nude form, protecting her from the next man in line for a little while longer.

“I knew you would bring that.” she said, standing with her hands crossed across her breasts. My exquisite captive wore a loose angora sweater that fell to the crack of a freshly shaven pussy. Her legs were bare, calf muscles shapely in flaming red stiletto heels. “I feel it better this way. It makes the sex more immediate. Intense. Am I wicked? Well, this is what you and the others made of me. And how you enjoyed drilling my lessons into me.” My time with Roxanne has become more precious. Each minute more desperate. We struggle to recapture the passion of Joy Town. For me it is simple. What does she seek? Is it a murky, so very muddled desire for simplicity from choices removed or lingering lessons beat into her from Tam’s whip? Nerves just beneath her skin, pulsing, trained for so much more, seeking a heightened stimulus while she revolts against the humiliation.

The bag is full of rope and broad leather bands for arms and legs. The sex is fierce. Bound, stretched or suspended. Each time different. Reaching for only the pure single sided satisfaction. Mine. For that is how it is. She must be satisfied with whatever little pleasures her body can grab. My visits get longer.

She kneels at the foot of the bed, firmly bound, delicate wrists securely tied behind her. White goo drips from her chin to bare breasts. The angora sweater long removed lays beside her. “I always enjoyed your oral talents. You learned your lessons well in the clubs.”

“Must have. Others also liked the way I suck.”

“I screwed both you and Sarah for a while. Then traded you back to the big man. I needed the money. You understand. Last I heard, he auctioned off both you and your daughter in Cambodia. What became of you?”

“Auctioned me. A meat sale is what it was. Lined us up, whipped and fucked us until the money was right, then we found ourselves servicing sex tours from Germany, the States, anywhere losers with two shillings to rub together wanted to own a woman for a night. No holds barred. I dared not say no. It wouldn’t have mattered if I did. For they would meet, the customers would, and share their fantasies. They looked in the hard-core porno magazines and picked their fancy. Then they picked a woman. I felt like meat on the hoof. I guess that is what they wanted. Sarah and I were kept with an American woman. Colleen, a real beauty with reddish brown hair. With only three girls, we were kept busy, day and night.”

“Sarah’s figure was filling out. She had always made my owners a ton of money, but now the demand was too great. They came from all over, all wanted to do Sarah. My poor Sarah would come back from one group, filthy, bruised, dead tired and be taken immediately by another. My daughter was booked solid for sixty days in advance. A Japanese businessman took a liking to her and stole her away, to be kept as a reward to his best employees. That is the last time that I saw her. The owners had Sarah booked, they had taken the payments in advance and now they couldn’t deliver. So they did the only thing they could. They dissolved the business overnight. Dragged Colleen and I out into the street. The drunken slobs from the other sex clubs on the strip emptied out to laugh, a few to bid for western women. They thought it all great sport. Half nude, they pushed us onto the bonnet of a car and under the flashing neon lights put two full grown women up for sale.”

“Colleen was dragged, kicking and screaming her head off, into a black limousine. I never saw her again. I ended up being the private property of a Thai store owner who could barely support himself. Any money he made selling vibrators and smuggled cigarettes, he spent in whore houses. Now I was sleeping on the floor over his tiny store front. I had to clean his damn store on my hands and knees, then fuck him and his friends. Then he sat me in his store window sucking on a plastic cock. Then he started including me as sort of a bonus, to clinch his sales. `Buy some batteries and get to hard fuck the tamed English woman.’ He was a savage. Every night, the fucker took my ass. When a salesman from Hong Kong took an interest in me, I threw myself at him. He must have felt sorry for me, he rescued me by trading a 21 inch Sony for me.”

“For a while I traveled all over Thailand and Cambodia with him. He bought a passport for me. I carried his sample case through airports, did his laundry and sat at his feet, looking pretty while he made his sales. They like that. At night I was his sex toy. There was no running away. Nights, I was kept chained to the toilet. It was not too bad, for me. I was like his obedient dog. His company got wind of a big account in Africa. A mega rich German noble, was refurbishing an old estate out in the wild. His company wanted him to sell them a security system. That is how I came to meet the mistress of the house, the eccentric Madame Freya. B.F. liked me to kneel quietly beside him, as he made his sales pitch. Having an obedient woman at your feet was very prestigious where he came from, but here it was quite disruptive. Madame, was more interested in me, than his products. She wanted to know if I minded. He laughed at that, and explained that it was no matter. To demonstrate, he ordered me to raise Madame’s dress and kiss her crotch. What could I do? You can’t take a beating every time. So I did it. Freya was fascinated. She made an offer for me but B.F. would have nothing of it. She raised the price and kept raising it until he give in. B.F. was really sorry to loose me. He cried as he counted his cash. As he said, the markup was just too high.”

Chapter 5 — Taking it Down

Madame Freya kept a scandalous old estate. She never told me where I was, but the staff spoke German. She had cooks, maids, a butler, chauffeur, the household manager was the enforcer. Everyone had a job. Mine was to provide sexual services on the demand of her staff, as well as her guests. Freya enjoyed hosting `parlor games’ for her guests. And I was to be the entertainment, the more perverted the better. Every night I was expected in her private chambers. I put everything I had into pleasing her in bed. After a year she began to trust me. She left me unchained. I could go most anywhere in the house but was not let onto the grounds. I began to plead with her for my freedom. After sex, I would beg, pausing only to lick her, as she cooled down. I had learned how to please a woman in Joy Town, and how Madame loved my attentions! For hours, Freya had me in full maids outfit, fish net stockings, scooped neckline, tits bursting out, down between her legs, licking and sucking that old ladies cunt.”

“After a year, Madame consented to grant her fateful lover and party whore her freedom. She made a game of my freedom. Old Freya did enjoy her games. The game was, freedom after and only after, the poor creature swallowed six liters of cum. Do you realize how many men that is? Over five gallons!” Roxanne had laid her head in my satisfied lap, her bare breasts warm on my legs. Her neck muscles tense under my fingers.

“What it is like? Can you even begin imagine?.” Roxanne was speaking softly but swiftly. As if rushing to ease the pain.

“Madame calculated everything. Twenty four hundred, that is the number she arrived at. Two thousand, four hundred ejaculations for me to swallow. Oh, she ran tests, or more accurately had me run tests. All done very scientifically, in her precise, so very methodical way. On my knees, sucking until I was blue, each load scraped of my face, into the specimen jar. She recorded it all. Date, time, who, how long I took to satisfy him. Her guests enjoyed it all. They thought it great fun. Oh to be sure, their wives and girl friends thought it good sport also, to have me naked at their feet, asking them if I may stick my head under their designer gown before sucking off their man. Great fun to have every drop wiped from my hair and measured, calculated and averaged. Twenty four hundred hot pricks discharging down my throat. That was my price for freedom.”

“Freedom, that I, on my knees, had to buy back. And she insisted that I not spill a drop. I had to do it. What choice did I, her sex slave, have? Sarah needs me. I have to find her. Help her. I went at it as hard as I have perused anything in my life. Harder actually. I offered myself to every man that visited the estate. I kept myself up. Did myself up as pretty as I could. Oh, I was motivated. They got the best blow jobs ever, for I wanted them to come back. I had to make my numbers. Twenty four hundred. Six liters. Some were huge. They filled me, gagging me with their cum. They laughed, as it spurted from the corners of my lips, for they knew that to Madame Freya, it would not count. Others were bastards, and laughed as they pulled up their pants, laughed and didn’t tell Madame. Their wives and girl friends laughed at the British whore, when hot gook shot all over my face.”

“They all knew how important it was for me to swallow every bit of the sticky gunk from their cock, or worse, they would say that I spit up. That would make me loose my entire days consumption. Madame assumed that I spit up everything. It had to be recorded in that oversize leather journal of her’s, for it to count. It is there now, I am sure of it. In her den, amidst the mahogany paneling, the leather riding crops, on her desk in brown embossed leather. Her gnarled old hand, noted the date and time of every man I that I sucked off, every penis draining load I had to take down my throat.” To a girl well trained in sexual services, bound arms are a minor, though she hopes, temporary inconvenience. Roxanne had been trained by the best. With her arms immobilized, her warm face nuzzled against my cock, she brushed away her tears, while giving me a delightful treat. Her knees now rested comfortably on the discarded sweater, as she lay between my outstretched legs. Her back is bare, smooth to my touch. I remember how when it was criss-crossed with welts, you could read their age, like the rings of a tree. The healing faint pink of last week’s stripes, lashed over with new angry red whip marks. Now composed, she shakes hair from her misty eyes and continues in her deliberate, sensuous voice.

“Somedays, Madame Freya assigned me demerits for being lax in my household duties, taking away from my tally. How I cried myself to sleep. I can’t tell you how important every load of semen was to me. Every bitter salty wad was one swallow closer to freedom. I could taste it. There were days when their were no male guests. Then I threw myself at the household staff, even the gardener and old butler. The gardener considered himself a stud. Oh, he was big all right, big enough to make me gag, but he took forever to cum, and then he tasted of garlic. All night I could taste him.” Roxanne was staring across the lobby, lost in her horror. I too was felling it. Feeling myself growing. “They quickly caught on. Soon I had to agree to fuck them first. First a few times, then a few more, until I had to accept ten. Ten fucks and then they would consent to so graciously shoot their seed in my mouth. And I was happy for it too. Let me tell you, I was ecstatic. Out of them I could get only one or two mouthfuls to be recorded in Madame Freya, neat handwriting every two weeks. And then only if I begged them to tell Madame Freya. Begged them and offered to do their chores. Just keeping track of how many fucks I owed them was pure hell.”

My cock is throbbing ready again for her attentions. Roxanne licks the length of my shaft and with a glance at me, continues. “The party guests were my ticket. I lived for sucking cocks. I sucked their girlfriends, to be allowed a taste of their men. I quickly found that I could only swallow four or at most five loads at a time before becoming violently sick. Of course if I spit anything up, the whole days work was disqualified. Madame Freya, made the rules, I only sucked. It took me six long years to fuck, suck and swallow for my liberty.”

Chapter 6 — Beaten Down

I was captivated. The thought stayed with me. The thought of her forced to swallow, seeking it out and all because of me. I found myself stealing away from lovely days spent with my dear Deana to visit Roxanne. During long mornings in bed with Deana, we satisfied each other, but my head flashed with the strobe images of a submissive Roxanne. Deana takes all my loving. From me, Roxanne takes a different kind of love.

The little motel room is looking more and more like Vopat’s back room. Hooks have been sunk into the bed the walls, the ceiling, anywhere that a woman can be tied or hung. Roxanne’s back is again covered with scarlet red strap marks. The woman takes it all. I try to outdo her. I hang her upside down but she does not resist. Does not even complain. Just takes the harsh rope to each ankle, takes her hands being pulled behind. She takes me in her quivering cunt, in her soft mouth. She takes the vibrator ride to a body shaking orgasm as I lash at her inverted breasts. Her pain, humiliation and pleasure are all mixed together. She services my cock in every way, but I save sweet love for my lovely country girl, Deana. I have begun to leave the motel door unlocked. Whether she notices or not, I can’t tell, but every night she waits so patiently for me. She senses it too. Maybe she smells or tastes another woman. One night she asks. For hours I talk about my lovely Deana. She wants to met her. There is nothing to mask from a woman that you beat.

In exchange for the few dollars of damage to the room, I offer my sex slave’s considerable range of sexual services to Gramps, the owner. He doesn’t ask any questions, he just enjoys the lavish services bestowed upon his cock. Never having whipped a woman before, he is taken by her markings. I give him a choice of a light crop, or a whip with many strands. He takes the crop to the back of her upper thighs. She can’t help but to scream in agony, so he gags her and starts again.

Chapter 7 — Getting Off

“Can I? Can I look now?”

“Just a little farther, Deana. Watch your step.”

“It smells musky in here. Sexy. Smells of a woman.”

They are both surprised, but Deana is in pure shock to see Roxanne standing totally nude in the cluttered, messy motelroom.

Roxanne, recovers first. “So this is your daytime woman, that you talk so much about. Your lover.” Her back straight and her arms folded under her whip marked breasts, like a shark, she circles the still disbelieving Deana. “Smashing good looks, butshallow.”

“That is enough Roxanne. Assume your greeting position. You are going to please your new Mistress.”

“You are right Joe, enough is enough.” Roxanne sits on the bed, pulling on a pair of jeans.

“What are you doing? Assume your greeting position.” I demand. “No more Joe. I am giving the orders now.” She stood to fasten her waist. “I start with you. Have your little floozy strip.”

“What? I will teach you! Where are my whips? What have you done with them? I will…”

“Joe. Oh my poor old Joe. You have become such a dinosaur. You just don’t understand, do you? Have another go at it. It’s not about male strength anymore. You and that flabby bastard had strength over me in Joy Town. Madame Freya had strength over me at her estate, but now I have the power. Oh you are stronger than I, but you can’t use those male muscles against me. Can you? You can not hurt me, like I could not walk out that door.”

“You knew the door was unlocked?”

“We are intertwined.”


“Since the time you imprisoned me in your apartment in Joy Town. You remember that don’t you Joe?”

Yes I remember Joy Town and the apartment. She is chained to the floor. For two weeks she has hunched under the heavy links. For both work and sleep. A collar around her neck keeps her from speaking. It leaves little pink shock stings all around her pretty neck. Kept naked, given mind numbing chores with harsh punishments, Roxanne is learning a valuable lesson. How to barter with her body and her looks, for the daily necessities. Food, water, bathroom privileges. She must do this and keep her lipstick done right, hair brushed, her legs and most importantly her pussy shaved, always be perky, a willing and enthusiastic fuck, so she is attractive for me. I like to take her like that, on the table.

“It is called the Stockholm Syndrome, honey. Psychologists call it traumatic bonding. I studied it after I was freed from Madame Freya’s. Hostages who are helpless and must depend totally on their captors for their daily existence, begin to feel an affection for their captors. It is all rather common. Surprisingly, it is more pronounced when torture is involved. There is an emotional transference that makes the captive view their own well being as depending on the happiness of their captors. Captors whom she begins to love as well as to fear. When you brought me to orgasm while punishing me, love and fear got blended hopelessly into one. They understand the syndrome well enough in Chile. There it is a common brainwashing and interrogation technique.”

“What is not so well known, in academic circles, is when intense and prolonged sexual abuse occurs, there is, what the shrinks call, a protective affiliation that works both ways. The more intense the sexual gratification the stronger the captor’s connection to his victim. There has always been something between us anyway. It is undeniable. I need you, but your psyche craves me even more. See my dinosaur, you are chained to me. You can not see them, but you are feeling them now. They are wide and stronger than steel. And I can pull your chain whenever I want.”

Roxanne pulled on a blouse, tucking it neatly into the waistband. “Those are nice boots.” she said to Deana. “I will take those.”

“You look perplexed, Joe. Not at all like Joy Town, is it? Never had to think so hard, have you? It can be easy, just behave and I won’t turn you in to the authorities or the syndicate. I will make it easy for you and let you use those muscles. Start by telling this ditz, to give me her boots. You love her. I can see your love for her. Don’t deny it. You don’t want to loose her, do you? You don’t have to, Joe. You can still have her. It is just that things are a little different now. Cute perky Deana will be working the streets for me. Like I had to fuck and suck at your command, now she will do what I say. Deana will make me a lot of money.”

“Tell her, Joe. Tell her now.”

“Better, take off your clothes, Deana.”

-Stroker Ace- Comments welcome

Notes from the author:

Sorry for the way it had to turn out for our old friend, Joe.

While not described in the story, Joe turns out to be Roxanne’s house boy, torn between his need to obey Roxanne and his adoration of Deana. Roxanne someday will seek to find and reunite with her daughter. Poor Joe finds himself ending up like Roxanne was, being dragged around the globe, sexually servicing on demand and watching his love being used and humiliated by a woman that he loves even stronger.

Ahh, well he should have listened to his mother: Whatever goes around, comes around.

Stroker Ace

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