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A House of Slaves by LongDarkRoad Chapter 3 Sisters

A House of Slaves 

Chapter 03 Sisters (How strange is life?)

Kate woke, and for a few moments lay in confusion in the darkness, her mind cloudy and her thoughts in disarray. Gradually, with a sick and gnawing feeling in her guts, the realization came to her of where she was and what had happened to her.

She focused then on the naked body pressed against her own; the basement was cold and the two women had a blanket to lie on and only each other for warmth. Last night when they had been placed in their ‘cell’, as Kate thought of it, their hands had been tied in front with cord. Despite the poor sleeping conditions, both women had fallen asleep fairly quickly, pressed together.

Now, slowly remembering with chilling horror the events of the previous day, Kate felt empty; blank; wooden. What would happen to her next? Did these men plan to keep her here? Would anyone ask of her? After the ‘engagement’ with Captain Dzyuba last night, there would clearly be no help coming, she was sure, from any official sources. The man could probably spin her disappearance any number of ways, if anyone asked.

Thinking of that time with him, a wave of nausea suddenly swept over her. He had smelled of urine and body odour as she sucked his short, fat erection. But that wasn’t the worst of it, for he had then done something to her no one else had done, to that point; he had fucked her.

Facing her away from him on her knees dog-style, he had pounded her from behind, a handful of her hair as a hand-hold, and he had ridden her hard, collapsing and lying on her back after his orgasm, his foul breath invading her nostrils as he used her as a cushion.

She could still hear his voice; “Fuck it, Slut. Fuck my cock, you fucking whore. Fuck like the slut-dog whore you are. You bitch. You cunt…” And on it had gone, Kate wondering then what she had done to earn his apparent hatred.

The rest of the night had been mostly uneventful until it was time for Anna and Kate to be taken downstairs. Just before that happened, Brandon had led Kate to one of the bedrooms on the main floor and had then fucked her just as aggressively as the captain, but without all the name-calling, but in a variety of positions. It was like she was a new toy and he wanted to try all her gadgets; missionary, dog-style, cowgirl, reverse-cowgirl, standing up, on her side, whatever.

Brandon was big and muscular and Kate felt like she had just survived a wrestling match by the time he finally covered her face with his cum, before whispering in her ear, “Sweet dreams, Slut. More fun tomorrow.” He then left her to the woman to clean up, which was when Kate heard the name again; Aquina.

Now, Kate heard steps on the stairs, but lay still on her side. Then the crate was opened and Aquina spoke. “Time to get up, Slaves.”

A few minutes later the two slave girls were standing together in the shower stall, cool water cascading down their bodies. They were to wash each other completely, including their hair. They were slave sisters, Bitch and Slut, and they were to respond to those infantile names, or face punishment.

With their bodies washed, Aquina now directed Kate to bend forward and spread her ass. Anna was then instructed to clean her sister’s asshole with a soft brush. Up to then, Kate had never had anything larger than a finger in her anus, and resisted when Anna began to force a plastic object into her.

Aquina took Kate far enough away that Anna could not hear, “Okay, listen to me. Look at me. Are you going to give up?” she asked. Kate looked down; was she? Aquina carried on, “I get it; you want to punch someone, scream, rant and rage, but they’ve got you, Kate. This sucks the big one, but you can quit or you can survive, but making things difficult for me will not help you. Understand, this will be lousy for a few days, but, I believe, it will slowly get better, but only if you make it. Will you cooperate?” Kate nodded, somehow finding comfort from this woman. “And remember, if you are a problem when the men are around, I will punish you, and it will be real.”

Kate nodded again and they returned to Anna, and Kate stood still and allowed the woman to shove the plug and the brush in and out of her tight opening.

In a moment, they had switched positions and Kate was reaming Anna’s ass. Since Jake had used her ass frequently for sex or torment in the previous few months, Anna did not react to this, which earned her praise from Aquina. Each woman then used a safety razor to remove any hairs from around their pubic area and ass.

After drying each others’ hair and putting their slave collars back on, the women were taken upstairs where they began to fix breakfast for Brandon (who had moved in and was now living in one bedroom) and Kevin, who had spent the night (and Aquina, as well as themselves.)

Their modest breakfast was placed in large dog bowls on the floor, right beside the water bowls that bore their names: ‘BITCH’; ‘SLUT’.

Although completely disgusted, Kate was also starving and she ate the scrambled eggs and bacon mixture and would have eaten more if it was offered. She would learn that left-overs from the men’s plates would also be given to the slaves.

When the men awoke and came to the table, the ‘slave girls’ served them their food and drinks and then waited in the ready position by the table. After the men had finished a leisurely breakfast, first Brandon, then Kevin, took Kate into the side bedroom and fucked her. Kevin tied her to the bed and raped her anally, slapping her ass (still tender from the previous day, although not marked nearly as much as she expected) repeatedly.

Once the dishes were cleared away and the floors cleaned and vacuumed, Aquina took the women to the same bedroom the men had used with Kate. She had them lie together on the bed. She reminded them again they were slave sisters who needed to care for each other. They were encouraged to kiss and fondle, which they did. Their love-making progressed to where they had their faces between each others’ thighs. Anna came first, moaning loudly and bucking her hips as Kate sucked her pussy lips; after months of nothing but brutality from Jake, this was wonderful for her.

Anna then helped Kate to a mild orgasm, her gentle licking and sucking of Kate’s clitoris actually being the most arousing thing the woman had ever felt in her limited sexual life. Her orgasm came in a gentle wave and left her lying somewhat bewildered on the bed; how could she experience any pleasure in this house of abuse?

Aquina then fastened Kate spread-eagled to the bedposts and took Anna out, chaining her to one of the pillars. She then went back and sat on the bed beside Kate.

She stroked her legs gently, then teased her nipples, then stroked her fattened labia, then her nipples again, gradually building up the pressure and intensity there and on her vagina in general until she was satisfied that Kate was ready. Aquina then removed her own clothes and climbed on top of Kate, grinding the curly, dark hair of her pussy onto Kate’s bald mound while devouring her mouth and tongue with intensity and urgency, like someone starving.

Unbelievably to her, Kate had a second and more powerful climax, lying beneath Aquina’s lovely body, the horror of her situation somehow removed briefly in the passion.

Aquina now untied Kate from the posts but bound her wrists in front with a loose cord, allowing some movement. She then lay beside her, nuzzling Kate’s neck and face with soft kisses.

Images of herself, in her younger years, came briefly to her. She had known pain, misery, even terror; she was not immune to this woman’s despair.

She now whispered to the side of Kate’s face, “I know all this is revolting, horrifying; it must be, and, um, I’m sorry for my part in it, but there it is.” She paused, as Kate, uttering a kind of choking gasp, clung to her. “But you can survive this, you will…with my help. I will care for you…Kate. Yes, you are Kate, not Slut. I will help you…Kate, but you must obey me, so these men do not interfere, but leave me in charge. You need to understand that.”

“But how, mmm, can you say that, after what you’ve… done?” Kate whispered.

It was a fair question, Aquina considered. “Life is complicated, Kate. We do what we need to survive, all of us, as I said to you. You can make it or you can quit. These men don’t seem to care. But, for whatever reason, I do. And I must play their game, for now.”

After a moment, Aquina turned Kate’s face, and placed a loving kiss on the waiting lips. Kate opened her mouth and returned the kiss with force and, taking a chance, whispered in Aquina’s ear. “I want to believe you, I do. I want to trust you, and, um, I will obey you. But please…please save me.”

She then pressed her face against Aquina’s neck and inhaled her fragrance. Amazingly, given the desperation of her situation, the feeling she felt at that moment, in Aquina’s presence, was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.

She was in hell, most certainly, but she had a guide.


It was Saturday, and the ‘boys’ were planning a night in, with guests. They would play poker, and invite two men; one would be Captain Dzyuba and the other was a young lawyer who had begun working for one of the more successful District Attorneys in the city.

Aquina, who had learned to keep her thoughts to herself until absolutely necessary, was considering. This slave women thing (it was originally party girls, the crates were really more for show; she hadn’t really anticipated anyone living in them long-term) wasn’t exactly what she’d agreed to or discussed, earlier, when she and Brandon came to an arrangement. But she knew she would be counted on to get any girls ready for tonight and the men, including truly disgusting ones like Dzyuba and Jake.

She sighed softly; Anna and Kate were kneeling now in front of her, in their ready positions, while Aquina sat smoking a long, slim cigar. Kate found the aroma, as it wafted to her, pleasant, as she grasped any distraction from this reality, however temporary.

In her life, Aquina had experienced much ‘sexuality’, starting very young, and now was flexible in her consideration of it, all of it; she was also not judgemental; to her that gained nothing. People did things for personal reasons, sex or otherwise; that was life.

And she was sympathetic to these women, even as she was involved in their entrapment; how devastating must this be? She got that. But Aquina had suffered her own abuse, had got through it, and considered herself stronger in the end. So, while she may not have ‘signed on’ for this, specifically, this managing of ‘slave girls’ was now part of the package and so she would be efficient about it; for now.

And she was also practical; she knew she was not yet ready to be independent, at least as independent as she planned, financially, and she was counting on this partnership to get her there. And she could only help Kate and Anna, in the end, if she had a place of value in the men’s organization. It would take her strength, resourcefulness and even ruthlessness, to see them all through this in one piece.

As Aquina stubbed her cigarillo out, she spoke in a quiet, business-like way, as if they were planning a staff party. She had considered her words; she was not, generally, an impulsive person.

“Okay, Kate and Anna,” she said explicitly, “this is about survival for you two, right? You are under the control of men who have plans…dreams. They are impatient and won’t put up with any shit, but if you do as they expect, things can work out for you, in the end, by playing the long game.”

She fixed them both with a look, and they both looked down. “Remember, men are all little boys at heart; they grow tired easily. Wait these ones out and they will tire of you, sexually anyway, and then look for new interests. And then I will quietly find something else for you. I know it’s hard to believe, but I am on your side.”

Kate’s mind was spinning; there was so much she wanted to ask this exotic, mysterious woman. Why, for example, did she seem to enjoy what she did to them, yet speak like this, with compassion? But Kate kept silent; she needed to learn more.

Aquina had paused, looking at and evaluating the two women, subservient before her, motionless but for the rapid rise and fall of their breasts. Her words had disturbed them, Kate more than Anna, but they had also given hope. It was, as she said, just a case of survival; for now, that was all she could offer.

“Now, I want you to give your sister comfort,” Aquina began again. They were kneeling close together and she simply turned their heads. Anna barely hesitated before leaning forward and placing her warm lips on Kate’s, who responded; this comfort was a positive thing, whether she chose it or not. There was no point in fighting, not this certainly.

They kissed and nuzzled each other for several minutes, before Aquina broke them apart. To be truthful, Anna was enjoying this…tenderness, very much after her almost two years of relentless oppression. Bizarre as it was, this current servitude was better, for her.

Aquina now spoke as a teacher to her pupils, warning them. “Also remember, that as sister’s you have each other’s backs and share each other’s pain. The…boys…have decided that you will both be punished whenever one does something unacceptable. Keep in mind that if you have made a mistake, you will pay for it. But so will your sister; I will administer the punishment, and I will be firm; if not me, it will be them, and I am much better with it, trust me.”

This was actually Aquina’s plan; the ‘boys’, in truth, had no plan other than having as much sex as possible. If she could just have the women cooperate, she would gain time.

While they had been having their ‘lesson’, Jake and Eric had arrived, and Aquina noted that, smiling ruefully. “Time now to prepare lunch for your…masters,” she murmured.


The evening was going well. A basketball game was playing on one wide-screen television and a hockey game on the other. Captain Dzyuba, Brandon, Kevin and young lawyer Adam Abrahmson were seated around a regulation card table playing Draw Poker.

The two naked slave girls, who Abrahmson had trouble keeping his eyes off of and focused on his cards, were busy getting drinks and filling snack bowls; emptying ashtrays (Dzyuba smoked, Eric was smoking Aquina’s slim cigars, and Kevin was smoking weed) and sometimes performing sex acts on each other as directed by one man or another. Jake particularly liked seeing his wife on her knees licking Kate’s ass.

The game had been going for a few hours and it looked like Abrahmson was getting low on chips and Dzyuba was cleaning up. This was interesting because Brandon was a good poker player, yet was not winning. The sudden roar from Dzyuba indicated he had just nailed the last pot.

The men gathered up money and drinks and headed for the couches. Brandon gave Aquina a look and she moved over beside Abrahmson and spoke into his right ear. A few moments later he was heading down the hall, Aquina by his side and the two slave girls following.

They entered one of the bedrooms and the two naked women knelt in the ready position, while the young lawyer was helped off of his sports coat by Aquina who settled him into a leather chair by a small table. She then spread a white substance on the table and handed Abrahmson a rolled up twenty. After he snorted the coke, Kate and Anna removed his shoes and Aquina left. She would be able to observe the action from her office.

As Aquina watched the screen on her computer, Brandon poked his head in. “Everything going well?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking up at him, as the screen showed a naked Abrahmson being sucked by both women in turn, a broad smile on his youthful face. “Everything is as you boys hoped, although at some point, we need to talk.”

Brandon regarded the beautiful woman, then patted her shoulder and wandered off.

On the screen, Anna was trying to mount the young man, but couldn’t as he was having difficulty maintaining his erection, and the two women needed to stop and suck him frequently to stiffen him up again. He still had a wide smile on his face, however.

Having this man involved in their affairs would definitely help them.

Aquina went to the wet bar in the main living room. Here, the men were watching sports, drinking and talking loudly. She poured herself a Tequila before returning to her office as she wanted to watch how the two women were working together.

As she sat down at her screen, the young man the camera was focused on groaned loudly as the two women successfully pumped his cock. As they cleaned him up, he lay peacefully, an even broader smile now plastered across his boyish face.


Sunday was to be a busy day, and for Anna, a remarkable day. It was busy, because Aquina, with help, was planning to clear out Kate’s apartment. The plan was to use it as the place to house some of the young women the boys planned to use in their activities. It was remarkable for Anna, because for the first time in over a year she had clothes on and was out in the world.

Aquina, Kevin, Eric and Anna were all at Kate’s, bagging stuff up and clearing it out. It was to function like a furnished hotel suite; furniture, appliances and nothing personal; maybe some decorations for the wall. Kate’s police uniforms and work wear would be transferred to the party house; the plan was to have her continue working and just appropriate her earnings. The rest of her clothes and stuff however, she would not be needing. At this point, at least.

Anna was busy bagging these; Eric and Kevin had already removed some larger items, there wasn’t really much, and Aquina had the personal effects. Anna would clear out the bathroom cupboard and they would pretty much be done. What would happen to Kate was unclear.

It was in the future, and that was one of the things Aquina needed to discuss.


Back at the house, Kate was now kneeling naked chained to the pillar in the living room. She had not been told anything; she simply knew she was alone. She noticed someone coming her way and as usual her heart began pounding with dread. It was Brandon (he and Jake, apart from her creepy captain, had the most effect on her) who went past her to the kitchen, but in a few moments returned, placing a chair near her and sitting down.

He had got himself a coffee and was just sitting there drinking it and looking at the naked woman chained before him. He liked this feeling of control; more actually than the naked body, although he did reach out and fondle a breast, squeezing the nipple hard as a little reminder of his power, pushing Aquina’s ‘look’ from his mind; he knew she was not good with all this, but he would worry about that later.

“So, little slut,” he began, in his characteristic drawl. “Here you are. Not too good for us now, it seems.” And he chuckled at his own lame comment, swallowing some more coffee. Kate of course made no sounds, although she wanted to scream obscenities at his smug face.

He leaned forward, so that smug face was right beside hers, his breath on her cheek. “Do you want to know our plans for you?” He asked quietly.

She did, desperately; and she didn’t; not knowing allowed some hope.

“Well, we are going to let you stay on at the squad. But of course we’ll be watching you… All. The. Time. Now, just something to have in your mind as we give you a little freedom.”

He placed his laptop on the floor so Kate could see it without moving. A video was playing and on the screen appeared a room with four beds, with curtains separating them. On the beds were four women, naked and tied to the bed frame, three facing up and one facing down.

Within a moment, a man entered and walked to one of the beds, dropped his pants, climbed on top of the woman and began fucking her. She was one who lay face up, and as the man fucked her, he also choked her, slapped her face and spit on her.

After he was done, he climbed off and wiped his penis on her face. During the time man one had been fucking, a second man had entered and gone to the woman tied face down. The camera panned slightly to include this action, which clearly showed the man fucking the woman’s ass.

After man one had left, two women came in, untied the woman who had been used first, dragged her to the corner and literally hosed her down, making her lie with her legs spread. She was given a towel to dry with and then hauled back to the bed and tied down, ass-up this time.

Brandon closed the laptop. “What I showed you is a place right in this city run by two thugs who I know, very well. One of the four girls in this shot actually was an informant of ours who lied to us, and this is her punishment.”

He paused, and Kate knew he was staring at her. “It will be your punishment, too, if you try anything while at the station. You will just disappear, as far as anyone knows, but this is where you’ll be. This is a promise. We have cameras in the squad room and we will watch you. Any effort to reach out to anyone and that will be it for you. Understand?”

And with that he pulled her head around by her hair so she faced up at him. “Understand?” he asked again.

Choking down her fear and hostility, she answered, “Yes…”


“Ye-yes, sir.” She corrected herself.

“That’s better. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our…Slut, would we?” He whispered, giving her nipple another nasty twist.


Kate and Anna huddled together. Tonight, Anna’s hands had been bound behind her, while Kate’s were bound in front, allowing her to put her arms around Anna, which was how they were lying, pressed together for warmth and comfort. It had been an easy day for them sexually. Perhaps it was all the drinking, etcetera the ‘boys’ had done on Friday and Saturday, or the fact that Monday was a work day for everyone, or that the novelty of the slaves was already waning, as the woman Aquina had suggested. Whatever, neither slave girl had ‘serviced’ anyone, sexually anyway, that day.

Lying there together, Anna thought of how strange life could be. Here were the two of them; for Kate, this was a nightmare. But for herself, Anna found this new life much preferable to her old life with Jake. Her days then had been long, lonely and boring, waiting with dread for his return, for the constant degradation and abuse, and the nasty sex.

While she still needed to deal with degradation and abuse, she was now lying against someone she felt tenderness for, someone who responded to her, someone whom she had given pleasure to and who had given pleasure back. She kissed Kate’s face now and Kate responded by nuzzling her face into Anna’s neck and then kissing up until she settled on the mouth, which she kissed tenderly.

For Anna, in this dark place, she was feeling some happiness, something that she never believed possible again for her; a feeling that almost brought her to tears.

How strange was life?

(End of Chapter 03)

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A House of Slaves by LongDarkRoad Chapter 2 Targets – A

A House of Slaves 

Chapter 2 Targets – A

(Submission over futile resistance)

Brandon’s phone buzzed and he looked at the text from Kevin, who was back at the station. Brandon looked over at Jake.

“We need to get going. Looks like our target will be available tonight after all.”

Jake nodded; this was so sweet.


Kate was gathering her things together, still feeling this unease in the pit of her stomach. ‘Stop. It.’ she told herself, ‘It will be okay. It’s just a drink.’

The plan was that she was to get a ride from one of her partners (she rode with three different ones in her probationary period). ‘Shanny’ Lauren was to take her to MacDucks and she headed to the parking area to meet him. As she reached the sidewalk a voice called her name. It was Kevin Riggs.

“Hey Kate. Shanny had to go on a call,” Kevin said when she turned to face him. Kate knew he was one of ‘Brandon’s group’, but he seemed normal and did not raise any alarms for her. Close to her age, not massive like Jake Tucker or imposing like Brandon, he seemed okay.

“I’ll give you a ride and Shanny will meet us there.” Kevin turned to get into the driver’s side, and Kate opened the other side and got in. It was only a fifteen minute drive and they filled it with small talk about sports. MacDucks was on the ground floor of a former warehouse, quite close to the waterfront. It was definitely a sports bar, with team memorabilia all over; and it had an Irish theme, so Kate felt a little more relaxed.

They entered and saw Eric Park already at a table with a black female officer still in uniform. Police and Fire both frequented MacDucks in large numbers, but looking around Kate saw only three other women besides herself, and maybe thirty guys.

After introductions and small chat, drinks were ordered. Kate had just taken a sip of her red wine when a cold stab of fear ran through her; Jake Tucker and Brandon Park had just come in, and both men were headed to their table. Kate reasoned with her fears silently, reminding herself she was in a bar with others. The two men paused on their way, as they were joined by none-other than Captain Dzyuba. The three spoke, laughing together for a moment, and then the two large officers continued toward their table.

Kate noticed the looks on the faces of others as they passed. She was sure she saw fear there, or at least apprehension, although one woman definitely had a look of interest on her face as the good-looking Park brushed past her.

Soon they were at their table, and then the waitress came, and there was a little confusion as another table was added and another chair found. In the movement, Kate did not notice Brandon quickly and efficiently drop some powder into her wine. It was Ketamine, also called ‘Special K’; one of the more effective ‘date rape’ drugs. Odorless and tasteless, Kate noticed nothing when she sipped her drink again.

The night went on. A very attractive, beautiful really, dark-haired/dark-eyed woman joined them; she seemed to be a friend of Park’s; then the black officer (Abby) left to talk with someone from her squad. Kate had finished her glass and refused the offer of another from Kevin (although accepting a diet Coke); truth be told, she was feeling a little…odd. The woman; Aretha? Alaina? Something, led her to the washroom.

Aquina regarded the officer; Brandon had filled her in on this new plan; but targeting a police officer? Wtf? But the boys were adamant, all of them, that this woman needed to be part of the plan and the house, and it had even been set up by the captain. Again she considered her options, and believed that the best course was to work with ‘the boys’ and control things. She could be as dominating as anyone, and she didn’t flinch from inflicting pain. And she knew whoever this unfortunate woman was, and how unpleasant this would be, that it would still be much better for her if Aquina was in control. She would look after this woman, and do it right; it was how she did any job she took on.

“You’re looking a little…flushed,” Aquina now said, once they were inside the washoom.

“Yeah, um…my uh, lips feel…f-fat,” Kate stammered. She was feeling very light-headed; her heart was pounding. She’d only had one glass of wine; how could this be…?

Aquina now began what would be the process of ‘taming’ this target, probably taking days, with a simple step; she was undoing Kate’s jacket. “You need a little air,” she murmured.

“No, noooo…I’m…oh…uh…I’m,” Kate sank down and sat on the toilet in the stall they’d gone into. What was Agatha…um; ‘Who was this?’ Kate asked herself, head swimming, as Aquina lifted up her face.

“Let’s get you some air, sweet girl,” the dark-haired woman advised, and then led Kate out by her hand, down the side hallway and through a rear exit. Although it was a pleasant early evening, it was still cooler outside. Aquina propped Kate against a wall, sighed, and finished unbuttoning her jacket. She next unzipped Kate’s slacks.

“Wait; wha…what are you…wait…no; um, what’s happening? …” Kate mumbled, her hand ineffectively trying to block Aquina’s; the woman had succeeded in pulling Kate’s slacks off and now tugged her panty hose and panties down as well.

“Wait…please, Agrrrum, oh. No. Please uh, what is this? Why…uh. What…?” Kate slid down the wall, coming to rest sitting with her back against it.

Aquina knelt beside the woman and covered Kate’s mouth with her own, and then began stroking Kate’s pussy with her left hand. Just then Brandon came out of the rear exit and looked down at the scene, smiling.

“Let’s get her in the car.”

Together they lifted Kate up and hauled her over to Brandon’s vehicle, tossing her and her clothes into the back seat. Aquina climbed in with her. Kate was on her side, eyes closed and mumbling, a ribbon of saliva stretched from her mouth to the car seat.

As the car pulled away and headed for the street, Aquina removed the remainder of Kate’s clothing and tied her hands behind her back with her own pantyhose. She gripped the woman’s face with one hand.

“Hey. Kate. Look at me. Hey.” She slapped her and Kate’s eyes blinked open but did not focus. “She’s quite out of it,” Aquina called out to Brandon.

“That’s okay,” he replied. “I didn’t give her too much. She’s just not used to it.”

Aquina looked at the girl now as Kate’s head lolled back against the seat. She noted: probably five-four; fairly slim; dark, thick chestnut hair, repeated on her pubic area where it grew wild, dark and thick. ‘We’ll need to trim that,’ Aquina thought absently to herself. They rode on in silence.

Arriving at the ‘man-cave’, Brandon drove into the attached garage. Kate was assisted / supported into the house and into the main living area, where she was placed on her knees and the pantyhose-tie replaced with hand-cuffs. Brandon supported her in her sitting position while Aquina got some cold water. Tossing it in her face, Aquina then slapped Kate’s face several times until the eyes opened. They focused with effort and Brandon instructed, “Sit up.”

Kate sat, somewhat unsteadily but upright, and peered without comprehension around her. Jake, Kevin and Eric then came through the front door, stood looking at Kate for a moment, and found chairs to watch from. Jake’s eyes held a disturbing menace as he considered Kate’s naked body up and down.

Aquina had found Anna and brought her out to kneel to one side. Brandon glanced at her and said, “Have the um, slave, get us some beers.”  Anna’s hands had been bound behind her with a loose chain. This was now attached with her hands in front, allowing her the use of them as she scuttled off to bring out refreshment for her masters.

Kate now began to focus more; she was looking at Anna. She then looked up at Brandon. “Wha…?” she began, but stopped and looked now at Aquina. “Who…?” she began again, but stopped and closed her eyes.

The group let her be for a while. Someone turned on one of the T.V.s and a Phillies-Mets games was on. Aquina had ordered chicken wings, etcetera and when the large box arrived everyone dug in. At some point during the feast Kate regained conscientiousness; at least to a greater degree than earlier.

“She’s back,” Kevin announced.

Brandon wiped off his hands and opened a beer. “Get her ready, A.” The ‘boys’ repositioned themselves as Kate was brought to her feet and Anna placed to one side. A dog collar with “Slut” imprinted on it was placed around her neck. Kate stood dazed and silent, until she was dragged into the center of the room and made to stand naked before the men.

Aquina held a slender rod in one hand; it was an electric zapper. Applied to sensitive areas like nipples and labia, the recipient paid attention quickly. A chain had been attached to a hook in a ceiling beam and then to the ring on Kate’s collar. The chain was pulled tight and Kate’s wrists were bound together behind her head as well, effectively limiting her movement. A spreader bar was then attached to Kate’s ankles and she was held in place.

Aquina now touched Kate’s left nipple with the zapper; a loud “Zzzitt” sounded, followed by a cry of pain and alarm from Kate. Aquina did this several more times to Kate’s pussy, both outer and inner labia folds and breasts, until the young woman was squirming desperately on her chain, while crying out, “Stop. No. Ow. Please. Ow,” as the ‘boys’ applauded the show.

When there was finally a pause, Kate blurted out. “You can’t get away with…” but was cut short as her pussy lips were zapped once, twice, three times in quick succession with her yelping at each jolt. Then Aquina grabbed her hair and spoke directly into her ear. “Slaves speak only with permission.”

Kate did not give up easily. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t…” Aquina covered Kate’s mouth with her hand, then took something from her pocket; Kate’s panties. She squeezed Kate’s nose and then stuffed the panties in her mouth. Kate continued to struggle and make what noises she could. The four spectators finished off the food and got another beer each and settled in; they were definitely enjoying this, cheering and making lewd comments. Aquina now took Anna and led her away, returning alone with duct tape and a thin cane.

She secured the panties in Kate’s mouth with the tape and the muffled sounds now virtually disappeared. She then took a step behind the bound woman and with a quick, experienced stroke, brought the cane down across Kate’s buttocks, causing an immediate jerk of the body and head. Within moments an angry red welt appeared diagonally across both of Kate’s ass cheeks. Kevin clapped his approval as Brandon nodded; Jake just laughed and slapped his thigh.

Aquina had been on the streets since age twelve, and at one time had been the property of a sadistic pimp who frequently whipped her. She had taken the punishment, abuse and pain and learned from it, expanding her knowledge as the years went by. She knew what types of whips or paddles or straps did what, and she had, at times, been able to put her knowledge to good use as a for-hire dominatrix. She also knew where on the body to strike for greatest effect.

Her grim intention now was to cause pain; enough pain that Kate would choose submission over futile resistance, and stop fighting, which would gain her nothing.

Slowly, deliberately, methodically, almost like a master painter and her canvas, Aquina painted Kate’s lower back, ass and upper thighs with red and purple welts. The thin cane she used struck a narrow area of skin intensely, breaking blood vessels below the surface but in thin strips. These areas reddened quickly, but would also heal without a lot of bruising. After about fifteen minutes she stopped. Kate was actually hanging from the chain; she had passed out.

Aquina waved smelling salts under Kate’s nose and she awoke with a shake of her head. Aquina spoke quietly to her victim, almost as if it were only the two of them there. “Do you want more?” Kate grunted an inaudible response but vigorously shook her head; she didn’t want any more. “If you speak without permission, I will start on your punishment again, do you understand?” Kate nodded her head slowly, almost painfully.

Aquina peeled off the tape and pulled out the sodden panties, wiping the sweat from Kate’s face with them.

“Now, we will see if you have understood.” Aquina  removed the spreader bar from Kate’s ankles and released the chain from her collar; Kate wavered. “Kneel.” Kate dropped to her knees like a sack of flour, sagging and tilting slightly right. “Sit straight.” Aquina corrected her, and Kate struggled to get upright.

“Now, whenever I give you a command, you will answer, ‘Yes. Mistress’ and do what is said. Do you understand?”

There was a slight hesitation before Kate stammered, “Ye–yes…mistress.” Sssswwaatt! Aquina brought the cane down across Kate’s shoulder blades. Even the four men watching jerked slightly.

“AAAaaahhh!” Kate cried out. Aquina quickly steadied Kate’s head and spoke softly again, like a trainer speaking to her horse.

“You must respond immediately, by word or action. There is no hesitation. You want to avoid pain. You want to be, rewarded…” Aquina ran her hand softly down Kate’s arm before gently pulling her nipple again. Kate shivered involuntarily. “When I give you a command, you reply…?

“Yes, yes mistress,” Kate blurted quickly, as the sound of the cane’s backslash was clearly heard, but no down stroke fell.

”Good slave,” Aquina murmured again, gently caressing Kate’s face and neck, and then her nipple. At this point Kate’s dark brown nipples jutted out from her chocolate areolas like bullets. Aquina now leaned over and placed her warm mouth over a nipple, sucking gently. Kate uttered a low moan. All four men in the room unconsciously shifted the erections in their pants; even Jake.

Aquina worked Kate for the next ten minutes, threatening but not using the cane, softly and gently rewarding the compliance. Finally it was time to move to the next stage. “On your knees, Slave.” Aquina’s voice had an edge to it, and Kate responded quickly.

Aquina left briefly again before returning with Anna, who she placed kneeling in front of Kate. “This is your sister slave,” Aquina said. “Kiss her nipples.” Kate lifted her face and kissed. “Lick them.” Kate licked. “Suck them.” Kate sucked. “Kneel and press your tits against hers”. Kate knelt and soon her slightly heavier, brown-nippled breasts were pressed against Anna’s pink-nippled ones. Both women’s chests rose and fell quickly.

“Kiss your sister, Slave.” Kate leaned forward and placed her lips on Anna’s. Both women held this kiss briefly, then both parted their lips and engaged the other. Their tongues twisted and probed; Anna sucked vigorously on Kate’s tongue.

“Stop. Sit straight,” was the next command, followed by, “now slaves, crawl to your first master, beside you.”

Both women crawled to Eric. Anna quickly unzipped his pants again; his cock sprang out hard and erect. Anna began to slide her tongue up and down the shaft. Kate, with less enthusiasm, placed her tongue on the shaft as well. Working together, and occasionally kissing each other, they lathered Eric’s cock with their saliva. Anna placed her mouth over the entire head of Eric’s erection as Kate kissed and licked his balls.

After the previous sucking and the show he had just watched, Eric could not hold back, and shots of cum quickly erupted from his cock as the two women worked him. Kate continued to lick Eric’s balls, ignoring the gooey stuff now coating and running down his penis; Anna, better trained and responsive, immediately licked up the substance, cleaning the cock and taking it into her mouth as it shrank to regular size.

“Next,” came the command. The two women worked around the group, satisfying each man orally until they came at last to Jake, sitting like a giant Cheshire Cat in his armchair.

Aquina had left Jake for last on purpose. One, she didn’t like him. But two, she knew the two women were most afraid of him and also likely detested him, so it made no sense to start the circle at his massive, unpleasant bulk.

Even though it had been a while since Jake had used her for regular, vaginal sex, Anna had worked his cock so much she just got busy with no instructions. Kate’s hesitation however was clear, and a painful slash from the cane across her tender ass prompted her into action. For a large man, Jake did not have an overly large cock; five and a half inches erect was likely it, Aquina guessed, as she watched Anna’s tongue bathe the shaft.

Jake was his usual boorish self, though, and quickly grabbed Kate’s hair, forcing her mouth onto his cock. Anna then focused on his balls, and Jake closed his eyes, pumping Kate’s head on his erection until his hips thrust and Kate’s mouth filled with goo. Jake’s large hand held Kate’s head in place until he was satisfied she had swallowed the whole load. He then mashed her face into his balls and murmured, “Thanks, slut.”

Aquina brought the two women out to the middle of the room again, with Kate made to sit with her hands clasped behind her head and her legs spread. Aquina left with Anna and returned with her carrying a basin of water. She was going to shave the dark tangle of pubic hair decorating Kate’s mound. The men watched this with interest and showed their approval when Anna finished, as Kate was made to parade around on display.

She then took the two slaves downstairs, allowing both to use the single, open toilet. While it was embarrassing to be watched, it was more embarrassing when Aquina made them wipe each other after finishing what they needed to do. “Do a good job,” she instructed, “you will be licking each other again soon.”

Aquina then led them over to the crates and put them together in one. She had Kate lie on her side and then had Anna lie against and facing her. She then moved the two women so their faces were in the crotches of the other. She bound their hands behind them and tied them together with a large, wide blue ribbon.

“You both did very well. I’m proud of you,” Aquina praised, knowing these women needed something to cling to.

Anna smiled, an amazing, warm feeling flowing through her. Normally Kate would have laughed off this condescending comment, but for some reason she resisted, despite her inner rage at what was being done to her. Whether it was simply survival, she was drawn to this woman. At this point, she didn’t bother to analyze why, her mind being numb.

From a practical perspective, having Aquina Morez pleased with you and on your side was good. As Aquina went back upstairs, leaving them in darkness, Kate snuggled her face into the warmth that was Anna’s crotch. Anna did the same, and in a few moments, Kate was surprised to feel Anna begin to lick her newly shaved pussy. It felt…nice, causing more confusion. Still, it was like a thin beam of light in a dark tunnel. Now what was she to do?


Kate stirred. She had fallen asleep. She now became aware of a numbness in her limbs. In the darkness, she could hear Anna’s soft breathing, feel the rise and fall of her breast against her as well as the gentle touch of her breath on her leg. She was also aware of Anna’s sex directly in her face. The folds of her labia cradled Kate’s nose. The scent was a little musky but comforting; she smelled, Kate thought, womanly.

Without really thinking on it, Kate kissed the soft folds of Anna’s sex, rubbing her lips against Anna’s labia. Anna stirred, and responded with a low moan.

Kate whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” came the soft reply.

Kate lay still for a moment, pondering. Finally she whispered again. “My name is…Kate.”

There was a long pause, before the soft reply. “My…name…is A-Anna,” followed by a strange, almost choking sound.

“I’m glad…you are with me…Anna,” Kate whispered.

“I am glad…too…” Anna’s voice trailed off. Then Kate felt a dampness against her leg.

Anna was crying, and a sudden swell of desperate sadness welled up within her, and Kate wept softly too.

After a little while, with the door into their room open, they heard the distinct sound of the upstairs door creak and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Then the overhead fluorescent light was turned on and it seemed, strangely, to make the room seem colder.

Aquina knelt by the crate, noting the tear-stained faces within and forcing down her response. She had learned to hide emotions well over the years; these women needed strength right now.

“Well, and how are my sweets?” She asked in a pleasant voice, as if she were addressing puppies. She opened the crate and moved in, untying the ribbon and helping Kate to her knees, and then out of the crate, where she supported her as she struggled to her feet on numbed legs. Aquina gently slapped Kate’s thighs and calves, helping the blood flow.

She leaned down, as she was several inches taller than Kate, to get to eye level. “We need to go upstairs.”

“Why are you doing this?” Kate asked quietly, fighting her feelings.

Aquina sighed; the men had captured this woman and that was a fact. Left to them, Aquina didn’t like the woman’s chances. If she could buy her some time, the options improved, but the men needed to see results; that was the deal, and results would only happen if the woman complied.

She said, in a tone one might use for a troubled child. “Take my advice, follow my lead, and just deal with this crap. And don’t ask questions, for now. Trust me. This, tonight, has been mostly for show. I have hurt you, I know that, and it’s not something I wish to do, but I have been careful not to injure you.” She paused and studied the other. “So, do you trust me?”

Kate looked up into the lovely face, the face of a woman who had abused her, and nodded. She didn’t try to understand why she was feeling this; she just trusted this woman.

Aquina leaned down and kissed Kate’s face and then her mouth, gently. Simply reacting, Kate accepted being kissed by this woman; strangely, or not, it gave her hope in this mess of despair. Kate had never kissed a woman before, although she had fantasized about it.

The taller woman straightened up, then sighed; the night was not over for her ‘slave’. “We have business now,” she said, fastening a leash to Kate’s collar and heading out.

After reaching the first floor they rounded a corner and ascended a second set of stairs to the upper floor. Padding down the hall, the carpet felt wonderful to Kate’s bare feet, after the coldness of the basement. They arrived at a room at the end; a pleasant room with a window looking out over the yard. There was a desk, a leather loveseat and a single bed against the far wall. This was someone’s office/bedroom; probably the woman’s, Kate thought, still uncertain of her name. Aretha? No…

Aquina positioned Kate on her knees in her ready position. From a distance, Kate could hear male voices and her gut tightened. Soon she saw the polished shoes of a man standing in front of her and her breath quickened and she felt light-headed. Aquina put the end of a riding crop under Kate’s chin and lifted, and Kate was then looking up into the leering face of Captain Dzyuba.

Aquina, who had quickly summed this man up as a disgusting asshole, quietly left.

Then the man spoke. “Well, well, isn’t this a sight. Our little (he lifted her collar) ‘Slut’, all nice and ready. Well, well,” He announced with a flourish, unzipping his pants.

(End of Chapter 02)

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A House of Slaves by LongDarkRoad Chapter 1 Secrets

The Chronicles of LongDarkRoad Book II

A House of Slaves

Chapter 1 Secrets (Here we are in a private place)

Jake Tucker eased his large, both tall and heavy, frame out of his black Jeep Cherokee and headed up the walk. After entering his modest bungalow, he took his time; removing his gun, his baton and the other implements of a police officer, laying them methodically on the counter.

He looked older than his twenty-four years; maybe it was his dark hair and fleshy features, or the, what seemed, perpetual scowl on his round face. His long-time buddy Brandon often accused him of having some ‘native’ in his blood, something that was in fact true, although Tucker never divulged that. He was a man who kept things to himself.

After he had systematically dealt with his tasks, Jake settled into a wooden kitchen chair and looked down at the naked woman kneeling patiently on the floor; she had been there for over an hour, never certain of when her husband would return and knowing his expectation for her.

“What are you waiting for, a written invitation, you stupid cunt?” he spoke sarcastically to the woman, whose eyes never left the floor. “Boots, bitch. Boots.”

Anna Tucker, a year older than her husband, long dark brown hair cascading to her shoulders and a slim five-four to his massive bulk, jumped at the command and knelt by the black patrol boots of her husband. Bending forward she began to studiously lick the left boot, always aware of how quickly the other foot could some across and strike her. Perhaps tonight she was showing the correct amount of devotion, for no blow was delivered.

“Good. Well…okay. Remove.” Jake grunted.

Anna tugged off the boot and rubbed her face against the sock, keenly aware of the pungent odor filling her nostrils. She blocked that out as she had learned to block out so many things in the almost two years of marriage and the servitude it had turned into.

The ritual she was involved in now played out as it had many times. Boot licking, foot devotion and then…

“Stand, cunt.”

Anna stood looking down at the floor. She waited, heart beating relentlessly; it was as if she could feel her husband’s gaze upon her, waiting for any sign, no matter how minute, of ‘disrespect’.

Suddenly Jake’s massive left hand lunged forward,  cupping and then grabbing between Anna’s legs. Immediately finding the outer labia of her sex, Jake pulled and twisted this flesh between his thumb and index finger while Anna struggled to remain erect and silent, never looking at her tormentor.

In time, Jake’s thumb found the nub of her clitoris and stroked it; he could be surprisingly gentle with his large hands. And to her disgust, and the thing that haunted her more than almost anything else about her relationship, the gentle pressure of Jake’s thumb never failed to arouse her. How could this be? How could he control, humiliate and debase her and yet still cause this response? And he knew it; and it amused him.

He rose and moved over to an old-style stereo system, one that contained a tape player and he pressed a button, and the only song they ever listened to came on, mocking Anna with its sweetness. ‘What A Wonderful World’ began as Jake resumed his fondling.

“Is our little slave liking this?” he murmured as his right hand came up to tease and stroke Anna’s nipples. As they quickly hardened to an eraser-like shape, pink and erect, Jake laughed softly. What a stupid cunt she is, he thought, not for the first time, and it filled him with the need to bring her down. Reduce her to nothing more than a thing, a receptacle for his needs.

“…I see them bloom for me and you…”

Pressing with a hand to her head, he positioned Anna’s face level with his crotch; unzipped his pants and placed his penis into her waiting mouth. He was not hard. She rarely produced that effect on him anymore. Anna closed her eyes as the stream of urine hit the back of her throat.

“…I hear babies cry, I watch them grow…”

“Open those eyes, whore. Look at me,” Jake commanded, and Anna complied, silent rage pulsing through her entire being as he used her mouth as his toilet, staring down at her with that superior look. And not for the first time, she thought of driving a steak knife deep into the back of his neck as he slept, if only she had the nerve.

“…and I say to myself…”


Northville, November, 2009

The High School football rivalry was intense between Northville and Altoro, and now it was down to the final game. Northville had the edge, as their quarterback, Brandon Park, had put together an outstanding year and was almost unstoppable. It was not surprising that in the final two minutes, Park drove the team seventy yards to score, with Northville emerging as 36-32 winners.

Park was carried off the field, and leading the celebratory group was Park’s best friend and the team’s imposing defensive end, Jake Tucker. Park and Tucker were named offensive and defensive stars of the game and it was an incredible way to end their school football careers. But that night would get even better, further cementing their friendship and bond.

As the teams were leaving the field, Altoro’s quarterback, a tall, black male named ‘Ace’ Donval, had made rude gestures at them and Tucker had gotten into a shoving match attempting to get at Donval. Nothing much happened until later.

As Brandon and Jake made their way around the back of the school complex, they noticed two figures talking by one of the parking garage pillars. Focusing on them, they looked at each other with excitement; one of the figures was clearly Ace Donval, and the other skinny, white dude was a guy known to be a drug dealer.

Moving stealthily a little closer, they crouched and waited. The deal completed, Donval turned and headed toward their hiding spot while the other figure ran off around the front of the structure. As Donval got closer, Jake stepped from behind a concrete planter and yelled, “Hey”, then drove his meaty fist into Donval’s stomach. As the young man fell, Brandon delivered a solid kick to the ribs and then drove his elbow into the back of Donval’s neck, stunning him.

Lifting the choking figure by his jacket collar, Jake smashed his fist again into the defenseless man’s stomach, punching all the air out of Donval’s lungs and leaving him gasping in desperation on the ground.

Without any words between them, working with a single mind, the two attackers undid their victim’s jeans, removed his belt and pulled his pants down around his knees, essentially binding him, and then flipped him onto his front, tying his hands with his belt. Pulling Donval to his knees, Jake slipped behind him, his rock-hard cock already out and ready. With no hesitation or warning, but with that special scene from the movie, ‘Deliverance’ in his mind, Jake then drove his weapon into Donval’s ass, burying his cock between the dark thighs. Even in his bewildered state, Donval cried out in pain and humiliation. As Jake yelled, “Squeal li’l piggy,” and laughed.

Brandon dealt with the man’s cries by shoving his cock into Donval’s mouth, and then using his Nokia cell phone to begin recording the action. Grabbing his victim’s hair as well as he could, as it was quite short, Brandon jerked the head back and forth and came to his orgasm quickly, pulling out and splattering Donval’s face, then recording it as well as the ass-fucking Jake’s cock was administering.

That action ended with several clearly displayed gobs of cum decorating Donval’s hole. Before they were finished, Jake and Brandon had taken a number of photos that seemed to show a willing Donval participating in the sex. He was aware enough when they left him, to know what was on their phones.

They never heard from Ace Donval again, although a year later Jake spotted a story in a paper describing a single car accident where the driver, a young black male, had apparently lost control and had his car smash into a concrete bridge piling, killing him instantly. Jake cut out the piece, and kept it in a folder with some other mementoes.


Present Day…

Brandon Park had finished his workout and was strolling leisurely to the showers. He took his time and checked himself out in the mirrors as he went. As a former girlfriend had noted, Brandon was one man who liked to look at his own body more than yours. At six-three and two-hundred ten pounds, not quite as tall nor as heavy as his friend Jake, he was never-the-less an imposing figure, especially considering the sculpted body he had created from years of gym work. When he was dressed in his police officer’s blue garb, he looked like a poster model for the force. As he was dressing, his phone buzzed; it was Aquina Morez.

“Hey there,” he answered.

“Hey there yourself. Got any time this afternoon?”

“Could have. What’s up?”

“I’ve got most of the paperwork done for the purchase; just a couple of details to finalize. It’s always easier face-to-face.”

“Okay, that’s good news. I’ll find some time this pm. Do we need Jake?” The rest of the conversation slid into some general chat, but Brandon was reminded once again of how positive a thing it was that he had met Ms. Morez.

(September, 2014)

The informant’s tip had paid off, there was a gathering at the house he had indicated, and the ‘boys’, four young cops, were all there. Jake Tucker and Brandon Park’s younger brother Eric would take the front, while Brandon and his cousin, Kevin Riggs, would cover the back.

Entering with no resistance, (they had taken the occupants completely by surprise) the bust was easy. As had been their practice for a while, they arrested a couple but let most get away, while taking control of the ‘evidence’; in this case several thousand dollars in cash and bags of both street pills and weed.

Brandon slipped a baggie containing several hundred dollars into his pants while Jake took one bag of pills. There were also a number of weapons, and when reinforcements arrived there was still a very nice haul to show.

Over the months, the ‘boys’ had been very successful in developing a collection of informants that had allowed them to make a number of busts, all the while skimming off the top; never a lot, as Brandon had been very firm on ‘don’t get greedy’.

But the cherry on top of this particular bust had been meeting the attractive woman who seemed either in charge…or very connected. Brandon had taken her into his ‘custody’; her name was Aquina Morez.

Jake and Eric had headed back to the station to deal with the paperwork and leave an envelope for their captain containing his ‘gift’; Kevin had stayed on site to assist, leaving Brandon to take Aquina. They drove, her in the back of the squad car, in silence for about fifteen minutes until Brandon pulled in behind a warehouse on the south side. He led the way, unlocking the door to a place he obviously had a connection to. It was a sparse room, lit only by a single overhead bulb. There was a table, some packing crates, a cot in the corner, a cupboard and three wooden chairs. They sat on two of these across from each other, still in silence.

Brandon took note: a very (very) attractive, if hard-looking woman; Latino? Possibly. Late twenties? Most likely. Very nice body, quite tall, dressed in a casual-business manner. Jacket over a white blouse with dark slacks. Slim but still with wonderful curves. She did not look like a hooker; what was her role?

“My name is Brandon Park. You…?”

“Aquina Morez.” She was studying him as well; her voice had no accent. Then she smiled. It was a thin, yet pleasant smile. Her dark eyes, beautiful and compelling, lit up. She really, (really) was attractive, Brandon pondered; movie-star level.

“So, we are going to play this…silent game?”

She looked, her face showing nothing, for a moment longer, then spoke. “You are the police and I am here, alone with you; it’s never good to say too much, anyway. You understand? Do I need a lawyer?”

Brandon smiled, showing even white teeth, the product of a very (much) more-than-comfortable childhood with a family of wealth and means. The smile was not warm, however, his eyes remaining neutral. “Yeah, I understand. But here we are in a private place; not the station. We are free…to talk. And no, you don’t need a lawyer.”


Present Day

And so it had begun; a meeting that evolved into a mutual understanding, and then a partnership. Aquina was good with managing things: girls, drugs. Money. Especially money; she actually had a degree in business management.

The back story was that she had begun working with several somewhat unsavory characters early on, and it had been very lucrative. She had built from that, possibly with some political connections. She had money stashed. She was respected, and left alone for the most part, knowing ‘the boys’ main goals. And she saw in Brandon Park a mutual spirit of sorts, although she had proceeded very cautiously with him so far, sensing a danger in him, or, more likely, in dealing with his large, unpleasant-looking friend.


(January 2015)

Aquina and Brandon were in his apartment. Not for the first or last time, Brandon reflected on how beautiful Aquina was; and also not for the first time, wondered why he hadn’t been able to fuck her yet. Brandon was very successful at fucking women. Athletic, well-to-do, good looking; there had been no shortage of partners; but Aquina was in a different category. She was older than him and experienced. And confident. And selective.

They had found many areas, mostly involving money and investments, where they were totally in sync; but nothing sexual so far. Nothing.

They had now finished their second whiskey and were just sitting. They were both satisfied with the progress they had made; Brandon and the boys were putting together enough cash to buy a house and turn it into a ‘gents-hide-away’; complete with cards and other pastimes, etcetera; and of course girls. A man-cave for their personal use and hopefully, advancement.

Aquina was managing the funds and targeting some girls. Things were progressing and she and Brandon had become relaxed in each other’s company. Now she did something she had not done to this point; she made the first move.

Looking steadily at him, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, slipping it off her lovely light-brown shoulders, to reveal a black lace bra that showed most of her also lovely breasts; the large brown nipples were erect and clearly visible. Brandon stared, a small smile on his lips, which he now unconsciously licked. Aquina stood, unzipped her side zipper and lowered her tailored slacks down ever so slowly, until the dark curls of her pubic bush appeared above her tiny black thong panties. Brandon was transfixed like a cobra by a mongoose; waiting. Waiting. Aquina smiled.

Then, she pulled the slacks back up, zipped them and put her blouse back on, then her leather jacket. As she passed Brandon on her way to the door, she brushed his cheek and ear with her lips, saying, ”Another time, B, maybe. If you’re a good boy that is…”

And then she was gone, smiling to herself. She had just walked out! Brandon poured himself another whiskey and laughed. She was quite the woman. Some day…


Kate Noone moved cautiously between the chairs to her desk in the corner. As the only female officer in the unit, and a rookie at that, Kate was extremely aware of her standing and vulnerability. Although none of her male squad members had done anything, directly, so far in her first six months on the job, there were always the looks and the knowing nods between them. At times she told herself she was being paranoid, but most of the time she felt her gut was right on, and she needed to be ‘on her guard’.

Jake Tucker was probably the worst. Kate was convinced he was a closet psychopath. Just the look in his eyes (and the squad room gossip) made him someone to avoid at all costs. And so far she had. She looked up now from her desk, which faced directly into the glassed office of the captain, fifty-four year old Dale Dzyuba, he of the outrageously bushy eyebrows. He scared her almost as much as Tucker; and he was eyeing her right now.


The four young officers stood in a semi-circle in the living room of the house they had just bought; Aquina standing just off and to their right. Jake, Brandon, Eric and Kevin were finally in their man-place. It would need a little work, but they already had the plans to convert this older but large two-storey into a very comfortable and accommodating spot. They had the funds, now it was just a matter of time.

Jake took a swig of one of the beers Kevin had brought. He could hardly contain himself; it was happening. To him, the plan bringing this to life was mostly his, and now it was really coming together.


Although it was only May, it was a warm day. The windows in the ‘party-house’ were open for some air. Jake and Brandon sat in the new leather chairs and looked around with satisfaction. It was everything they had discussed and Jake had hoped for.

An area for lounging, an area with card tables and room for a regulation-sized pool table; two English dart boards on the wall; a wet bar with a place for a keg; even a mini-stripper stage with a pole (Eric’s idea). There was a top quality sound system, DJ-ready installed and two fifty-two inch T.V.s mounted on the wall.

Down the hall on the main level were two bedrooms fully furnished plus one full bath; upstairs was a den/bedroom and another two regular bedrooms, plus another full bath and a half-bath. The kitchen had a sizeable eating area and was equipped with stainless steel appliances and ceramic tile. Imported hardwood now gleamed with a dark luxuriousness throughout and the carpeted areas were top of the line only.

People would be able to stay over with no problem; in fact Aquina and some of the group would actually live here, as well as a woman or two, depending. It was a man’s house; and now all it needed were…some women.

But of course the boys wanted them to be a certain kind of woman, and they were firm that they didn’t want real hookers. They didn’t even want women who looked like hookers. They wanted young, fresh and compliant girls, or possibly some compromised women, details later.

Aquina had already secured a doctor, someone from her past, to do exams and tests on the girls to guard against STDs. And if the girls used drugs, it would be the drugs that ‘the boys’ decided on.

Right away, Jake had surprised them with the inclusion of Anna Tucker as a ‘slave’, and not everyone (Aquina primarily) was comfortable with this; but Jake insisted. Anna would be the first, and she was already here, kneeling naked by the wet bar. A pillar at the end of the bar, and another one by the kitchen entrance, had hooks installed allowing someone to be chained to them, which was Jake’s idea; slaves. Anna was chained to one now, the end of the chain connected to a slave collar around her neck. The name ‘Bitch’ was clearly visible in studs on the black leather.

Anna knelt now, tears sliding down her face, careful to keep her sobs quiet; Jake had warned her. She had just finishing sucking Brandon’s cock, as a woman she didn’t know watched, to her embarrassment. Now she just knelt and waited.

Brandon meanwhile had a satisfied smile on his attractive face. Having Aquina watch while Anna serviced him had been sick and he loved it. When his cum exploded in Anna’s mouth he had ordered her to not swallow but to turn and look at Aquina. The beautiful woman had stood without comment, a Sphinx-like smile on her face.

With Anna staring up, Brandon had given Aquina a look, and the woman responded efficiently, as was her nature.

“You may swallow, Slave,” she said.

Aquina had considered quickly and made up her mind that she would be business-like about the slave deal, for now; she’d deal with her concerns later. Anna had complied as expected and Jake had hooted his approval from his chair.

Aquina stood now and the two men followed her downstairs.


Kate Noone waited outside Captain Dzyuba’s office. Why had he called her in? she wondered, before knocking. She heard his gruff response and entered, waiting while he wrote on a paper on his desk. Finally he looked up at her, and that icy apprehension crept up her spine once again.

“Kate, you’ve been here ‘ow long now…?” he began.

“Six months, sir.” She replied quickly. Too quickly?

“Yessir,” he looked at her, bushy eyebrows almost meeting, large hands clasped as he rested his chin on them. “And it has come to my attention that not once have you had so much as a drink with the members of the squad.”

“Well…” she stammered, taken by surprise, “I…I’m not much of a drinker, or…”

“Nonsense,” he cut her off, raising a large hand, “You can drink sodas for all we cares, but you’re either one uh us, or you ain’t. Am I bein’ clear?”

“Yes, sir but I’m not sure…” she tried again.

“It’s simple, of-ficer,” he pronounced the word distinctly. “Tonight the lads, uh, the officers, are meetin’ at MacDucks. You needn’t stay the night or any-t’ing, just pop by for one and some chat. Be one uh us. Clear?”

His look made it very clear. He went back to his paper work, the conversation was, it appeared, over.

Kate left, feeling a little like a small child dismissed from the principal’s office. She went back to her desk filled with an unexplained unease.


The two men followed Aquina down the stairs to the basement. There was, greeting them, a wall that ran the entire width, with a single door for entry. The part of the basement they were in was pleasant; carpeted, freshly painted and finished off. An area at one end had a couch and two easy chairs.

When Aquina had learned more about ‘the boys’ plans’, she had made up her mind; she was into this investment too deep to jump just yet, so if the boys wanted a situation where women could be controlled, maybe

Even punished, she’d be in charge; it was the best way, for everyone, hence the basement development.

She carried on now, crossing to the single door in the wall and opening it. Inside, this section was remarkably different from the other side. No carpet, just cold cement. Beige walls, with the two windows covered and darkened. The overhead fluorescent lights gave little illumination and no hint of warmth. In one corner was the furnace, etcetera and in the other stood a shower stall, a sink and a toilet, all white and all looking stark sitting out in the open with no walls and thus no privacy of any kind.

The most striking feature of this large room; however, were the three black, metal dog crates standing side by side against one wall. The crates had a single blanket thrown into each, as well as a cat litter box and a dog’s bowl. Since none of the men had dogs, these crates would clearly be for another purpose. That purpose was a little clearer when one noticed several whips, paddles and ‘slave’ equipment hanging on one side wall; Aquina didn’t know how much ‘punishment’ would be needed, but she would be in charge and intended to do it correctly.

This room could be the holding area for any women, like Anna, who might live here, to serve the four men and their friends; to be used as the men wished with no questions asked.

This wasn’t her original plan (her plan was compliant party girls) but Aquina would manage this for now; she had skills and could punish without injuring.

This wasn’t, however, her long-term goal.

It was, though, the fulfillment of a dream Jake had had for years now (and it looked like the others would be going along).

His own ‘House of Slaves’.

(End of Chapter 01)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 25 Through A Rosy Haze

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 25 Through A Rosy Haze Of Forgetfulness, Look Back Upon The Past

It was now late in the evening.

Joyce White was in her living room with the remains of a fire still smoldering in the massive stone fireplace. She wore a robe and nothing else, and the robe was open so her slave could kiss and please her.

She shuddered briefly and then looked down at Becky’s face, the woman’s head between her thighs as she now looked up with that mixture of timid-ness and uncertainty that made Joyce want to punish her more. Joyce knew, as an experienced dom, that even with this show of submission, this woman would likely never be a truly great slave (not like Julie, who was perfect); but she was trying.

For her part, Becky had come to accept this life, one day at a time, simply obeying, earning praise and reward and avoiding punishment.

As her mistress, and she no longer thought twice when she said this, now gently stroked the slave’s face, feeling relaxed after her orgasm, Becky, thinking with mixed feelings about the massage spa and the video she had performed in just a week ago, etcetera, ventured a question.

“What do you plan to do with me, Miss Joyce?” she asked quietly.

White looked down at the face again. “What do you think I should do with you?” she asked, mildly, remembering this morning when she had laid her strap on the woman with unexplained vigor, for the first time in a while, making the woman beg and grovel, leaving her tied naked in the stable for an hour, simply because she felt like it.

Becky looked down, not prepared for the question. Joyce carried on for her. “You have no life of your own left to you, you know, really. Although your life was a mess, anyway, wasn’t it? Your alcoholic criminal of a husband is on the edge of collapse, barely staying ahead of creditors, but it’s only a matter of time there.”

She paused, considering it was even more imminent than that, her operatives assured her. “You yourself have nothing, although you have acquired some new skills and become quite good at pleasing strange men and women,” she chuckled.

Becky nodded, all that was, sadly, true. “But I could do other things for you as well as the sex, mistress. But, why do you like hurting me? I will serve you…”

It was strange, Joyce pondered, about personality. Here was a woman easily broken; she had submitted completely and done everything demanded of her, but she still did not belong to Joyce, and likely never would, unlike Slave-Julie. Joyce believed that, although the woman seemed to be doing her best to be devoted. What did she want to do with her?

“You know, Becky-Slave, and that’s what you are, yes?” Becky nodded silently. “Say it, Bitch.”

Becky looked down, “I am your slave, Miss Joyce.”

“And your tattoo?”

Becky swallowed, continuing to focus on the floor. “My tattoo says slave.”

“Because that is what you now are.”

Becky nodded and she did not become emotional, but looked up into the eyes that regarded her and judged her. She belonged to this woman and her fate rested in her hands; that was a fact.

Joyce sighed. “Through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, look back upon the past,” she quoted, remembering a book from her youth. She looked down at the woman. “What’s gone is gone, dear, including the life you had. You shouldn’t be afraid of what I might do to you. You should be more afraid that I might just let you go.”

Becky regarded the woman in silence, the last of the embers glowing softly in the fireplace. She leaned up and kissed the ample breasts, sucking the nipples, it gave her peace, strangely, when she did this. Joyce kissed the woman then; she might not be a perfect slave, but she was perfectly submissive and that mattered; and Joyce enjoyed kissing her. Becky responded; despite her situation she was now good with the sex; and Joyce White could be quite…tender, almost loving when she wanted, as Slave-Julie had discovered. It was moving.

Becky whispered, “I’ll do anything you want, you don’t need to threaten me or punish me, mistress. I’ve accepted that you, mmm, own me. I have. And I like doing…this. I’ll please you all day and, um, all night. I’m just not good with the pain.”

They kissed again, and one could almost believe they were lovers, if one simply saw them, Becky sucking White’s tongue like it was a cock. Maybe I’ve misjudged her, White thought, feeling very good.  

A soft rap on the door interrupted them and Joyce rose to answer, opening it to find Della standing there. The woman came in and she and Joyce embraced and they shared a long, searching kiss. “Everything good on the home front there, my darling?” Joyce then asked with a smile, breathing in the woman’s scent.

Della leaned up and kissed Joyce’s face gently, lovingly, several times, before undressing right there.

“Everything’s perfect, love,” Della murmured, going to her knees, her eyes on Joyce’s face, then opening the robe. She gently kissed and licked the woman’s thighs, before leaning up and sucking the fattened labia into her mouth with a soft moan. She glanced over then at the naked woman still kneeling by the chair and smiled. She stood and kissed White aggressively, before saying softly, “I can tell Becky-Slave has already been busy, Joyce dear.”

White chuckled, bringing the woman to her in an embrace, squeezing her. “Just getting me ready for you, love,” she murmured, standing back to look at Della’s face, gently stroking some brunette hair away as the two looked into each other’s eyes, both amazed, still, at this relationship. Life defied explanation.

“I’ve told Neil I’ll be here for two or three days this time, so I’m all yours,” Della murmured. “And I mean all,” she chuckled.

“Mmmmm, that’s wonderful,” Joyce murmured in return, removing her robe and reaching down to squeeze Della’s perfect breasts, before pressing them against her own. In a moment, Joyce took Della’s hand and they headed down the hall, Becky-Slave following them on her knees.


Lori Farkas was tied over an armchair as Becky fucked her from behind with a strap-on, Joyce watching, naked, from her chair. She liked having the two women abuse and pleasure each other, pushing them to do things, like whipping and pissing on each other, that they were reluctant with. Today, however, there wasn’t a lot of time, so it was just some basic fucking, as Joyce called it.

Lori had actually come today to take Becky to Ms. Russell, one of ‘Sunny’s’ massage clients, who had hired the masseuse for the evening, at three-hundred and fifty (Joyce found that amusing; more mad money). Becky would actually not return until tomorrow morning, so Joyce was having some fun with her two slaves now.

Oddly, or not, she found she was abusing Slave-Julie less as time went by, even though neither of these two were truly as devoted as she liked, especially Farkas; they complied for various reasons. Fact of the matter was that Slave-Julie had become too…familiar. Such was life.

“Okay, get down and spread her ass, now lick it, slave,” Joyce said, coming to stand behind the two and sipping her coffee. Becky found this, abusing Lori, even the whipping, the more pleasant of her slave tasks, outside of regular chores; she actually enjoyed this part or when they were allowed to simply make love.

Right now, she slowly rimmed the pink hole with her tongue, arching her back so White could see her pussy from behind as she had been trained. She wasn’t being cunning when she declared herself to her mistress; she did enjoy the sex, and she felt good when she produced an orgasm in her mistress. And she also looked forward to her own, which happened surprisingly frequently.

“Do you like this, mistress,” Becky asked, now slapping the naked buttocks several times, and looking up at White, before forcing her tongue as far into the hole as possible?

“Hmmm, I do, slave,” White chuckled, stroking the slave’s blonde head, feeling the response, then noting the time. White murmured, “Okay, that’s fine, now untie the bitch and you two come here, on your knees.” She went back to her chair and spread her legs.


Now, as they left, the ‘slaves’ headed for Lori’s car, and Lori decided to say something, and since White had installed a camera in her home and this car (as well as a card on her cell for recording) it was only these brief moments when free conversation could be allowed.

“Do you ever think of killing her?” Lori asked quietly, the taste of White’s piss still in her mouth.

Becky regarded the other before opening the door. “Um, I’m not a violent person, hey. A lover not a fighter,” she smiled.

Lori shook her head in response. “We need to find a way to talk,” she said.

The two women looked at each other for another moment, before Becky shook her own head, saying, “I think you just need to learn to accept, Lori. Just stop fighting it.”

She’d let her mistress know Lori’s thoughts, Becky decided, as they headed off.



Although many might not, Joanne Hudson would likely agree with Becky’s advice; and to let the past go.

Her decision to agree to the demands of the aggressive woman and her friend and move into their place, had not been simple or easy, but in the end, she would still have a life, changed though it might be. So she made her choice, to accept this new life; the other, in many ways, being gone.

Courtney had whispered to her that Miss Hannah became bored and moved on. “Give it time, you’ll come out okay,” the redhead had advised.

As Hudson now rode the elevator up to the condo, to ‘her mistress’, she considered that.

For now, after a month, she had amazingly settled into her role and this routine of work and service to Hannah Yilmaz; mistress. That’s what the woman was, Hudson acknowledged and that’s how she thought of her.

And things now were…a certain way.

Miss Hannah was a very skilled mistress, Hudson admitted (begrudgingly at first, but no longer) to herself, as she undressed outside the door, then entered. Tossing her clothes on a chair, she crawled to the woman who was standing, a smile on her exotic, attractive face. Hudson kissed the woman’s feet, then licked them, saying quietly from her position. “Good afternoon, Mistress. Your…slave has returned.”

Hannah regarded the woman, noting again the changes in her behavior since week one and feeling a nice swell of arousal. “Well, hello to you, my devoted slave,” she smirked, and placed a foot under the woman’s chin, saying “look at me.”

Hudson still had difficulty with looking this woman in the face, but she lifted her eyes. Miss Hannah slipped her slacks and panties off and sat on the couch, then brought the woman’s face to her thigh.

After the first couple of days of her ‘service’, Miss Hannah had stopped directing her slave to kiss her pussy; the woman now needed to ask. It had caused Hudson concern at first, wanting to do this to this woman. It no longer did; she enjoyed it, so why pretend? “May I please lick your pussy, mistress?” she asked softly and Miss Hannah smiled, opening her legs farther.

One year of service, Hudson considered, as her tongue explored the lovely, fat lips, as her nostrils were filled with this woman’s wonderful scent; one year, and for that year she was allowed to keep her bank account, and there would be no tattoos or piercings done to her. At least, not without her consent.

“You may touch yourself, slave. It pleases me to see you,” Hannah murmured with a smile.

With a soft moan, Hudson’s fingers went to her own labia, sitting fat and dark beneath her bald mons pubis, shaved now each morning as her mistress watched. Hudson gently stroked herself as her tongue, as if it were on a mission, plunged as far into her mistress’s hole as it could, skirting the heavy fleshy folds of the inner labia, which she would lovingly kiss and suck in turn.

Yes, in eleven months to be precise, she could move on, that was the agreement; but for now, there was this, as her mistress brought her up and they kissed, tenderly, then deeply, Hannah tasting her own sex on her slave’s plump lips, and smiling.

Thirty minutes later, Hudson lay against the tall body, as they caressed each other in silence for several minutes. Hudson finally murmured, images of Courtney in her mind. “Why um, didn’t you want me, uh, marked, Mistress? I, um, wouldn’t have thought of that, when I signed the sheet thing.”

“Slave contract, sweets,” Hannah smiled, adding, “do you want me to mark you, devoted slave?”

Hudson shook off the feelings that rose, unasked within her, with that word. And for some reason, right here, she needed to be open and honest.

“I have, um, mixed feelings. Is that, strange?”

Hannah moved so that Hudson was beneath her, the woman opening her legs with her mistress now on top, gently rubbing her pubic region against her, the arousal building despite her recent orgasm.

“No, we’re talkin’ emotions, hey, so nothing’s strange. And I would like to mark you, but I made you a promise,” Hannah smiled down.

And they kissed, Hudson moaning softly, and for a fleeting moment she thought of Thomas; they had not discussed divorce, she had simply left. It was odd to her that she rarely thought of him, and that his face appeared now before drifting away.

She wrapped her legs around Hannah, then reached up to the straps on the bed frame, slipping her hands through and pulling tight, so she was bound.

“You can mark me if you wish, M-mistress,” Hudson whispered.


Sometimes, one simply needs to find a place to be; to exist, to rest perhaps, to survive; even to evolve.

A sanctuary, Joyce White had called it, as we travel this road, the past ever receding.

****          ****          ****


Dr. White looked up as Claire came to his desk and placed his tablet before him. “I’ve put the date in, dear, and all the details about flights and hotel,” she smiled.

They would marry November first and then head to Hawaii for a two week honeymoon. It would be a tiny, civic ceremony, with not even his mother or Claire’s son attending. It would be just the two of them, and then off they would go.

As Claire headed back to her desk, White watched the sway of her hips and shook his head.

Life, who could explain it?


Lori Farkas was leaving the Vanbeussens, where she now lived, heading for her car and then Esterbrook.

White and Vanbeussen had come to an agreement, and Farkas now belonged to them, although she was still Abigail’s ‘guardian’ at school.

During the day, Farkas, who, like Joanne Hudson, maintained her own bank account and kept her credit cards, etcetera, taught middle school. At night and on weekends, she was ‘a maid’. A special one, to be sure. One who slept with Hailey Vanbeussen as her ‘loving girlfriend’, expected to show her affection eagerly, or face punishment. And in spite of her mild appearance, Hailey definitely enjoyed punishing.

The agreement here was one year as well, although the teacher didn’t completely trust these people and lived uneasily with them, always considering her options, her future uncertain.

Life being a bitch, she considered, heading down the drive.


Joanne Hudson entered the restaurant unconcerned with any stares as she held the hand of her tall, exotic-looking companion. Her mistress took her out at least once a week and Hudson knew what to expect, and had become very comfortable with it.

Hannah led them to a corner table and once seated, Hudson smiled, slowly unbuttoning the four buttons of her blouse as expected and then raising her skirt, revealing her garter belt attached to black nylons and of course no panties; she tucked the skirt so she remained exposed, feeling the rush of adrenaline this act now produced in her, as well as the need to please the woman sitting across from her.

Hudson was looking radiant tonight; her long hair, descending to her shoulders, darkened now to her mistress’s taste, had some curl to it, accenting the woman’s feminine allure. She now only wore skirts or dresses, always, as that was what her mistress preferred, and her nails were always painted, her eyes always done. People at the shelter had started gossiping that she would be leaving, and was dressing for interviews; she was unconcerned.

Hudson next leaned forward and held a long kiss with her mistress as a server arrived and stood, waiting and…gawking, while trying not to appear to be.

Once the young woman had had her long look at Hudson’s exposed and shaved pussy, with the HY initials in a heart clearly visible, she filled their glasses with a pleasant Rueda, and Hannah lifted hers. “Eight months today to go, sweet slave,” she murmured, the small smile again on her lips. Hudson paused and looked down; four, even three, months ago she would not have considered this. “What?” Hannah asked, with her trademark smirk.

Hudson shook her head, looking soft and vulnerable. Her eyes showed emotion, “What are you thinking, Miss Hannah…eight months, and boom, you boot me out the door?”

Hannah studied the woman; she wasn’t Courtney, but Joanne held her own temptation, and Hannah was drawn to it, and in a different way. And it was weird, that she hadn’t allowed the woman to have sex with anyone else to date, not even Gena.

“What’s the deal?” Gena had asked, some annoyance in her voice.

“What deal we talking about, G bitch?”

“With your new woman, Jo-baby. It’s been a week and I haven’t had a taste of anything, or a chance to use my paddle.”

“You can use Courtney, or sweet Syd when she’s around.”

“Yeah, but you’re renting Courts out and Sydney is here now and then. Plus, you know, I’d like to try out the new bitch.”

Hannah had stood then and looked down at her friend in that way she had. She didn’t want Gena to use Hudson; she didn’t know why. And she hadn’t whipped the woman; paddled, yes, but that was it. Weird.

As they sat now at the table Hannah also noticed the woman was not wearing her wedding or engagement rings, even though they had been returned to her a while ago.

She smiled. “I’d think you’d have your sneakers on, ready to like dash, girl, as you count down the days.”

Hudson looked up, struggling with how to say what she was feeling, as her mistress then passed her a small, black box. Hudson opened it to find a black satin choker with a single diamond embedded at the front, beside the words, ‘Hannah’s Girl’, in silver script. A tiny, silver lock was with it.

Hudson, fighting all sorts of emotions, first caressed her tattoo, eyes never leaving her mistress’s face, then placed the choker around her neck and snapped the lock into place.

The women smiled at each other, the voices around them fading into the air. Hudson lifted her mistress’s hand and kissed it, and then they locked fingers. “Thank you,” she said softly, then murmured, “I’ll show my appreciation when you take me home, Mistress.”

Life, Hannah considered, smiling, was too weird.


White had received word from one of her associates before the Washington police called, so she knew of the death of Roland Davidson before it was official. She held her slave against her on the couch; there were no tears, just a sense of finality. Joyce advised against saying anything to Sarah now, or for a long time. There was no point.

Becky murmured into Joyce’s throat, “Please, mistress, promise me you’ll never send me away.” She undid her mistress’s blouse and removed her bra, then placed her mouth over a nipple and felt it harden, then moved to the other. She gently massaged her own breasts, pulling on the rings that had replaced the bars. She spread her legs and touched her tattoo, looking up into her mistress’s face and smiling.

The woman had, back in August, without any hint or explanation, suddenly stopped her slave’s working at the spa. Becky now spent her days totally at the house, seeing to her mistress and Miss Della and doing chores; and she had long since made up her mind that pleasing this woman would be her primary purpose.

Becky moved up now and kissed White’s throat and then her mouth, tenderly, lovingly, and then moved back to the breasts. She should detest this woman, Becky considered, but she didn’t. It was just the opposite.

Joyce White smiled, enjoying this attention, feeling affection for this insecure but caring woman, and thinking…what did Abigail say? “That’s weird, Gramma.”

Yes, life was weird. So true.


Early September had also brought a surprise, as Courtney Farrell and Camille Rogers were married, with Hannah Yilmaz as best man. And the relationship was simply the two women, although Rhonda would likely join them for a little fun on occasion; but it was not mistress and slave.

Hannah would always be incredibly important to her life, Courtney considered with wonder, as she and Camille flew to Greece for a honeymoon slash vacation; but she had changed.

Life, she considered, looking down on the vast expanse of blue, being…fucking weird.

“You got that right, bitch,” Miss Gena had remarked in response to Courtney’s philosophical text.


Gena sipped her scotch; she knew it was imported and  expensive, even if she wasn’t a connoisseur. Joyce White never had anything but.

“So, change, my dear,” White smiled, raising her glass, her mind reviewing months of it, including Daniel now living in Europe. For now.

Gena snuffed, “Yeah, whether we like it or not.”

“The whole deal with the lovely redhead, was a surprise?” Joyce murmured.

Gena shrugged, “Kinda. I knew something would happen, Hannah was doing stuff, almost like she was trying to break loose or something. But Courtney heading off? Married? Wow…weird. It messes with my head, so I try not to think on it much.”

Joyce smiled and nodded; things change. “But I think, with our plans all those months ago, everything worked out pretty amazing, even if now we are in a different place.” Joyce thought then of Julie and how she really had no desire anymore to abuse the woman; emotions are often so difficult to untangle. “And your tall, dark friend, she has this new woman?”

Gena nodded her head. “That beats me all to hell, Miss W, even more than the Courtney thing. Hannah, the queen of darkness; I think she’s actually in love. That’s all I’ve got with the whole deal. It makes no sense any other way.”

Joyce finished her scotch as Harry wandered in and settled on a blanket by the fireplace. Despite being young, he was trained; that was Della’s specialty, although Joyce could add a couple of other things the woman did well. “Any…prospects on the horizon for you?” She asked of her young companion.

Gena smiled, “Could be. There’s a young server in my uncle’s mid-town restaurant, nineteen and cute as the fucking button or whatever. We did the eye thing last time I was in and I got a good feeling. My gut says sweet submissive. I’m checking her background out right now.”

Joyce smiled and poured herself some more scotch, raising her glass. “To the future,” she said.

And Gena nodded, her own being uncertain, although

Dakota had accepted her suggestion to move in.


Julie Ramos, formerly White, sat looking out at the signs of autumn in New York and felt at peace. Miss Jasmine (who no longer called her Slave-Julie) had said she could wear clothes here, but Julie preferred to be naked with just a robe.

The view from Jasmine’s modest flat was not spectacular like her old townhouse, but there were trees and birds, and people on the street.

Julie didn’t know why Miss Joyce had sent her to live with Jasmine, only going to the acreage on weekends, and not every weekend; but she had. It might have had to do with Della Ostrander being around most of the time now. Julie had noted the looks the two exchanged and had smiled; she liked people being happy.

She smiled as well at the thought that tomorrow was Saturday and she’d be back there; she enjoyed being with Abigail as they romped with or walked Harry, fed or just watched the llamas, or looked after the horses. And now they had some chickens, which Harry was more interested in than Abby.

And she’d be with her mistress, even though the relationship had…changed so much; and Della, who used her gently; and Becky, who was now the one who punished her, as her mistress watched.

But today she was here, her new home base, and Jasmine had her doing some ad work. “You can help me, boss. You were always the best. And you can’t just sit around.”

So Julie had agreed.

She looked at the prospectus; the product was, to be blunt, adult diapers, although they weren’t calling them that. This would be a challenge.

She sat considering.

Maybe it was true, about life and lemons. And maybe W.S. Maugham, in the end, didn’t know shit.

Maybe he was, in fact, just weird.

And that loser Phillip, too.

(End of Chapter 25)

The End     

Book X   A Sanctuary Of One

(note: all chapter titles in A Sanctuary of One are quotes from Of Human Bondage or by W.S. Maugham)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 24 The Traveller Through Life

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 24 The Traveller Through Life Comes To An Acceptance Of Reality

April 2019, a year after it all began…

Courtney arched her back, moaning loudly, as one of the two women who had rented her for these two days slowly forced her slim hand into the lubricated vagina.

“The bitch loves being fisted,” the woman purred, slapping the reddened ass. Both women had spent time tonight using their hairbrushes and spanking the lovely slave’s buttocks until they glowed a vibrant red; and also until the slave was actually begging, agreeing then to accept their piss, which she did on her knees with one and on her back with the other, each recording the action on their cells. Neither woman had urinated all that much, but they had placed a foot in the slave’s mouth, ensuring she swallowed some of what was there, and then cleaned them.

“Let’s flip her over so you can sit on her face, Cam,” the first woman directed, removing her hand, repositioning the slave and then bringing a rubber strap down hard on the shaved, puffy labia with a satisfying slap as Courtney grunted and her tongue now snaked out to lick the hairy labia an inch above her.

After a few moments, Camille lifted herself up and moved to lie against the bound woman. She then began licking the red-head’s mouth, still tasting of urine, which both women found arousing. It was the main reason they had contacted the mysterious Miss Hannah when word reached them of an escort for hire, in the role of slave, one who was good with golden showers, etcetera. And of course, punishment, for the right fee.

“Do you like what we’re doing to you, sweet bitch?” the woman crooned, smiling.

Courtney was wearing a complete hood with only the mouth and nose exposed, which she was to wear for the entire two days, at Mistress Hannah’s suggestion. “It reduces her to a thing,” Hannah had explained to Gena, who shrugged.

“Ummm, I like this, Miss, mmm, Camille. I feel so good. Am I pleasing you?” Courtney replied, enjoying the woman’s mouth. Camille then began sucking and pulling on the bound woman’s pink, erect nipples. The woman then took a mouthful of wine, and emptied it into the slave’s mouth, smiling up at Rhonda. “Put your tongue out, lovely whore.” She murmured to Courtney, before rising to her knees and lowering her torso down once again on the mouth, the tongue immediately at work on her pussy.

Rhonda was at that moment busy sending some shots and video, as requested, to Miss Hannah. Hannah was actually at Gena’s, having moved in permanently. “It only makes sense,” Gena had commented.

And as Courtney was being used tonight, the two mistresses were at the same time punishing Sydney, the slim woman hanging upside down on the standing frame, legs spread, ankles bound at the frame’s corners, pussy lips reddened and engorged as a result of thirty minutes of flogging and slapping.

Hannah stopped to look at the text message regarding their girl, which she shared with Gena. “So this is your plan, Queen Bitch, our slave rented out?”

Hannah smirked. “Just on weekends I’m thinkin’, G, why not? Variety is the Spice Girls of life, or whatever they say.”

Gena laughed, “Yeah, right, nice update on that, salty ‘ho. Did you even listen to the Spice Girls?” She turned to grip Sydney’s swollen lips and twisted them, causing the young woman to squirm and emit a muffled cry. “Seriously though, this rental thing is your new deal, like next step shit, up from porn shoots?”

Hannah chuckled. “It is. Otherwise like, I’ll lose interest, even with a special slave like our ‘Red’. It makes me hot to have her abused by strangers, you know that. Like I said, variety…”

“Is the Spice Girls of life, yeah, gotcha.”

They both laughed.

The two mistresses took Sydney down and tied her to the bed with the gag in and a blindfold on, then left, heading for a club.

Tonight they would be hunting.

Variety, you see…


Courtney nuzzled her mistress’s neck, needing to establish closeness after her time with the women. She had enjoyed being with them very much, especially Miss Camille, and wanted to return to them at some point. It was odd though, she considered, that she had lost count of the number of women, and now a few men, that she had had sex with since becoming Miss Hannah’s slave. But it all had been to please her mistress, all her partners merging into a faceless blend.

Until this past weekend; it had been different, somehow; she had enjoyed serving the women, being degraded, humiliated and punished by them, and it had aroused her; at times greatly, without the presence of …Hannah.

One of the women, Camille, had removed Courtney’s hood and made love to her, and they had lay together, just as she was doing now, and it had been very nice. More than nice, really; the emotions she had felt were now causing Courtney to feel guilt.  

And so she was surprised that Miss Hannah did not ask more questions, which somehow emphasized the guilt.

“May I ask you something?” Courtney murmured.

“Hmm-mmm,” Hannah replied.

“You’re not going to ask me, um, anything, about the weekend? What they did to me, or like, well, anything?”

Hannah chuckled, “Hey slave, I got fifteen hundred clams and a very positive review, so I’m good. They want to rent you again, so there you go.”

Courtney lay against the woman, feeling as she always did, secure; but unsettled tonight. She wanted to return to the women, especially Miss Camille. She wanted to have sex with her, she was thinking of her even as she lay with her mistress, which was disturbing. “But Miss Gena said you plan to, like, rent me out every weekend.”

Hannah lay still. “You said something, that’s two somethings, slave. I think you might need a little…something, to remind you of your place, hmmm?”

Courtney pressed herself against her mistress, remembering and considering, Camille’s almond eyes in her mind.


April 16

Lori Farkas was just finishing her next day’s plan when a knock at her door made her look up; it was almost five, and callers at this time were highly unusual.

She stood but the door opened and one of the school’s more prominent parents, or in this case, a grandparent, Gloria Vanbeussen, entered followed by her granddaughter, a senior in her last months at the school. The young woman was average-looking and someone Farkas knew as something of an outsider, despite the prominence of the family.

Vanbeussen, who reminded Farkas of Joyce White, tall and imposing, sent a chill down her spine. She came directly to stand a few feet from the teacher’s desk, an odd, almost crooked, smile on her face.

“Um, Ms. Vanbeussen, isn’t it. How may I help you?” Farkas could not help but notice the grin on the face of granddaughter Hailey as well.

“Ms. Farkas, I’ve had an interesting chat with Joyce White, your, um mistress…” Vanbeussen literally beamed as she said this, like a gossip sharing a huge secret, with Farkas feeling a sharp jolt to her guts and a flood of anxiety, “and she has indicated to me that you are, how shall we say, in need of some supervision.” As

Farkas’s cell chimed, Vanbeussen smiled, “Answer that.”

There was no need, as it was a text, stating clearly that Farkas needed to obey Vanbeussen completely, or… The ‘or’ was left to the teacher’s imagination.

“What, um, sort of supervision are you talking about, Ms.…,” Farkas asked quietly.

Vanbeussen chuckled, cutting the teacher off. When White proposed this idea to her, she was delighted. She was a sadist and the thought of punishing a pretty young teacher was unbelievable. She had never liked teachers.

“Stand, and bend over your desk, bitch.” At the word ‘bitch’, Hailey laughed and nodded. Farkas almost expected her to clap her hands.

She stood slowly, then moved, slowly, to the front of her desk, bending over it so her back was to her visitors.

“Lift your skirt, we need to see you are dressed… correctly.”

Closing her eyes and thinking for a moment of just running out or possibly throwing up, Farkas gingerly lifted her skirt to reveal her thigh high nylons, garter belt and mini-thong; the outfit prescribed by White.

She was startled then as she felt first Vanbeussen’s hand, then Hailey’s, caress her naked buttocks, squeezing, spreading and then slapping them.

“Ah yes, dressed as a whore as we were informed. Hailey…” Vanbeussen announced, before leaning over and saying quietly into Farkas’s ear, “Count, and thank your masters.”

Hailey was the one delivering the punishment, using a wooden ruler from the teacher’s own desk. After the counted ten strokes and ten thank-yous, Vanbeussen pulled down the thong and placed it in the teacher’s mouth, then took several shots with the cell White had provided, being very clear (as only Joyce White could be) that the photos were for her use, exclusively.

As Farkas remained in place, her ass stinging, Vanbeussen stated, “Hailey will check on you a couple of times a week, I know you will be totally cooperative, yes? You will be punished by her, but how much will depend on you. You are also to make Hailey feel good in whatever manner she prefers.” Vanbeussen murmured, removing the thong. Hailey continued to grin.

After a moment, Farkas said, “Yes, Ms. Vanbeussen,” in  a soft voice, staying as she was as she heard the footsteps and then the closing of the door.

She remained there, unmoving, for several minutes.


Claire and Christopher lay together as usual. Although their love-making now was only a couple of times a week, they still looked forward to being like this.

And with the White’s divorce now finalized, they had begun to plan ahead.

“We should wait a few months before we marry, right?” Christopher had ventured.

“I agree,” Claire responded. “No need to rush, we’re together as we wish. We’ll tie the knot when things are …right.”


And in Milwaukee, Franklin Jaspers, or Frankie J as he had been known back when he, Kyle, Jason and Terry ‘Meathead’ Czernik terrorized the community, looked with alarm at the notice that popped up on his computer; his email account had been hacked.

What was up with that?


Later in April

Joyce and Della were at the corral again, watching young Abigail. She rode every day now, and it wouldn’t be too long before she would be able to sit a larger horse, although she would clearly never allow Star-shine to be away from her.

“She is quite the talent,” Della murmured, not for the first time, seeing the young rider now control her mount with only her knees, while waving to them.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Joyce smiled, morning coffee as usual in her hand, a calm (for the moment) Harry, gnawing a large rawhide bone by her feet.

As was often the case these days, White felt good. She had just come from a punishment session with Becky Davidson, ending with the woman on her knees pleasuring her, before being left to await her mistress. Slave-Julie, here today, briefly, was being loaned out and used by a number of women, which Joyce found satisfying. New slave Lori Farkas had already provided value, apart from the obvious and the woman really had been a gift, dropping into her lap.

So Joyce felt very content with her slaves and with her world. And her coffee was excellent.

Della meanwhile had been remembering and then carried on, “You know, Joyce, watching Abigail I’m reminded of myself, riding free,” she grinned. “Truth is, I used to sneak out in the morning sometimes and ride my horse stark naked,” she laughed.

Joyce also laughed, a sharp “Ha!” Then added, “Like you’re the only one, woman.” She paused, remembering as well, casually checking Della, before noting, “A warm horse’s strong body between your naked thighs is something every woman should experience,” she smiled, nodding.

The two women stood again in silence for a few moments, each with her own thoughts, then watched as Angel came to stand beside Julie, the two speaking briefly, before they turned and headed back to the house.

In a moment Angel returned with Harry’s leash and stood, watching Abby. They’d walk the growing pup when the girl was done riding.

Angel was aware that ‘Mrs. J’ was now living here a lot; she didn’t ask why, or why the woman spent so much time with White senior, or why Becky (looking like a timid rabbit) Davidson and Sarah were now living here as well, and what went on in the basement, or what the large dog crates were for (not for Harry she knew).

None of that was any of her business, even if it seemed strange and unexplained and she was, well, interested. She appreciated her (very) decent pay and loved Abigail as if the girl were her own child. So she kept her head down, focused on her tasks and asked no questions, about anything. Possibly the most important thing was, she knew her place and accepted it.

“Yeah, it was crazy,” Della started again, chuckling,  wanting to share, not exactly sure why, “my first real orgasm came when riding naked. Damn. I was fifteen and had a time understanding what had just happened. But I never forgot it.” She then laughed. “It was years and years before a man would provide me with one, and it wasn’t as good.” She smiled, shaking her dark head with its short, curling locks.

Joyce regarded the woman. She had known Della for years, but not as part of her scene, or business, just out here and with horses. She had no idea if the woman knew of her other life, she likely didn’t; it didn’t matter, really. Joyce finished her coffee and looked at Ostrander, noting the woman (a little shorter than herself, like most women) still kept herself in fine shape.

She smiled. “Well, there you go my girl, your second mistake was waiting on a man.” Della regarded Joyce with a raised eyebrow and a smile, looking into the blue eyes. “Your first mistake, was not asking a woman,” Joyce smirked, patting Della’s shoulder, letting the hand rest for a moment, with the woman smiling and nodding in return.

Joyce turned to head back to the house; Becky Davidson was still bound and hanging by her wrists in the basement; Slave-Julie would now be kneeling in front of the woman, kissing and licking her as ordered.

White suddenly paused and turned, “Oh, and Della, I would like to see you riding naked, here. It would please me.”

Della chuckled, “Really, Joyce, I…”

White took two steps back to the woman and lifted her chin, holding the woman’s gaze with her own. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Della.”

Ostrander considered a number of things, then replied softly, “Understood…Joyce. Um, tonight?”

White held the chin for a moment, glanced at Abigail and Angel across the corral and leaned forward, kissing Della’s mouth; the woman did not pull back, but responded.

Joyce straightened and nodded, “That sounds fine. Eight, let’s say. It will be getting dark but we’ll put on the flood lights, so I can appreciate you.” She gently stroked the woman’s face, feeling some arousal. Odd. She deliberately looked now at the woman’s breasts, swelling beneath her light sweater, then said, “Oh, and let Neil know you’ll be staying over tonight.”

Ostrander swallowed and nodded, and Joyce continued to the house, Della watching her for a moment.

Becky’s shift started at eleven; couldn’t keep those men waiting.


“You’re going away, like where?” Gena asked.

“Hey, our girl’s looked after and I have some business to deal with. You don’t need to worry, chum.”

Gena stood looking at the tall, departing form. She didn’t have a good feeling about this, but she would have likely figured things out if she knew Hannah’s destination was Milwaukee.



Joanne Hudson, Courtney’s former supervisor at the shelter, smiled at the woman beside her as they sat in the quiet lounge. She had been surprised, very surprised, to get the call from out of the blue for a drink, but very pleased as well; more than pleased… excited. She had heard next to nothing after the texts months ago saying the compelling young woman would not be returning to her job.

“Um, I need to say this, you’ve changed,” Joanne said, not certain exactly how, just knowing that something was…different. Since she was now into her second glass of wine and very relaxed, she felt like digging deeper into what had gone on. She might even admit to the woman that Courtney had been a constant source of erotic thought for her, the years the two had worked together. Or not; who knew.

Hudson, despite a long-time and caring relationship with a man, had always found the red-head hypnotic, catching herself simply staring sometimes, and then imagining herself on her knees, exploring the beautiful woman’s pussy. Hudson had spent six months, years ago, before her marriage, with a woman and had enjoyed it; but that was now years past. This was likely just a catch-up with the compelling redhead.

Courtney smiled and reached out to brush some light brown hair away from the woman’s face. How old? Courtney pondered; late thirties most likely? But the woman had a softness to her that Courtney had always liked, and now, with her mistress’s orders, would explore.

“We all change, Jo,” Courtney said, smiling that smile and looking bewitching, and thinking briefly of Camille, then brushing that gentle, smiling face away from her mind as she focused now on this, feeling excitement. She casually rested a hand on Joanne’s thigh, gently squeezing through the fabric of the slacks.

Joanne chuckled softly and looked down at her hands, subconsciously opening her legs in response to the touch, finding this closeness to Courtney exhilarating.

“Yes, but, um, it’s more. What have you been up to, anything besides the modelling? Ummm, Courtney, what are you doing?” the woman actually giggled softly as Courtney had leaned in and gently kissed her neck, just below her ear.

“You know, I always felt so good around you, sweet Jo. Leaving you was much harder than leaving the shelter,” Courtney murmured, enjoying this moment, this feeling, immensely for whatever reason; and sliding her hand so it rested against Joanne’s crotch; she could feel the heat from the woman’s body.

“Ummm, ahhh, that’s surprising, Courtney, because, you know, uh, I’m, mmm, married, r-right,” Joanne managed to get out, her left hand, with a will of its own, sliding under Courtney’s skirt as they now sat side by side.

Courtney softly kissed the neck and side of Joanne’s face, putting more pressure on her hand and noting Joanne’s legs opening wider. She spoke now into one ear as she gently licked it, feeling the intake of breath, and then Joanne’s right hand covering her own. “I never know what to say when someone says that, about being married. What does that have to do with this, Jo? With what you’re feeling right now?”

“Ummm, oh, fuck,” Joanne laughed, her hand now against Courtney’s shaved pussy, the woman naked beneath her skirt. She picked up her glass and finished her wine, then returned her hand to Courtney’s, pressing it harder into her crotch, and moaning as the fingers traced the ridge of her labia. Joanne actually closed her eyes, a finger of her left hand now moving inside Courtney’s moistened pussy.

“You do like this, don’t you, Joanne? Touching me? You see how wet you make me?”

Courtney was now openly massaging Joanne’s labia, squeezing them, separating them, pushing her finger against where she knew the clitoris was with Joanne’s hand riding hers hard, pressing down, soft moans coming from her.

“You like touching me, don’t you, Jo?”

“Ohhh, mmmm, oh fuck, Courtney, what are you doing? Oh God, yes, mmm, I want to touch you…oh my God.”

Courtney turned the woman’s face and kissed her deeply. When they broke, Joanne looked around quickly, but kept Courtney’s hand in place. “I’ve thought about this, kissing you,” Joanne murmured. Courtney lifted her skirt and turned Joanne’s face to look, “Oh Jesus, Jesus, Courtney, you’re killing me…”

“Give me your phone.”

“Um, why…?”

“C’mon,” Courtney smiled, “just give.”

Joanne moaned and lifted both hands, then gave the device over. Courtney however, continued to massage her companion, who now returned her hands to their spots, the left one inserting two fingers into the accepting pussy, Joanne squeezing it as she moved her fingers in and out, before softly kissing the side of Courtney’s face.

Courtney looked through the contacts on the device, enjoying the kisses, then sent a message off. “Okay, you just texted your hubby-bub that you’re grabbing a bite with a colleague, c’mon.”

And then, looking dazed but highly aroused, Joanne followed Courtney out of the lounge and down the street to Gena’s car. They then headed to the condo, with Joanne’s face in Courtney’s crotch much of the way.


Gena and Hannah sat watching the camera feed from the bedroom where Courtney had taken Joanne. It had been ‘hot’ as they like to say, and now the action had Joanne’s hands tied above her as Courtney was fucking the woman with a mid-size dildo, kissing her aggressively, clamps on the woman’s nipples. This had followed both dog-style and reverse cowgirl positions, as well as, surprisingly, especially to Joanne, anal, with Hudson placed so the camera captured her completely, both what she did and what she said. Courtney had been able, without much trouble, to get the woman to beg for ‘things’.

“So what’s the plan?” Gena asked with a tilt of her head.

Hannah smirked, considering. “You and your plans. Okay, I’m thinking this lovely gal is not going to want the hubster or the charming folks where she works to see or hear this recording, unless the plan is to curl their hair. So…”

Gena smiled, “What, please fuck my fucking ass wouldn’t go over with her board of directors, c’mon?” Hannah laughed and Gena continued, “But she’s really not your type, or mine, H, don’t you think?”

Hannah paused, then shrugged. “She’s a like, very nice-looking woman who, I’m guessing, has never done any shit like this, so this is different, girl. Something different, like I’ve been sayin’. It’s gonna be fun initiating her into our world, teaching her to beg, crawl and serve, like your Slave-Julie. That was fun times.”

Hannah didn’t mention that there was something else about this woman, maybe her clear feminine persona, that attracted her.

Gena chuckled, “Okay, yeah, I’m down with the thing.”

“You have her cell?”

”I do.”

“Good, pass it. Thanks. Okay, I’m texting hubby-dearest to say I’ve had too much to drink and will just stay over at Courtney’s.”

The two mistresses exchanged a look and a smile. “Back in the morning. Now, in a few minutes I’ll go in and intro myself and in a little while I’ll be fucking this woman senseless. There, that’s my plan, Jan.” Hannah paused, that smirk on her face. “’Cuz remember, kid, it’s something different, and variety…”

Gena smirked, “Variety…”

“Is the Spice Girls of life,” they crooned together.

Then both laughed, as from the bedroom could be heard the unmistakable sound of joy, issuing from a woman’s mouth. Two hours later Joanne Hudson was sleeping beside Hannah Yilmaz, Courtney being with Gena.

And then ten days later Hudson, on her knees wearing her new collar, signed a slave agreement, choosing her career and certainty in her life, plus desire she did not completely understand, over staying with her husband and looking for a new job.

She had, in fact, not been home other than to get clothes and have one brief and awkward exchange with one confused and upset man, although he had come to the shelter one day; but she had chosen not to speak with him.

And the same night that Hudson signed her agreement, Miss Hannah allowed Courtney to be rented again, starting the next day and for a full month this time, to Camille, with no restrictions on how she could use her.

“Weird,” Gena had murmured, with a look, “Totally weird.”


Slave-Julie was back in the city; Jasmine in fact (a Gena suggestion) had her for two days (a reunion, as Amelia had also been there).

“It’s nice seeing you, Miss Jasmine,” Julie murmured as they lay together, Amelia now gone, although she would return tomorrow.

Jasmine chuckled, still, after all this time, experiencing mixed emotions when with Julie White. Tonight had been mostly sex and companionship, one might say, with little or no punishment.

“I like having you here, um, Julie,” she crooned, emphasizing the name. “I think the deal is gonna be like several days a month.” She kissed the woman’s mouth and they then kissed for a while, both enjoying this and feeling tenderness. “I, um, like you, boss,” Jasmine whispered with a smile.

“I like you, too. And I like this, very much.”

They embraced and held each other, letting sleep overtake them.


And in Milwaukee, the body of Franklin Jaspers had been found in his apartment; it appeared he had been dead a week or more. Cause of death was a slit throat.

Jaspers, divorced, lived alone. Rumors had it that drug paraphernalia had been found at the scene, but that was not confirmed by police. Other than that, no motive was known or suspects announced.

And there was certainly no reason to connect this death to anything in, say, Philadelphia.

Or anyone in New York.

(End of Chapter 24)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 23 The Difference Is

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 23

The Difference Is That Women Can Love All Day Long

“Hmmmm,” Joyce purred, rubbing her bare foot against Julie’s labia rings, thinking it was time to add the fourth. “well, that is an interesting question.” She sat in thought, remembering. She had only been in her early twenties, married and with a young son, but she was already restless.

Since she and new husband Daniel were both from wealthy families and both exceptional with money management, they lived a fabulous life-style wanting for nothing, except excitement. Joyce had early on learned of Daniel’s orientation and was surprisingly accepting of it; she had already decided a nice little monogamous relationship would not be for her, her group considering monogamy an absurd concept really, only of value as a social tool.

Daniel could do as he wished, it was no matter, as long as he was discreet. They were even, occasionally, ‘intimate’ early on, anyway.

Daniel was, in fact, a charming fellow and great at parties and business, which was pretty much all Joyce required. Christopher’s father had been a ‘hunk’ and great ‘in the sack’, but an ass everywhere else, so…?

Mutual friends then introduced the tall, attractive, and aggressive Joyce White to Zelda Char, believing them to be of like minds, and it was Char who introduced White to the, at the time, very exclusive, high-end life of New York’s wealthy BDSM aficionados. She took to it, as the saying goes, like a fish to water.

“I learned, through some friends, that I had a taste, a gift even, for…domination. It started really as a lark, something to do that was new and exciting. But I soon learned that there were people, some wealthy and connected, even powerful people who had, what shall we say…needs, I guess. There was no rhyme or reason. Why would people in positions of authority seek out someone to dominate them, humiliate them; punish them? It made no sense.”

Joyce sipped her scotch and Julie listened, more interested than she would have imagined. “Anyway, it was what it was, and before long I was attending ‘slave parties’ and taking in clients. Paying clients, for Christ’s sake. I didn’t need the money, heaven knows. It was just a riot. Mad money we called it.”

She paused. “Get on all fours,” she instructed, “here, in front of me.” When Slave-Julie had complied, Joyce propped her feet up on her slave’s back, using her as a footstool, then continued. “I realized something one day, when I had this middle-aged man in for a session. He’d started coming to me every couple of weeks, paying me hundreds of dollars to spank and abuse him. To treat him like, well, shit.”

She finished her scotch and put down the glass.

“Hmmmmff,” she snorted, “I found out he was a circuit courts judge, a man who could literally hold life in his hands. He came to my place because his time with me was like being in a retreat, a sanctuary if you will. Somewhere he could be free, totally free, from any decisions or responsibility, his only purpose there being to serve his mistress and be rewarded. So simple.

It was a laugh, watching him after I gave him permission to jerk off. When he came, a look of angelic peace would spread over his face. He murmured one time that it was the only peace in his life. Crazy, hey?”

They stayed silent now for a while, Julie on her knees, Joyce in contemplation, before she suddenly brought the woman up to her, kissing her full on the mouth. It was a warm kiss and it filled Julie with wonder and, amazingly, joy; it always did, whenever her mistress was loving with her, which seemed to be happening more often. Strange.

They held the kiss for a long while, tongues exploring, before the slave covered her mistress’s throat with soft, loving kisses, which actually produced a moan from the woman.

“I belong to you,” Slave-Julie whispered, emotion rising within her.

Her mistress looked at her with, strangely, affection; she did feel something for the woman, in this role. It was strange indeed. She kissed her slave, deeply. “You may sleep with me tonight; I um, feel like fucking you,” White murmured.

“Mmmmm, yes, mistress. Thank you,” Slave-Julie murmured in response. After that, she was back on all fours, her mistress’s feet again upon her, the voice, warm and relaxed, continuing.

“I learned not to concern myself with ‘why’; not to judge, but to just accept, that everyone has needs, and sex is a powerful motivator. As is the need to belong, to find one’s place, sanctuary or not. Just a place, the place, where one truly belongs.” She paused, remembering.

“A sanctuary of one, as it were.” The woman sighed deeply and poured herself some more scotch. “We are, in the end, always alone, really. Certainly in our minds, dear slave.”

What Joyce did not add, but what came to her mind, was that young Abigail would grow up to find her place, to be what she needed to be; someone who was obeyed; even revered. That was to be her station in life, and the girl’s development could not be left to her mild-mannered son or this submissive, slave wife.

That would never, never do.


The weekend in the mountains had been a great success, but now all had returned home, with only Noah staying on with his grandmother; and Julie had been sent back to New York City.

It was a Tuesday, January morning, bright and crisp, with everyone, except Noah, out by the large corral, watching their girl.

Abigail rode Star-Shine with a relaxed confidence, very uncommon for someone eight and a half years old, Della Ostrander, watching from the rails considered, not for the first time. Standing beside her, Joyce White sipped her coffee in the cold morning air, steam rising from her cup, Della glancing now at the woman.

Della had always found Joyce White an attractive, even compelling neighbor, but she had never tried to be more than helpful; remaining content with her consistent and predictable marriage to a pleasant and decidedly boring man, all these years. Della had never said anything to the woman, but she liked working with Joyce; and not everyone did, according to stories.

And the tall woman was, this morning, in a very good frame of mind, smiling as she sipped her delicious brew.

Joyce had been able to follow up on the rumor about the financial difficulties of her other neighbors, the Davidsons, and, once she had bought from the bank’s manager (an old friend) the family’s first and second mortgage (surprise), and then Becky Davidson’s iou’s from that shady Russian (how on earth did you rack up one hundred fifty k in gambling debt?, she had asked the tearful woman); she had control, period.

Weakness again, Joyce had thought. If you want to control someone, find their weakness.

Once Becky Davidson’s limited options were established with her earlier this very morning, she had relented. What else could she do? Joyce had smiled, always loving the delicious moment of revealed power; more than the sex and abuse that followed, actually.

“A call, one call from me, and you have forty-eight hours to come up with two point four million or the Sherriff arrives, because this agreement is framed like a demand note. Didn’t know that my dear? That’s too bad.”

Joyce had regarded the slim woman as she stood, tears sliding down her face; thirty-four, light brown hair (long, I’ll change that), attractive breasts, appearing more-so on the slender frame; a runner’s ass. My paddle will enjoy that, Joyce had thought with a smile. The woman had undressed as if in a daze, then gone to her knees, eyes staring ahead.

And now Joyce had almost an hour’s worth of graphic, sexual activity on video to add to the financial leverage; and Davidson was Joyce White’s newest slave.

Joyce glanced now at her cell, at the recording of Davidson on her knees, admitting she had actually taken and copied a site proposal from her architect husband’s file, which she had intended to sell to a competitor for twenty-five thousand. She smiled; she owned Becky Davidson completely.

But, although she had enjoyed punishing and using the woman this morning and looked forward to much more, it was not really Becky that Joyce was most interested in; it was her daughter Sarah, Abigail’s friend. Joyce would begin to tutor her granddaughter in the art of dominance, and Sarah would be the first of what Joyce knew would be many girls and women that would serve Abigail White in the coming years.

And with her mother forced to assist, that made it extra pleasurable for an experienced dom like Madame W.

And the mistress had also received a text, sent the previous evening, from Gena in the Bahamas or wherever it was they had gone. The last of Julie White’s money, apart from two thousand left to maintain an appearance of an account, had been siphoned off.

“I gave Hannah a hundred and fifty k,” Gena had stated, although Joyce had not asked. It didn’t matter to her what Gena had done with her slave’s money; she only cared that the woman now had nothing, but her service to her mistress, and her children.

Even her driver’s licence and passport were in Joyce White’s wall safe, her credit cards cut up months ago.

And now, if Christopher wished to carry on with his ‘hussy’, that was of no bother to her, either. He had always been a mommy’s boy and the woman seemed to suit him well. At some point a divorce would happen and Christopher could marry the woman, or not; Joyce really didn’t care all that much. She now had lots of video on both her son and his ‘busty friend’, if needed, for her favorite thing; leverage.

As for her grandson, the plan was already in place to have Noah attend Fairfax Prep once he turned eleven, now only a few months away. Even though entry to the prestigious institution was actually twelve and older, the school had two of Joyce’s former client’s in positions of authority, so having Noah approved was not difficult, especially with his height and maturity and exceptional IQ.

It was an outstanding school that emphasized the sciences, and Noah would be in his element, and also no longer at home. All would be well with Joyce’s world and she could focus on developing Abigail into the powerful woman she knew she could become.

Yes, a fine winter’s morning indeed, she smiled at Della who returned the smile.


Because Mistress Claire had asked to have the slave for some entertainment, and since Joyce liked having the woman used, even if she didn’t think much of Claire, Julie had thus been returned and would be home for a bit, as Noah stayed at the acreage.

“We’ll make sure she serves well,” Claire had texted Joyce, who deleted the message without much thought.

Tonight, as the doctor and Claire were having sex, Sydney knelt outside the room with a naked Julie, listening, the young woman being given the direction from Claire to deal with the slave tonight as she wished, after she and the good doctor were done. Mistress Claire appreciated Sydney’s enthusiasm with punishment; tomorrow the slave would return to sleep beside her bed again.

Smiling now at the unmistakable sounds of a sexual conclusion, Sydney pulled on the leash and led the slave back down the stairs and then into the basement level. She placed her own soiled panties in the woman’s mouth after having her sniff them and then tied the slave over the wooden device Mistress Gena had sent them before leaving for her trip.

Whenever the slave was home, Sydney eagerly whipped and spanked her, to the approval of Claire. Tonight for some reason she had ‘gone buffet’, using all the different spanking devices available. And she had continued for a while, until she saw tears sliding down the struggling woman’s cheeks and the punished, round ass was criss-crossed with marks.

With a grin, Sydney then released her, removed the soggy thong and had the slave lie flat on her back with her mouth open wide.

The young woman then slowly squatted over the mouth, the slave licking the inviting pussy and anus above her without direction. “Do you like licking my asshole, sick whore?” Sydney asked, enjoying the tongue’s explorations.

The slave, aroused by the paddling, murmured, “Yes, Miss Sydney,” and probed with her tongue the now familiar small, pink, puckered hole; after Mistress Courtney, this one was a favorite, as she had become something of an expert on assholes.

Sydney smiled, pondering. “Would you like me to shit in your mouth, worthless cow?”

This had been asked before, and so it was surprising, as Mistress Joyce had specifically stated that scat-play was not allowed, ever; but Sydney returned, like a naughty child, to the idea. It excited her.

“You know I want you to, Miss Sydney, but we’re not permitted,” Slave-Julie said quietly and truthfully. The act was so degrading that she had thought on it frequently; she and Miss Sydney had even discussed ‘just doing it’, but Slave-Julie knew if she was ever asked, she could not lie.

“You are so, mmm, filthy and so disgusting,” the young woman crooned. “Get on your knees, where you belong, and spread your ass.”

Slave-Julie complied, and Sydney inserted a funnel into the slave’s anus, before squatting and urinating into the funnel and thus into the slave. “You work well as a toilet,” the young woman sneered, Slave-Julie simply staying in place and accepting her unique enema.

When Sydney was finished, she bound the slave’s hands behind her and moved to the head, wiping herself off with the hair and face, and then removed the funnel, placing the narrow end in the slave’s mouth, before moving the large dog-water dish, which Slave-Julie drank from, under the slave’s ass. “Do it, bitch,” Sydney commanded, and the slave then expelled the urine out of herself and into the dish.

With a grin, Sydney then forced the slave’s face and hair into the liquid, mopping up as much as she could, then shaking her head as the bedraggled woman sat looking up at her, awaiting direction.

“You are sick, for sure,” she murmured, “and now you need a shower, and maybe a little more punishment.”


Upstairs in the master bedroom, Christopher and Claire lay relaxed and content in the afterglow of their session. It had been excellent, and Miss Claire would make sure their slave watched the whole video of it tomorrow.

From his perspective, it amazed the good doctor that he and Claire still really enjoyed screwing, after several months of it on a regular basis. “Are you happy, love?” Claire whispered, turning her head to the man as he held her from behind. Sydney had now joined them after her slave-session and was sleeping to Claire’s right. The slave was in a dog-crate-cage in the spare bedroom.

White hugged Claire and sighed. “I know I should feel

guilty as hell or something, but I don’t. I, um, just don’t. The children are happy and engaged; Julie does whatever, it’s actually weird having her home for a few days. And I’m as happy as, I don’t know, the proverbial pig in the mud I guess.”

Claire grinned and moved her hips slightly, “But you’re happier in me than in um, mud, hmmmm?”

They both laughed softly.

****      ****

Early March 2019

They had been back for over a week, and now Hannah, with Gena at her side, nodded at the sight before her. The shoot had just concluded as the last of the four men had emptied his loins on the face of the beautiful redhead, tied spread-eagle on the mattress, the camera moving in for a close-up.

All four of the men had fucked the woman in all her holes. Several objects, most critically a beer bottle and a whiskey bottle, had been used to fuck her with as well.

As an assistant untied Courtney and cleaned her face, Hannah and Gena looked into each other’s eyes. “Well, that’s that,” Gena murmured, glancing at a text from Joyce White, indicating she had a mid-thirties woman she wanted to use in a sex video, so would Gena call her; she chuckled, the fun just kept on coming.

“That’s that, for now,” Hannah smirked. “I have, oh, some other ideas…” Hannah then smiled down as Courtney was led on her knees to where they were standing, the woman rubbing her face against her mistress’s boots like a cat.

“Look at me slave,” Hannah directed, and Courtney looked up, her eyes showing arousal, fear and…something else. “You’ve been well-fucked, and this time you were awake for all of it,” she said quietly. Courtney nodded, not sure what to say and not sure if she could speak without becoming overcome with emotion.

Hannah reached down and stroked the lovely face, then looked at the assistant and then back at her slave. “I’ve told this woman she can use you as she wishes, for anything, and you’ll be a good slave, then she’ll shower with you and we’ll go, understood?”

“Y-yes, mistress,” Courtney murmured and the assistant, with a grin, led her to the change room.

Gena looked at the tall woman and shook her head slightly. “You’re rockin’, babe; aren’t you afraid you’ll, like, break her at this rate?”

Hannah regarded her friend with a smirk, remembering Gena’s words about making it clear that Courtney was a slave, special or not.

“Well, isn’t that the point, G,” she smiled, remembering a story her uncle had once told her, years ago, of the asp and the turtle.

But that was a story for another day.

* * * *

Later in March

Becky Davidson came out the back door of the non-descript building that housed a tavern on the main floor and three rooms upstairs used, during the day, for massages. The ‘spa’ was unnamed, but well known to men (and the occasional woman) in the Prattsville area.

Becky looked different than she had in January, before she became the slave of Joyce White, who had greatly enjoyed this whole ‘Davidson affair’ (as she called it) much as she had loved the whole operation of trapping her daughter-in-law.

The essential first task, happening back in January, had been to dig deeply into husband Randall Davidson’s life and business and find the rot; Joyce believed most successful business people had rot, somewhere.

“My God,” Joyce had commented with a laugh when one of her investigators showed her the info, “the wife’s a  damn gambling addict and the husband is a white collar  thief. And here I thought my neighbors were such a decent couple.”

Within ten days of excavating the incriminating evidence, Joyce had maneuvered Randall back to Washington (his business’s head office being based there) forced now to work sixteen hour days to save his company.

When Davidson had been notified of the second mortgage already on his home, something he was planning to access himself in a last ditch desperation move, he sat and considered suicide one long night, rather than face ruin and possibly jail.

Then an anonymous source had come to his rescue, with conditions of course, the main one being he was now living full time in Washington and would be for the foreseeable future, their acreage now property of the bank (in this case the bank of Joyce White).

And thus wife Becky was available to her mistress, when and as she wished.

After less than two weeks of the usual abuse, Becky was broken and totally compliant. Two weeks later, and after three sessions with a pro, Becky began to work at this private massage place, four hours at a time, three days a week.

And Joyce had enjoyed changing the woman’s appearance before starting ‘her new career’ (she’d smirked). The hair was now shorter and platinum blonde; the woman’s eye shadow was much darker and she wore, ‘the kind of clothes a slut wears’, Joyce had laughed, referencing the see-through lingerie, super-tight pants, very-short skirts, tight tops and blouses with missing buttons the woman now owned, all of her other clothes given away by ‘her mistress’.

“The sort of slut who has silver bars in her nipples,” Joyce had taunted after her new slave was tattooed and freshly pierced.

“What will Randall think?” Becky had blurted out emotionally, standing and looking at herself in the mirror her mistress had placed before her.

Joyce had laughed, “Your, emm, hubby is never going to see those tits again, slave (which was true).” Almost as if she had a crystal ball, Joyce White believed Randall Davidson was headed for a tragedy. “He drinks too much and he drives way too fast,” Joyce had remarked to one of her investigators, with a knowing look.

The woman had also installed a camera in the massage room Becky, spa name ‘Sunny’, used; being as Joyce now owned the building, she could do as she pleased.

And each week since starting the work, a naked and kneeling Becky would be made to watch and describe the videos that she and her mistress were watching, of herself giving pleasure to the (mostly) male customers. Joyce particularly liked the ones where the men would come on Becky’s face.

“That’s the face of a true whore, is it not?” Joyce quietly asked, and Becky would generally simply nod, often finding it hard to speak.

But they were now watching a video shot just yesterday, and this one was of a woman being massaged. Up to this point, among all the people Sunny had serviced, four women had received a treatment and all had wanted sexual release, which Joyce found amusing to watch.

The woman in the video, early forties, five-eight and sturdy, with a thick brunette pubic bush, had asked about a nude massage, etcetera and after paying another eighty, the massage had progressed to the woman now sitting on Sunny’s face, a look of distinct pleasure on her own.

“You must have found that easy to manage,” Joyce asked the naked slave beside her, “with all your practice on me?”

“I did, mistress,” Becky murmured, not mentioning that she preferred it to the cocks.

The woman had asked about Sunny being available ‘outside this place’, before leaving the masseuse her cell number. Joyce would assuredly follow up, as the answer had been a definite yes.

‘Sunny’ was now leaving work, being picked up by a local school teacher, Lori Farkas, who Joyce White now also controlled (one that in fact taught at Esterbrook, the main reason she had been targeted).

Finding an obscure video of Farkas made a year before her graduation, where the woman was recorded having sex with another woman and then a man, before doing a line of coke, would certainly end her career at a place like Esterbrook, or almost anywhere really, if made known.

Understanding this, the woman complied and was added to Joyce White’s growing ’harem’, as she jokingly referred to her group now of three. The teacher was young and decent looking and Joyce had plans for her, foremost being she would make sure Abigail was never bothered by anyone at school and that Joyce was notified of anything ‘of value’ going on.

For today, the teacher would take Davidson back to the White’s acreage (the Davidson acreage now being leased to a visiting English businessman) where both would serve and amuse their mistress, before she could leave; Davidson now lived with White full time, sleeping at night in a crate in Joyce’s room, with Slave-Julie or not, or on top of the bed or even with her mistress, if that was the decision. Slave-Becky of course had no say in anything.

Daughter Sarah meanwhile was getting used to wearing only a t-shirt when ‘home’ and sleeping on a dog’s bed on the floor in Abigail’s room, who she helped dress in the morning ‘like a maid’, before making the bed. Joyce had managed to get Sarah into Esterbrook, so Abigail had ‘her little friend’ with her. “I like Sarah,” Abigail had remarked to Joyce.

“I know, and that’s fine, but she is fortunate to live here and be around you, remember that my love, which is why she serves you and needs to show her gratitude.”

Abigail had considered that, noting, “I like making her do stuff.”

Joyce had smiled saying, “I know, and you’re good at it,” as Abigail headed off to join Della, Sarah and Harry in the yard.

Joyce now made a call. It was to Gloria Vanbeussen, a wealthy woman who, like Joyce, had a granddaughter attending Esterbrook, although the girl was a senior.

Vanbeussen, also like Joyce, was a successful business woman, involved in at least two companies Joyce (or Daniel) were invested in.

The two women then discussed an interesting deal, one  that involved Lori Farkas, and some particular stock Joyce wanted.

Things were, all in all, working out very well this year, Joyce considered with a smile.

(End of Chapter 23)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 22 And Everything Went on

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 22 And Everything Went On In The Same Way

Courtney and Julie lay pressed against one another; it was a Christmas treat, their mistresses had said. Over the last few months this had occasionally been allowed. Mistress Hannah, of all people, thought the bonding was of value.

“You getting’ soft, Bitch?” Mistress Gena had smirked. Mistress Joyce didn’t care much one way or the other, just as long as Slave-Julie was still being used on a regular basis.

“I still like this,” Courtney whispered, “being with you, even if it’s only once in a while.”

Julie kissed her; she liked it too, but the decision wasn’t hers so she simply accepted it as she did all things, such as the decision for her to move in with her mother-in-law, basically living there full time as her personal slave, apart from the times she was sent back to New York for Mistress Claire’s abuse and pleasure, something she still enjoyed, not questioning why.

Sydney in particular was aggressive and quite creative when the slave was available, which aroused Julie. 

As far as Noah was concerned, his mother was living with his sister. Abigail however generally only saw Julie on weekends; the rest of the week the woman was in service to Mistress Joyce and others.

“How do you like these?” Julie quietly asked, sliding back slightly and pointing to Courtney’s two tattoos: a stylized ‘H’ and ‘Y’ that sat on the corner of either pelvic bone, the ends of the H and the Y stretched into pointing tails, the tails directing one’s eyes down to the shaved labia.

“I like them,” Courtney smiled; she had already commented on Julie’s ‘decorations’, which now included a second labia ring (more would be added) and a second tattoo; the word ‘whore’ on her left breast. “My mistress likes them and loves to show them off. It shows, um, that I’m her, well, property,” she said softly, and then they lay in silence for a moment. “Do you ever think of how I…changed your life…Doobie?”

Julie moved her face against the woman; how to answer this? She thought every day of what she had become, but amazingly never with regret, which few could ever understand; it astonished even her, when she considered.

“It’s strange, mmmm, Mistress. I still think of you that way,” she chuckled. “There are times when I look at myself in the mirror and I shake my head in amazement. But I know I was looking for something, and I’m glad I found you. And I’m content with this life, even though many would call me a fool. I cannot explain why I feel this, it’s my life and it is very simple. I have a purpose, which is to serve, and I do it very, well.”

She looked into Courtney’s eyes, then down, “I love eating pussies, and…I like the abuse. I wait for it, it doesn’t matter what anyone else might think, I want the sting of the strap on my ass or my pussy, it lights a fire in me; it’s all kind of like a drug.” She smiled, “I have an orgasm pretty much every day.”

Courtney nodded and smiled in return; she could understand this strange confession.

Julie closed her eyes and said quietly, “And my children are safe, Chris is good and I am looked after, my contribution being my service and my humiliation. I am, and this is true, content.”

They caressed each other now, gently, lovingly. They never knew how long they had together or when the next time would be; if there was a next time. Julie now whispered, “But what about you; your life is completely changed, too.”

Courtney sighed. “I know. I guess, ummmm, I was searching like you; jus’ didn’t know it.” She paused, then added, “And hiding, as well. And now I don’t need to hide anymore.”

Another pause followed, before Julie, thinking of the beautiful but hard woman, asked softly, “Do you still like, mmm, belonging to, Mistress Hannah?”

Courtney caressed the other’s face and kissed her full on the lips, then looked at her, her face as radiantly beautiful as Julie could remember, “I do, Doobs. There is no doubt in my mind. But, more important like…” She looked now into Julie’s eyes, her green-blue ones seeming to light up, “I belong to her,” she said quietly.

Julie nodded, understanding as few would.

****               ****               ****

“Well, happy New Year to you,” Joyce White smirked, standing and looking down at her daughter-in-law, who was also standing, but with her arms stretched out and her wrists tied to beams. They were in the basement level of the sprawling home. Joyce had recognized the potential for these wood beams as soon as they first looked the place over.

Today, Abigail was off at a friend’s place, Angel with her, and they would be staying for dinner, so Joyce had a stretch of time for her slave.

Gena and her friends had ‘gone south’ for a few weeks, so Joyce was on her own, but enjoying this.

Julie’s mouth was gagged and weights had been clipped to her, now, three labia rings. Joyce, who years ago had spent many months learning about rope tying, was dusting off those skills. Julie’s full breasts were now bulging purplish brown with white cord wrapped tightly around each, the cord then skillfully tied back around the slave’s neck and down the front and between the thighs, trapping the labia and pushing them, and the rings, out.

Julie’s thick, dark nipples were coated with a layer of recently dripped wax, and Joyce now moved the candle down to drip the substance on the shaved, puffy labia held by the cord, before inserting a finger into the remarkably wet vagina, and chuckling.

“Did you ever imagine,” Joyce then whispered into one ear, “as you walked down the aisle with my son, that this was your destiny?” Julie moaned and Joyce chuckled again. “I thought of things that day; things I’d like to do to you; but I have to admit, it hasn’t been all bad.” The woman paused in her discourse to swing the weights and cause more moans from her captive.

“You have given me a wonderful granddaughter, and I am more pleased every day when I look at her. She is truly someone I can work with and train. Someone to follow in my footsteps. Someone completely unlike you, but very like me. That is true, isn’t it, Slave?”

Julie moaned and nodded her head; Abigail truly was not like her.

****               ****              

Slightly east of Puerto Rico lays the chain of volcanic islands that stretch all the way to South America, if one is so inclined. Known now simply as The Virgin Islands, which both Hannah and Gena chuckled at, they are a pleasure to visit, apart from hurricane season. But certainly January finds the warm sands of the beaches much more welcoming than the snow and cold of New York City.

The two mistresses and their girl had found a beach that suited their taste among the chain of isles; St. Barthelme, with its warm stretch of sand just south and east of Gustavia; a bit of a walk from their cottage, but worth it. It was a nude beach.

The plan between the mistresses had been to go somewhere where they could keep their girl naked as much as possible, and so far, now a week into their stay, their plan had worked well.

The two women were presently lying on their reclining chairs, an umbrella between them for shade, sipping cocktails as Courtney swam and frolicked in the warm sea wearing only a breast harness. If a woman (or two; men were aggressively discouraged) happened to make contact with her, she would return to her owners and they would decide if their girl was available. Generally she was, as long as the action happened not far from their ‘command center’ and they could watch it as they wished.

Courtney had proven to be a very popular attraction.

As they relaxed, Gena gave Hannah a look and sent off a text message, before saying, “That was Dakota, for fuck’s sake. She’s finally back in town, asking what’s up.”

Hannah laughed; it had been a while. “And you told her, what, it’s like a new year and everything?” Hannah asked with a smile.

Gena snorted again. “I told her we’d get in touch when we get home. We should probably let her have some time with our slave, don’t you think? It will likely blow her mind.”

Hannah chuckled, “Having our slave on her knees or on her back is the plan, man, isn’t it?”

Gena chuckled, then sat in contemplation, finally asking, “So,” she placed her empty glass in the sand, “are you ever going to tell me what the hell went down when you went to Philadelphia end of bitchin’ July? Gawd, it’s going on six months for shit’s sake. You said you’d talk,” Gena complained.

Hannah sat in contemplation; she had said that, but had never found…the time. Both Gena and her slave had pestered her, but for some reason she had remained silent.

As for, the thing itself, the last indication was that the disappearance of Kyle Gilbertson remained an open case, but no longer one under investigation. Maybe somewhere in her mind Hannah thought it best to just leave everything…buried, pun intended. She had looked into the crew, and found info on all three men, including Thomas who had died the same week she had taken care of Gilbertson; strange. But it was too soon to ‘do anything’ with the remaining two. The time would come for that.

Hannah turned to Gena. “Okay, tell you what, G-bitch. You tell me the story of super-dom Joyce White and how the whole thing with Slave-Julie went down, and I’ll tell you what happened in Philly. Hmmmm?”

Now it was Gena’s turn to ponder.

She thought back to that day, now almost nine months ago, when a curious request had come her way.


April 2, 2018 New York City

Gena was settled into the booth, the warmth of the leather a welcome from the cold outside. The lounge was ‘older high class’, the kind of place Joyce White, not Gena necessarily, frequented.

The young woman had been surprised to get the call from White, someone she had been acquainted with for several years but not, she believed, close.

“Well, my dear, thank you for meeting me,” Joyce smiled. At fifty-eight, she was a tall, trim woman with short, blonde / grey hair styled in a modified pixie-cut. One immediately noticed the woman’s breasts, as they were large and set-off with a low-cut Miyake blouse. Her tight, black slacks showed off her long, athletic legs. The woman exuded confidence and one would not be surprised to learn she was among the most respected dominatrixes in New York City. Gena had been delighted to share a whip with her now and then over the years.

“My pleasure, Madame W. How can I, like, help you?”

Joyce smiled and sipped her expensive bourbon. “We have been at several, mmm, functions together over the years and I know Madame Z regards you very highly, Gena…”

“She trained me, taught me most things, really,” Gena interrupted and Joyce smiled. Z, in reality Zelda Char, had been the first woman to hand Joyce herself a whip. She was then, at twenty-four, only a couple years younger than Char but a total novice at BDS & M; Char soon changed that.

“You know a Jasmine Downie?” Joyce asked.

“I do, socially. We haven’t done much more than hung out a little. Why?”

“Well, she happens to work with my, um, daughter-in- law. I have a little, well, idea.” Joyce showed Gena a photo, “You know this gorgeous woman?” The shot was of a red-head in her mid-twenties.

“Oh, absolutely. That’s Courtney Farrell.”

Joyce smiled. “Hmmmm, very good, Gena. Tell me all you know of her.”

Gena had filled Joyce White in on what she knew; Courtney was a reserved individual who naturally attracted others and who had been friendly with Gena and another woman, Hannah, for a while now. She did not seem like your typical lesbian even though she was feminine for sure; she clearly had no use for men. She didn’t seem to be in any long-standing relationship, except with the occasional ‘slave’.

“She attracts passive women to her, you’re saying. Is she a strong dominant?” Joyce asked.

Gena had pondered this; she found Courtney extremely interesting and was very attracted to her, herself. “I don’t believe she’s dominant at all, actually, Miss W. Passive women seem to just fall for her and she kinda uses them. I think it’s all like a game to her. Why, what are you thinking?”


What Joyce White had been thinking on was a plan to entrap Julie White, using Courtney Farrell. Something she had been considering for a long while. White Sr. believed her daughter-in-law to be a submissive and very likely bi-sexual, unconsciously looking and waiting for the right woman and most likely, mistress, even if she didn’t realize it yet. She had, Joyce knew, been involved in several flings, with men it was true, but Joyce saw something in the affairs; one of the men involved was actually an associate of hers and a couple of hours of video had provided lots of info about he daughter-in-law’s tendencies.

But Joyce’s experience had warned her that for her plan, someone like Gena (or anyone she knew) might scare Julie off before she had time to settle in to ‘her role’; but this Farrell woman seemed like the perfect ‘bait’; alluring and not threatening; and manageable, with Gena’s help.

At Joyce’s request, the young woman had reached out first to Jasmine and succeeded in introducing Julie to Courtney through her. Of course, Gena had managed to plant knowledge of a ‘potential sub’ in Courtney’s mind, but one never knows how relationships might work out.

As it turned out of course, Courtney and Julie were a perfect fit. They were genuinely attracted to each other, and with Gena monitoring, nature pretty much did its thing. And now here they were.

Gena looked over at Hannah, thinking how they had both lusted after the elusive Courtney, joking that whoever succeeded in seducing her would buy the other dinner. Then it had become a challenge, a goal; capture this woman, one that Gena soon realized she would not win, but Hannah might.

“Okay,” Gena began, “I hope you’re ready for this.” She then started speaking, and in one long rush gave her friend the entire story.

After listening in silence throughout, Hannah now sat with a smile on her face, the sun on it warm and relaxing. She then noted a slim woman in conversation with Courtney, and her smile grew.

Although Gena’s story was news to her, she was not surprised, knowing the reputation of Joyce White as a master schemer and manipulator. Perhaps because she had always been into ‘darker’ desires than Gena, she had heard more. Whatever, White was legendary, to her.

Hannah spoke at last, “So, you decided not to let me in on any of that?” She said, quietly.

Gena made a gesture with her hand, like shooing away a fly, “Why, H? I had no idea what would go down. I didn’t know, then, that you were so super hot on our bitch, you’re hard to read, girl. Miss W shared stuff in, like, confidence, right? You didn’t know or care about Julie White. You and me targeted Courtney together after that, and I was always straight with you on her, so what the fuck?”

Gena looked mildly at her friend as Courtney and the woman now came out of the water, walking towards them together. “So, why would I have told you anything about Joyce White or her plans?”

That was, in the end, a fair question, and Hannah thought this over, as the woman with Courtney now moved away, heading back to her beach towel and a friend who was lying naked there; the friend happened to be male, so that might be a problem. Hannah was going to have her slave serve men, but they would be ones that Hannah selected, and the scenario would be of her choosing. She wanted Courtney used in a very specific way, to start.

Considering, what Gena had said made sense; Hannah had not needed to be included early on, although she was interested in all the scheming. “Okay,” she said, “so, you know why I was going to Philadelphia?”

Gena glanced at her friend, “Gilbertson, Courtney’s rapist.”

“Check,” Hannah confirmed, then sat for a moment. Once the information was out, she could not get it back. But at that point Courtney had arrived and knelt beside Hannah, her eyes downcast to the sand.

“Mistress,” she said softly.

Hannah allowed herself a smile; she still enjoyed the pure submissive nature in this particular woman, now that it had been laid bare, now that the woman had embraced it. With some it was a charade, but not here. And it provoked a response in Hannah; to push her girl. “Yes, Slave. You’ve met some new pussy I see?”

Courtney smiled at that, having lost track of the number of ‘pussies’ she had met over the last few months; all of no consequence to her really; it was all about pleasing her mistress. “Yes, her name’s Maria. She would like to spend some, um, time with me, as she put it, if you approve.”

“What about her, uh, companion?”

“That’s actually her brother.”

Hannah considered. “Mmmmm, okay, although, you remember my dirty whore, I told you that I do want to see you with some men at some point? I’ve already discussed another gang bang shoot for you, right, but with men this time. Good ol’ Marcie’s looking after things.”

Courtney swallowed; this probability causing her some concern, “Y-yes, Mistress, I know, but it’s just Maria for now.”

Hannah chuckled and regarded the obedient figure, then looked over at Maria, who was standing and watching from her towel. “Lie back and spread your legs.” Courtney quickly complied, oblivious to anything but her mistress. “Who does that pussy belong to?”

Courtney swallowed again and looked down, knowing her place, “It belongs to you, Mistress.”


Courtney had to work to prevent a moan from escaping her lovely lips, “And, you like to see it being used, Mistress. It, mmm, pleases you.”

Hannah smiled, not sure why that was true but accepting that it was. She liked seeing Courtney being used. She glanced again at Maria who was standing now with a smile on her face. “Very good, our slutty, little love-bucket. Okay, bring your friend back to your towel here, and you two have fun. And tell her not to be gentle with you, right?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Courtney murmured, standing, brushing sand from her knees and heading to Maria. Courtney’s towel was far enough away from them that she and Gena could talk without her hearing.

“Okay, uh, that was fun, Mistress H,” Gena said, as they watched their slave’s naked buttocks. “And so?”

“Well,” Hannah sighed. It was times like these that she, like some others, regretted giving up smoking; maybe she’d start again. “I tracked the bastard down, right?”

“Figured that,” Gena said quietly.

“And I waited for him right in his own fucking house. Tasered his ass when he came out of the shower and tied the bastard up. I tortured him until he gave up the story about our girl.” She chuckled softly, “He even gave me the names of his crew.”

The two women sat watching the sea and then their gaze went to Courtney and Maria, as they settled on the towel, not seeming the least concerned with where they were or what they were about to do.

Maria was likely late-twenties like them; shorter than Courtney with short, black hair and olive skin; her pubic bush was thick, profuse and luxuriant. She had a toned body that indicated she likely worked out; and she was aggressive.

She glanced over to Gena and Hannah and then pushed Courtney to her knees on the towel, slapping her face and grabbing a handful of red hair. As Maria looked over, Hannah gave a ‘thumbs-up’ and then the woman swung Courtney into a sixty-nine position, the redhead on the bottom with her face in Maria’s dense, black bush.

The part of the beach they were on was at one end, bordered by some large rocks, before the beach curved slightly and carried on round a bend. There were not a lot of people out yet today, so there was not a great chance of being scrutinized. As well, Gena and Hannah’s chairs and umbrella blocked the view from behind for the most part so the two women, now clenched together with faces buried in each other’s sex, were able to have their fun without causing much of a ruckus.

Gena and Hannah exchanged smiles. “And then what, H.? I think there’s more, hmmmm?”

“Yeah,” Hannah spoke without emotion, looking directly into Gena’s eyes. “I killed the son of a bitch.”

Gena sat in silence; it was what she was expecting, to be sure, yet it still hit her like a punch. She looked at her friend. “I always knew you were dangerous, H.”

Hannah smiled.


Back in New York City, Dr. White, Claire and Sydney had their place to themselves. Joyce with Julie, Della Ostrander and Angel, surprisingly, had taken Noah and Abigail snowboarding in the Adirondacks; no mention of granddad Daniel. Noah wasn’t as keen as Abigail on sports, but he was actually a pretty good snowboarder; much better than at riding, so he was okay with everything. And he did really enjoy the llamas (which he would get to feed and pet when visiting) and the growing lab pup, named Harry.

Christopher was very much enjoying things now too, as Sydney, with Claire’s guidance, had become a regular visitor to their bed. She liked her nanny role too, surprising to her, and definitely loved the money. She was also most happy doing what Mistress Hannah asked, with the possibility, maybe, of one day moving in with her full time.

All in all, the young woman was content with how her life had changed. And she also greatly enjoyed abusing submissive Slave-Julie, when she had the chance, her quiet demeanor hiding a true sadistic streak.


Now past ten, and with both grandchildren tuckered out from their day on the slopes, Joyce felt comfortable having her slave naked and kneeling before her, in her room. They were staying at a high-end resort, of course, this one near Lake George. Abigail and Angel were together in one room; Joyce, Noah, Della and Julie had their own rooms, although Slave-Julie’s, adjoining Joyce’s, was just for show. She would be with her mistress until six in the morning, anyway, on the floor or maybe in the bed.

“What are you?” Joyce whispered, taking a sip of her aged and imported scotch and regarding the naked woman waiting before her.

Julie closed her eyes and murmured, “I am your slave, Mistress Joyce. I am your…property.”

Joyce White smiled. It had been almost fifteen years, but she, like Hannah thousands of miles away, suddenly felt like having a cigarette. “I knew that, the moment I laid eyes on you, slave. You know, I was alarmed that Christopher wanted to marry you, but then I learned of your pregnancy and understood. It’s taken time but now look at you, content in your role. That is true, isn’t it?”

Julie swallowed and nodded; it was true. She didn’t need to say it, Joyce White knew it; this was just a little game she liked to play. “Do you have anything you’d…like to ask me, Slave?” Joyce unexpectantly asked.

Julie was taken by surprise, and sat in thought. Finally she murmured, without looking up, “How did you, um, get into this?

How did it, start, Mistress?”

(End of Chapter 22)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 21 Tragic and Pitiful

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 21 Tragic And Pitiful, To Be Alone

A block from the man’s house Hannah again parked her car, in a different spot than earlier, but still near the alley, which she hurried down. Entering the unlocked patio she settled into her hiding place, lucky to have found somewhere that could accommodate her long legs. Beside her was the backpack containing her ‘materials’; all she believed she would need to deal with this…jerk.

Hannah heard the large door to the attached garage open, then close; then the car door slam; then the unlocking of the inner door. Hannah peered out after a minute to see the back of Gilbertson as he talked on his cell and drank a beer. “Yeah, I’m beat. Think I’ll just crash tonight. Right. Later.”

Good, she thought.

Gilbertson headed upstairs and in a few minutes Hannah heard the sound of the shower running. Pulling on her gloves, and grabbing her bag, she quietly made her way upstairs. She took out a couple of items from her bag and knelt in the darkened doorway of a room just down from the bathroom. Her adrenalin was coursing through her veins and she felt incredibly alive; and impatient.

After what seemed like a long time but was only fifteen minutes, Gilbertson emerged, towelling his head. He was only a few feet from her when Hannah stood and hit him in the chest with the Taser prongs; Gilbertson shook violently and collapsed, with Hannah on him like a flash, dousing his eyes with pepper spray.

With the man half-dazed and blindly clawing at the burning liquid, Hannah grabbed one of his long legs and hauled the body down the stairs, with the man’s head and torso banging all the way down. The woman did not stop until the body came to rest on the main floor. Taking a solid wooden fish bat from her belt, she delivered two stunning blows to Gilbertson’s head.

With some difficulty because of the weight but with her adrenalin still pumping, Hannah was able to lift/drag the naked, semi-conscious man up onto the living room armchair, looping a cord around his throat and tying it tight to a rear leg. She then looped plastic ties tightly around the wrists just as Gilbertson began to moan and come to.

She had time to tie down the ankles before Gilbertson’s arms and legs jerked hard on their tethers. Hannah dashed upstairs and brought down her bag, digging the duct tape out she pressed a large chunk over the man’s mouth. She now brought the fish bat down violently on his right, then his left, hand, with the muffled, gargled screams clearly signalling the intense pain. From where she stood, Hannah could see at least one broken finger on each hand, hands that would be of little concern to her now.

She then went to the kitchen and took out a beer from the fridge, drinking half of it. She then soaked a cloth with cold water and returned to her victim, roughly wiping his eyes. She next headed back upstairs and found the man’s cell; she’d need that, later.

Then she sat down and waited for the bound Gilbertson to become more awake; she wanted him to see her and be fully aware of what was happening to him.

After about thirty minutes, his puffy eyes opened slightly, and he looked around, then tugged on all his bonds. She knelt by him and tapped his broken finger with her bat, causing him to flinch and producing another muffled cry.

“Hey, Asshole, I’m going to take off the tape, and if you make any noises. I’ll break something else, anlamak?” She asked, suddenly recalling her Uncle’s favorite Turkish word. “Understand.” She tapped gently on his hand and Gilbertson frantically nodded his head, as Hannah ripped off the tape.

“Who th’ fuck…” was all he said before Hannah brought the bat down on his right knee and he cried out. She then shoved the bat into his open mouth and down his throat, choking him with it.

“You only speak when I say, you fucking asshole!” She hissed into his face and then cracked his head as a warning. He peered through reddened slits of eyes and nodded; blood oozing from a cut on his scalp and hatred oozing from him, generally.

Hannah laughed and sat down. “We’re gonna’ have a little talk, my friend. If you tell me what I want, there’ll be less uh, pain for you…”

The man just sat, staring malevolently.

Hannah finished her beer. “I want you to think back, back to Milwaukee and your high school years. Back to when you and your crew used to target girls, then grab ‘em, force booze down their throats and rape them. Remember those days, Kyle-o? The good ol’ days, hmmmm?”

Gilbertson continued to stare, but now there was something in his eyes besides hate; fear? That would make sense; but it was more than that. After several minutes of a silent stand-off, Hannah went to her bag and returned with a bottle, the contents of which she now poured onto Kyle’s genitals.


“Shussssh,” Hannah put her finger to her lips and then produced a lighter, Kyle’s puffy eyes opening as wide as they could in alarm. “This is cooking oil, Fuck-nuts. I’m gonna barbecue your junk if you don’t start talkin’.”

With an effort, Kyle admitted that back in the day he and his friends had had some ‘fun’ with some girls. When Hannah flicked the lighter and the flame appeared, the man gabbled in a rush, but Hannah did decipher how they used an old shed, how they picked their targets, how they left them half-naked in their backyards, and how everyone was afraid to go to the police.

Hannah turned the talk then to a pretty, young, red- head, and with the lighter’s flame licking his upper thigh, Kyle admitted to how they had watched her; it was his idea. He had seen her and wanted her; he had gone first, taking her virginity. They had all raped her and then three of them had raped her anally. He even told Hannah the names of the others, one of course being buddy Jason. 

“Now, what was her name, Asshole? Tell me…”

Kyle swallowed with some difficulty. “F-Farrell. Courtney Farrell…”

“What happened to her?”

“Dunno; she l-left. Moved away.”

Hannah stood; she’d heard all she needed.


A few miles away from Gilbertson’s, Danielle Franca was just closing the back door when she heard Jason pull up out front. She hid behind a tree and looked at her watch; two minutes to seven.

After a minute, she moved silently to the front door and knocked.

“Come in Bitch,” was the command.

Danielle entered Jason’s house, her heart pounding and her mind made up; she had reached the end of the road. As it turned out, she needn’t have snuck in and hidden her gun, as Jason was getting changed.

When he did come out of his room, yelling “Why the fuck is the t.v. …?” He stopped, as Danielle had her Glock raised and pointed at his chest.

He’s just a silhouette, he’s just a silhouette, she kept repeating in her mind.

“Gimme that you fucking whore,” Jason growled, coming forward. The three shots sounded like cannons to Danielle but that didn’t matter; what mattered was that all three bullets made holes, clustered neatly in Jason’s shirt, surrounded by blood slowly soaking the white material of his tee. The man was dead before he hit the floor, and he lay, staring blankly.

Her mind running wildly and fighting panic, Danielle lowered the volume a little on the television but left it on and grabbed the bag she had hidden behind the couch. She threw Jason’s laptop, cell phone, wallet, watch and ring into the bag, and went out the back. After closing the locked door, she pulled a crowbar out from under the stairs and forced the back door open, damaging it. She then shut it and threw the tool back under.

Next she pulled her hoodie up, grabbed her bag and hurried down the alley and then the next, to where she had hidden her bike. She then began peddling furiously. She managed to cover about ten blocks before she had to jump off the bike as a wave of nausea hit her.

She remained kneeling in the scruffy grass by the side of the road; but it was over, at least this part. She’d done it, her bondage was removed.

And what would be, would be.


Hannah injected a sedative into Gilbertson’s shoulder. She waited a few minutes, watching. She needed him under control but still conscious, at least awake enough to get to the garage, which is where she headed now, the man’s keys in hand and her pack with her. Opening his car’s trunk, which was as spacious as she had hoped, she placed the plastic sheet in, pressing down the corners.

Returning to the living room, she re-taped her victim’s mouth and then unclipped all his ties, lifting the groggy man to his feet and guiding, supporting him out to the garage before being able to topple him into the waiting trunk. With only mild resistance, she got Gilbertson into a fetal position and placed a new clip around his knees, ankles and then his wrists.

Returning inside, she straightened the living room and stashed her things into her pack, checking twice that nothing was left behind. She took the man’s cell and checked the list of contacts; she had days ago found out the name of his assistant, and when Hannah located it now she sent a text indicating that he/Kyle would not be in until Tuesday. After that, Hannah didn’t care. She wiped her beer bottle and placed it, and his, back in the case sitting by the fridge.

She left one light on and then, slipping his phone into her pocket and grabbing a ball cap from the rack, she locked the back door and left through the inside garage door, locking it behind her. She closed the trunk and got into the car, pulled the ball cap low on her head, opened the large door and drove out and down the street to where her rental was parked, taking a moment to grab the shovel and the thin box.

Back in Gilbertson’s car, she headed for the seventy-six; her destination was outside the city and she would be heading northwest.


Danielle lay huddled on her bed. She had managed to ditch the gun down the alley from her house, somewhere she believed safe. She didn’t want to just throw it away. She would drop the wallet somewhere and it would be found and hopefully someone would use the credit cards.

She had changed clothes and the ones she was wearing were now in the washing machine. The enormity of what she had done was hitting her and Danielle just lay, tears streaming down her face, believing that at any second a knock would be coming to her door.


“Well, this is strange, and well…strange,” Christopher White blurted out as he and Julie made their way to the corral to watch Abigail, and then the llamas.

Julie sighed, thinking, way more than strange dear, but saying, “It’s kind of like living in a world of dreams. Everything has changed. But I can’t go back, Chris. I can’t.”

They walked a few steps before Christopher stopped, and fidgeted. He was clearly agitated by something but struggling to get it out. Without looking at Julie he stammered, “I s-saw, um, a video of you. Um, couldn’t make sense of it. Thought I knew you. Jeez, eleven years and you don’t know, like completely know someone.”

Julie didn’t know exactly of what her husband was speaking; she was aware of the fact she had been videoed almost from the start. Whatever it was, it would be graphic and disturbing for him.

He continued, “I still care for you, Jules, very much. I don’t think that can ever change.”

She looked up into his face, reached out and touched his hand. “Thank you, dear Christopher. I will always care for you, no matter what.” Surprisingly, it was true, but disconnected from what she now was.


Hannah drove until she passed the sign for Manatawna Farms, to a side road that led into a wooded area to the north; she had already been here, earlier that day. She had noted that once off the highway, her destination was one point four miles along this stretch and she watched her odometer until that distance was reached. She smiled as she recognized the spot. She drove into the tall grass about fifteen feet, stopping before the trees began.

Hannah got out, grabbing the shovel from the back seat and then walking several feet until she reached a distinctive Dogwood tree, where she then turned left with the tree and brush growth quickly thickening. She came to a mound of earth, beside the hole she had dug earlier. The hole was only three feet deep, but it had taken her a couple of hours to dig.

She stuck the shovel in the earth pile and went back to the car. With effort she hauled the now unconscious body, along with the plastic sheet, out. Once on the ground, it wasn’t all that hard to drag the body on the sheet to the grave, as a grave it would be. Hannah pulled the body off the sheet and onto the earth, then returned to the car; coming back carrying her pack, with several garbage bags and the long, slim box.

She flipped Gilbertson’s body onto its front, then snipped off the plastic ties, pulling the legs flat. She stood, for a moment in thought, then opened the slim box and removed its contents: a special sword from Saudi Arabia. She had seen the sword in a pawn shop two days after Courtney had told her of the rape. Everything had just come to her then as she stood and regarded the impressive weapon. It was very expensive but that didn’t matter.

It was a ceremonial sword used for beheading, and that was what Hannah wanted.

Standing and taking a breath, she did the move she had practiced in her mind a thousand times, and the sword flashed down and through the prone form’s neck. It was almost comical, Hannah remarked to herself, how the head rolled off with a little jig. It lay face down.

Hannah allowed the blood to flow for a few minutes; blood had never bothered her. Then she pulled the headless form into the grave, tossing several rocks she had collected onto it.

She sprinkled a shovel-full of dirt onto where blood had pooled, and then began filling the hole. This went much faster than the digging of it had gone, she noted to herself.

Once the hole was filled, the top turf in several sections was pulled back into place and stamped down. There was some dirt left over that Hannah sprinkled it around the sides and tossed it about, then gathered some leaves and other debris and threw that around as well. She walked a few paces, stopped and looked back.

The scene appeared natural to her. This area was a preserve; a designated green space. Nothing should happen to it for a long time.

Taking one of the garbage bags, she stuffed the sheet in and then went around gathering more leaves and twigs; finally she approached the head. With a minor twinge of revulsion, Hannah lifted the head by its hair and quickly tossed it into the bag with ‘the other junk’, she thought to herself. She tied this bag and put it into a second bag. It was heavier than she imagined. Then she gathered the rest of her things, including the slim box.

She tossed the garbage bag into the trunk and backed the car onto the road, then headed back to Philadelphia. She had already located a suitable dumpster for disposing of the…remains.

And now she also had three names; the names of the other rapists. She’d get to them in time. After getting rid of the head, she’d drop the man’s car back off at his house and destroy his phone.

Then she’d head home. The evening was beginning to darken, but she would make it to New York before midnight.


Gena glanced at her cell, surprised at getting a text this late, then looked at Courtney, who was lying beside her. The woman’s eyes were open but she remained silent. Gena picked up her cell and read the message; it was from Joyce White. It read simply, “Thank you.”

Gena then heard her door open and then close and felt Courtney stir beside her; but she remained in place. After fifteen minutes, however, Gena could not resist. “You stay here. I mean it. If we need you, we’ll bring you out.”

Courtney nodded in silence; Gena could be quite the task master.

Moving cautiously into the living room, as it was in darkness, Gena saw Hannah, sitting on the couch. “What are you doing, H?” She asked quietly, sitting gently beside the tall, still, almost menacing form.

“Sittin’,” Hannah murmured, and Gena could see the small smile on the woman’s face, as a thin shaft of light from the hall fell on the couch.

“Uh, yeah, figured that. But, you know, why are you sittin’, in the dark, by yourself?” Hannah reached out a long arm and brought the smaller woman against her. Surprised, Gena said, “Courtney’s waiting in the other room, oh Mistress.”

Hannah sighed, “I don’t want to see her, not just yet. Just be quiet okay, G.” She then leaned forward and snorted the line of coke from the coffee table. Wiping her nose, she snaked her arm around the smaller woman once again. “Just be quiet and let me hold you, okay?”

“But what happened? What…?”

“Shhhhuuuush,” Hannah whispered. “Just be still. I’ll talk later.”

And so the two settled against one another, in the darkness.

****          ****

Denise Gilbertson came out of the small, brick building into the morning light, carrying one suitcase and with her bag over her shoulder. Many, however, would not have recognized her right away, as her hair was dyed and cut differently and she was wearing glasses as opposed to the contacts she had worn for years.

More importantly to her, and why she was leaving this particular building, was that inside it was one of the top document forgers in the northeast. Having a cousin with a criminal record had finally paid off, as he had hooked Denise up with the man, who had taken six thousand dollars, but today had given her a new name with a new driver’s licence and even an American Express credit card, with her address listed in Wichita, Kansas.

Which was where she was going as she climbed into the cab that would take her to the bus depot.

****      ****

Danielle Franca stood, staring at the calendar; it was exactly one month since that night. A month where she seemed to start at every sound, where she felt herself constantly looking over her shoulder. A month where every day she expected the knock on the door and the police, telling her that she was under arrest.

But here she was, looking at the calendar. She had of course followed the news, obsessively, all month. Jason Thomas’s body had been discovered the next day, and each day since seemed to begin for Danielle with the terror of it. It was odd though, his jerk buddy Kyle had apparently disappeared shortly after, and Kyle’s wife, the woman who was at the barbecue, was also missing. Weird, and nothing to do with her.

The news reports, if you could believe them, hinted that the police were looking for a connection. A week passed, then another, and another, and still no phone call to Danielle; no knock on her door.

She was afraid to relax, but it seemed that, maybe, she was truly free.

Now, sitting at her computer, she read again the email from her ex-boyfriend. They had broken up when he entered the marines, but now two years later he was stationed in New Orleans and wondering whether Danielle would consider coming down for a holiday, and a visit.

She was due some time off. Maybe she should go.


****      ****

Ashley Johnson topped up the two cups for the middle-aged couple and headed back to the counter. Her boss, Mr. Jackson (he liked things formal, even in a diner) considered again that Ms. Johnson seemed somehow too qualified for this job, but why should he worry? She had been here, what, two months, and she had never missed a shift. Granted, she kept to herself, but what was wrong with that?

When Ashley took her break, she went out back to catch some sun. It was fall, and one never knew when things would turn cold, global warming be damned. She had never experienced a Kansas winter, so she didn’t really know.

What she did know was that life was a bitch. What kind of Karma would see that useless prick Kyle disappear just when she got her act together and was able to leave Philly? And now, with the fact that Denise Gilbertson had cleaned out the couple’s joint savings account and vanished, she was someone who the authorities really wanted to get a hold of.

The old Denise was certain one of his bad deals had caught up with jerk Kyle, but what did it matter?

Ashley just knew that Denise Gilbertson needed to stay lost, too, likely forever.


Julie lay on the floor beside the bed in the master bedroom. From the bed could be heard the slap of flesh and the moans of arousal, arousal which she felt as well.

There was a reporting break of a few days at their schools, for both Abigail and Noah, so the children were in Prattsville, along with Angel and Sydney, leaving just Chris, Claire and, for three days Julie, in New York. Chris never asked why Julie just came and went. Truth is he had never really recovered from the video clip he’d viewed; choosing to block the whole thing from his mind.

Tonight, Slave-Julie was repeating an action Mistress Claire had first tried, successfully, a few weeks back; she was lying by the side of the bed where Claire slept, the side away from the room’s door and Chris.

So not only could the slave hear the sex, she could hear her husband talking, lovingly, to a woman who was now clearly his partner and the slave’s superior, a point Mistress Claire made whenever Julie was back at her old home.

The mistress had instructed Julie to masturbate as she lay in the dark and listened, so she was busy with three fingers now within her.

The first time they had tried this, Chris did not come, but the second time he did, and the slave had followed her mistress in the darkness to the ensuite, their movement silent on the carpet. After entering, Mistress Claire had sat on the toilet, legs open, ooze dripping from her vagina, which the slave cleaned off devotedly, even licking inside for a few moments as Claire sat, eyes closed.

Tonight, as Slave-Julie lay feeling her own arousal now definitely building, she heard the sounds of her  husband’s climax, then the soft voices of lovers. Then Mistress Claire climbed out and over the prone figure and headed to the bathroom, followed by her slave.

Once she was cleaned off completely, the mistress then whispered to her slave how disgusting and pathetic she was, adding that if she had her way, the woman would be sold to drug dealers or bikers, her slave agreeing, thinking to herself that being a biker gang slave could actually be…exciting, for a little while anyway.

Mistress Claire then urinated into her slave’s mouth, allowing her to empty it tonight into the basin, before cleaning her. Then the two made their quiet way back in the dark room, Claire climbing in beside her partner, and the slave sleeping on the floor, images of a gang bang now in her mind.

Since Julie was a very quiet sleeper, and since Chris never came to this side of the bed, and in fact, Julie wasn’t here all that often any more, Mistress Claire decided that this would be the way going forward, whenever possible, and Julie was good with the idea, even if she had no say in the decision.

“Chris now belongs to me,” the woman had said.

“I know,” Slave-Julie had replied, with no jealousy, simply feeling contentment for a man she still cared for, as a human being.  

(End of Chapter 21)

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 20 A Meaning Was Offered

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad 

Chapter 20

A Meaning Was Offered, But It Was Obscure And Vague

Dr. White had managed to leave his Midtown office just before three and was pleased to note it was around six-fifteen as he drove up the winding way to the sprawling house in Prattsville; he didn’t want to arrive back in the city too late. Angel came out to greet him and usher her ‘boss’ into the elegant foyer and down the tiled hall; she left the man just outside Joyce White’s den/office. He knocked gently and entered.

Joyce looked up from her desk. “Ah, Christopher, come and sit here. We can chat and then go out to see Abigail.”

The doctor, feeling as he always did around his mother, constrained, settled his lanky frame into an armchair decorated with flowered upholstery; not the kind of thing he would ever welcome into his home. “So, Mother, I gather you have spoken at length with Julie, about this um, arrangement you’ve come up with?”

Mrs. White regarded her son; she knew he could try being stubborn, but it didn’t suit him. “Yes, we have. I happened to, well, bump into her at one of her lesbian (she noted the slight wince when she spoke this word, and smiled inwardly) parties. I have no interest myself, as you well know, but it’s part of my…sphere.”

“Yes. Your sphere,” Christopher said, tonelessly, knowing his mother rarely gave him the straight truth.

“Correct. I see all kinds of…perversions in the city, Christopher, all the temptations. I had been thinking for a while of what is best for my granddaughter, even before the trip we took together…”

“And what’s best is to be yanked away from her family?” Christopher said, some red creeping up his face and spreading into the roots of his thinning blonde hair.

“Now, now, don’t get worked up, son. You are a practical person.” She paused as they regarded each other, and then Joyce launched into things, “Your family, as you call it, is currently you and your live-in hussy, banging each other down the hall from your children, while your wife, their mother, munches an assortment of pussies from Midtown to Manhattan. That’s the family you speak of, the home life?”

She noted the confusion on his pale face and continued, “Oh, you didn’t know your sweet partner was not doing her thing with one woman only. Oh no, she’s a busy little beaver-loving whore. When I saw her at the party I mentioned, she was being banged from behind while eating out Mrs. Collins; the textile Collins, you met her. Almost as old as me. Here…” She held up a tablet showing a naked Julie on her knees, a grey-haired gentleman thrusting from behind her as she eagerly lapped the lightly-haired crotch of a woman whose eyes were closed in obvious pleasure.

Knowing she had him off balance, Joyce drove the dagger home. “She’s wearing a collar because she is a sex-slave, Christopher. She has signed a contract agreeing to do just this and much more, please whoever her mistress tells her to, male or female. That’s the mother who’ll do best for your children?”

Christopher sat in stunned silence. He should have been better prepared. Growing up with this woman, he had learned she never entered an argument that she was not likely to win.


“Hi, Dear. This is, mmm, Sydney. She’s helping us, like Angel does, but she’s going to be here when Angel is at Gramma’s.”

Noah looked at the young woman. “You’re little,” he said in his practical way.

Sydney laughed, “Yes, I guess I am. And your daddy is tall, hmmm?”

“Yes,” Noah said, adjusting a slide on his microscope. “And I’m going to be tall, too.”

Sydney nodded her head, “Yes, I’m guessing you are. What, um, are you looking at? This is a really nice microscope.”

Noah smiled, “Yup, my granddad got me it for Christmas. It’s a Celestron 40. It’s not a toy, right.” Sydney nodded as Noah looked up from the instrument. “Right now I’m looking at algae and rotifers,” he said, seriously, and then went back to his work. Sydney was a girl and likely not interested.

“Freshwater creatures, hmmm. I’ve read about them and studied them a lot,” she said mildly.

Noah regarded her now with more interest. “You know about freshwater invertebrates?”

Sydney nodded her head, “I had a fresh water tank for a few years before I went to university. I’ve had lots of creatures, you know, as a kid. I had a huge algae eater once, for like ten years.”

“You had a big algivore?” Noah grinned and Sydney smiled and nodded. “Do you wanna have a look?”

“I would,” Sydney murmured, moving to the large, white device. Julie backed quietly out of the room, leaving the two on their own.


“Hi Daddy!” Abigail shouted as she trotted around the large corral, Ostrander stationed in the middle, ever-watchful.

“Hi Sweetie. You look awesome; you ride better than I ever did.”

That was true, Joyce pondered as she stood to her son’s right. Christopher was not very athletic, which was odd, considering that she, and Chris’s biological father, were. Abigail, apart from being a caramel shade of brown to her own decidedly white skin, was very much like herself, Joyce also pondered. She had been very good at all sports and she was an excellent rider; her son however, had always been interested in reading and finding out about ‘stuff’.

Abigail adroitly maneuvered her mount to the side of the corral. “We’re gettin’ llamas,” she cried.

Dr. White looked down, slightly, at his mother, who nodded. “Wow,” he said quietly. Clearly his mother was going all out. “Who’s going to look after them?”

“Me and Mrs. O,” Abigail replied, and then rode off.

“She’s going to be happy here, Christopher, and she’ll look forward to seeing you on the weekends,” Joyce murmured.

Christopher stood, silently, considering all this. It actually made some things easier, but then that was just him being self-centered. “What of…Julie?” He said quietly.

Joyce, who was actually at that moment considering what she would do next with her slave of a daughter-in-law, looked up at her son. “I’ll deal with her. She’s still their mother, after all.” She allowed herself a small smile at the thought.

As Christopher turned to head back to the house and then out, Joyce remarked, driving a nail into the discussion, “It will give you more time to screw your hussy, right.” He did not reply, but began to walk more quickly, Joyce’s mocking voice following him.

“I couldn’t help but notice, she has tits much like mine, son.”

In his mind, Christopher could see his mother’s face, even as he chose not to look back at her.


Hannah regarded her computer screen; it showed the July calendar. Next Friday made sense for her trip back to Philadelphia; she couldn’t wait any longer, it was almost the end of the month, and she had everything in place.


“This is very good,” Claire commented. She, the doctor, Julie and Noah were all at the dining room table enjoying the meal prepared by…Sydney, who was turning out to be very efficient at many things. She had prepared pork chops with apple sauce, fries and green beans.

“Yeah!” Noah enthused (he’d asked for the pork chops); Sydney even went out and got chocolate milk.”

Dr. White smiled at his son, “You like, um, Sydney?”

“Yeah, she’s great…for a girl. She even likes bugs.”

“I don’t think Angel is afraid of bugs,” Julie commented, glancing briefly at Mistress Claire, who had made a point earlier by forcing a large butt plug into her slave, shortly before dinner (“Just to remind you of what you are as I allow you to sit with us. I really should make you eat on the floor, like a dog,” the woman had said quietly, Julie aroused at the image).

Noah washed down some food with his milk and shrugged, “Yeah, but Sydney likes ‘em, Mom.”

The adults all smiled in agreement, just as Sydney brought in some apple pie.


Danielle Franca sat on the end of her bed; it was decision time. And if not today, then very, very soon. This had been a particularly tough weekend; it was as if Asshole Jason needed to do more extreme things to her to get off. But next weekend promised to be worse, as he planned to pimp her out. ‘In-house’, as he joked, but it still came down to making her have sex with men he knew for money.

She looked up into the mirror and saw the sad face looking back. She looked at the gun she was holding, knowing it would come down to putting a bullet in his head, or her own.


“Hi ladies,” Marcie enthused to Hannah and Courtney, with Hannah’s cell on speaker, “Mark August the fourth on your calendars, a studio in town will be booked and ‘Spread’ will be funding a shoot. It will be Courtney and three other women and the scenario will be a kidnap and slave gang-bang thing. That was kind of your idea, right?”

Hannah smiled, “Yeah, thanks Marcie, that’s exactly what I want. Text me the address and details.”

“Will do, bye for now.”

Hannah smiled at her kneeling slave, “I like the idea of thousands of people watching you being fucked.” Courtney looked up into the dark eyes and intimidating face. “They can all watch, but only I can touch,” Hannah murmured, opening Courtney’s mouth and spitting into it. “What do you say, Bitch?”

“Thank you, Mistress.”


“What the fuck, Jerri; what are you sayin’?” Kyle yelled into his cell.

“I’m sayin’ she’s not here, as in gone, as in left,” Denise’s friend and now ex-roommate explained. She wanted to tell the jerk to ‘eff off’, but she was afraid of him.

“So when’s she getting’ back in?”

There was a pause. Jerri did not know how else to give the info without pissing this guy off. “I’m sayin’ she took her suitcases and got in a cab, all right. She’s gone.” The line went dead.

Kyle sat in stunned silence. He wanted to break something but he restrained himself from hurling his phone; it was expensive. And he still had a couple more calls to make, but first he needed to check something, and with rising anxiety he opened his bank accounts,  thinking he really should have checked this earlier.

“Fuck!!” he yelled, standing and hurling his chair backwards.

“Fuck!! Fuck! Fuck!”

The numbers didn’t lie; he and his wife’s joint checking showed two hundred dollars, not the eight thousand it should have shown.



Julie closed Noah’s door; he had never minded the dark, so she turned off the hall light as well. As she passed Abigail’s room she felt a pang of sadness; looking in, she saw Sydney standing by the bed. It was agreed the young woman, among other things, could sleep in this room.

Smiling quickly, Julie continued down to the ‘spare’ room and entered to find Mistress Claire sitting in an armchair wearing a scanty negligee. The woman smiled and raised the thin material, spreading her legs. Julie removed her slacks and top, she no longer wore under clothes, simply a breast harness, and dropped to her knees, crawling to the woman.

She began by licking the toes; she would move up as she was directed. She jerked suddenly when the door opened; but it was Sydney who entered. The young woman paused for a moment, grinning, and then undressed as well, knowing she had been ordered to serve Mistress Claire daily.

The slim woman, her two smallish breasts sitting perky with stiffened nipples, came to the seated figure and undid the top of the gown, sliding the garment off the large breasts, which she began to suck. After a moment, Claire directed Sydney to kneel on the bed and spread her ass, then instructed Slave-Julie to lick Sydney’s small, pink hole. As this was happening, Claire informed Sydney that Julie was a filthy whore-slave to be used by all. It was not a surprise; Hannah had filled her in on the situation.

“You can spank her whenever you wish, as much as you wish, with anything as long as it doesn’t break the skin. You can have her masturbate for your amusement with any object which works, whenever you feel like it. You are to use her mouth to piss in and she’ll empty it into the toilet when you direct her. She will then lick you clean; all this understood?”

“Yes, um, Mistress Claire,” Sydney murmured, eyes closed, enjoying the slave’s tongue and thinking already of ways to punish the woman.

Claire pushed her finger into the wet, pink hole then pulled it out and had her slave lick it. “And the slave is to lick your ass at least twice a day when she’s here, understood?”

“Mmmm, yes, that’s understood. She’s a filthy whore and I will use her as she deserves.” She looked up at Claire who smiled and brought her down to the carpet, then had both slaves work on her already wet pussy. Abusing the ‘slave-woman’ aroused her all on its own.

After a few minutes of both tongues working, Mistress Claire began moaning softly; when she was ready, which would be soon, she would join the good doctor; Sydney would go to her room and Julie would listen at the bedroom door, clean the cum from her mistress if ordered and then sleep on the floor, back in this room.

Tomorrow, she would return to Mistress Gena, in the morning. They would all be sharing and using her.


Joyce White sat looking at her granddaughter, under the  covers in her large, canopied bed; it was past nine and the large house was quiet.

“Gramma?” Abigail said.

Joyce turned her face and looked not unkindly at the child. “Yes my dear.”

Abigail paused, “I miss Mommy and Daddy.”

Joyce smiled, “And you should, because they matter to you. They’ll be here on the weekend, Love, and you can spend lots of time with them.” She paused, regarding the lovely beige face above the quilt. “You’ll be the big girl, showing off the llamas and telling all about them.”

Abigail sat up, her dark eyes large, “They’ll be here!? When?”

Joyce smiled, “They’re arriving tomorrow, lovely girl. The vet needs to check them out but you can see them, up close anyway, for a day, and then you and Della will be with them; and when your parents come, they’ll watch you ride Star-Shine and they’ll see your splendid creatures. It will be, what do they say, awesome.”

Abigail grinned, imagining herself, being a big girl. “Gramma?”

“Yes, Dear.”

“Will you stay with me, ‘til I goes to sleep?”

Joyce adjusted the cover. “Go to sleep, my love. But yes, you are my precious one. I’ll stay with you always, sweet child. Always.”

The room grew silent, with only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the occasional gust of wind rattling branches against the glass to intrude.


Claire felt the flesh harden in her hand and she smiled, then directed the doctor’s erection under her buttocks, easing it carefully into her moist, waiting pussy; thinking it was nice having slaves to get you wet. The man began then to slowly, gently, quietly move. Claire moaned softly; this was more loving than fucking, and she liked it.

“It’s weird,” the doctor murmured.

“What?” Claire whispered back.

“Us, like this, while Jules sleeps down the hall and that young woman sleeps in Abigail’s bed.”

Claire pressed her ass firmly against the man, whispering, “Stop thinking on it. Everyone is where they belong.”


Slave-Julie was hanging by her wrists, drops of perspiration dripping down her face and body. Her mistress had administered a thorough spanking and then a whipping, as punishment for the slave being absent. Large weights were now hanging again from her labia and clitoris, pulling the flesh down. Joyce and Gena had already discussed things to do to the slave’s genitals, starting with a fat labia ring and a tattoo, both of which would happen soon.

At her kitchen table, Gena sat looking over the fresh contract her slave had signed this morning; from the bedroom she could hear the sounds of Hannah and Courtney; she smiled; things had certainly gone well.

She picked up her cell and sent Joyce White a shot of the contract; it was for one year and Julie White had accepted all the conditions, including being tattooed and pierced with no restrictions.

A few moments after the text had been sent, the reply chirped back. “Make the arrangements for the work to be done this week, as we discussed; the word slave placed just above the whore’s cleft and one silver labia ring, left side. That’s a good start.”

“Yes, Madam W,” Gena replied, “when do you want her?”

“It’s complicated with Abigail here, but this weekend. We’ll sort this out. Now, the next step; we need the password to her bank account.”

“Agreed. Back to you soon.”


Daniel White found his wife sitting on the rear patio sipping a Lemonade Teagarita, long legs stretched out. He stood by her lounge chair as she gazed up, watchfully, shades shielding her eyes.

“So, I’m headed back to the city,” he said.

She turned her head to look at where his Audi R8 was parked, noting Lyle sitting in the passenger seat. “Your favorite boy toy getting antsy?” She smiled.

Daniel smirked and shrugged, “I’ve got things to do, I can’t be sitting around all day, drinking cocktails,” he arched one eyebrow up towards his thick, grey hair. He regarded Joyce a moment longer, “When’s the um, horde arriving?”

“The whore arrives Friday night and then Christopher arrives Saturday with Noah and their new help.”

“His chesty friend stays at home,” he smirked.

“For now. We don’t need fucking everybody.”

“Or everybody fucking,” Daniel grinned at his joke.

“Ha, ha. You’re a riot, Alice,” Joyce murmured, sipping her drink. An awkward silence followed, before Joyce said, “Just wondered, Sweetheart, which one of you is the um, grunter? I don’t recall that much noise back, long, long ago when we occasionally ‘did it’.”

Daniel snorted, “Ha. Listening at keyholes again, Dear? I thought you were all about, cameras?” They eyed one another for a moment. “It’s really wild that you, of all people, should be asking any questions about sex.”

She looked at her partner icily, “There’s desire and there’s pleasure; I get all that. I’m not innocent by any means in what I do, as you know, but I still find a man shoving his dick up another man’s ass to be not the most, emmm, natural of things.”

Daniel laughed, “You, talking natural, spying on your own granddaughter in her bedroom.”

Joyce sipped her drink. “That’s how screwed up our world is, Daniel. Homosexual males are all the rage, there’s one in every television show; everybody needs them, apparently; it’s normal as hell, apparently. Men can announce they identify as women and start showing up in washrooms with their hairy balls hanging out, and all is good, apparently. Yet just mention naked children, something both natural and beautiful, and people lose their fucking minds.”

She looked up through her shades at his smirking face, “Go on, Lyle’s butt is getting cold.”

Daniel snorted again and turned, heading up the walk.

Joyce couldn’t resist, however, and tossed one last taunt, “You know that a man your age driving a yellow sports car is screaming mid-life crisis, don’t you?”

Without looking back, Daniel gave his wife a Chicago glad-hand and then flipped her the bird, causing Joyce to laugh. At least he’s good for something, she thought.


“Hi TG,” Gena greeted the short, dark, very tattooed woman as she entered the unit, bag in hand. “Right this way.” She then led the woman into the bedroom that Slave-Julie was in, tied naked and blind-folded to the bed. She had been given a couple of sleeping pills to relax her and ‘TG’ had brought local anesthetic.

“So we’re doin’ the one tat and then a ring, yeah?” TG said, unpacking some stuff.

“Correct, here’s the font we’d like,” Gena replied, handing a piece of paper to the young woman.

“Nothing for the nips?”

“No, not this time, but later, maybe when we do the second ring.”

TG nodded, “Right. An’ you know, no messin’ around, at least her pussy, for a few weeks, hey, ‘til everything heals.”

“Got it, no worries. I’ll leave you to it then,” Gena murmured, leaving the room and heading to the bedroom next door, where Courtney was tied to the X-frame. “How’s my sweet whore?” Gena murmured into Courtney’s ear, and the gagged woman squirmed slightly in response, as Gena gripped the woman’s tight labia and pulled, thinking before long TG should be doing work down there.

Gena pondered telling Courtney that her mistress would be leaving soon, but held off. It wasn’t her deal. Besides, she’d have the beautiful redhead to herself again soon.


“Wow,” Abigail whispered, looking up almost six feet into the face of a full grown female llama. As Abigail was staring, the second creature, also a female, wandered over. “I like the white one,” Abigail whispered, and Della Ostrander smiled.

“They have names, Abby.” Della said quietly, “The white one is Lindy and the darker one is Shayan.”

They stood back and watched the animals; Abigail knew they could not be touched for a day or so and the veterinarian was coming to check them over. “What are you thinking of, girl?” Della asked.

Abigail hugged herself and tilted her head, giggling. “I wish they could sleep with me.”

Della chuckled. “I’m afraid you’d need a bigger bed, kid,” the woman smiled.


Friday morning and Slave-Julie was standing naked in the bedroom of Joyce White, eyes down and hands clasped behind her back. She had been spanked earlier by Mistress Gena as White Sr. watched, and now was standing in wait, both her labia and her rear end complaining. Gena had since returned to the city.

“What does your tattoo say?” Joyce asked in a voice reminiscent of the hookah-smoking caterpillar from Alice In Wonderland.

Julie swallowed, finding it almost impossible to look her mother-in-law in the eye, “It says ‘Slave’, M-mistress.”

Joyce smiled; this was so incredible; she had actually fantasized about this scene. “Hmmmm, yes, but apparently, that dirty pussy of yours is off limits for a while.”

“Yes, Mistress,” was all Julie could think of to say.

“Your ass is going to get a great workout,” Joyce smiled.

“Yes, Mistress.”


Hannah backed her rental vehicle out, then started forward. She felt a rush; it had been a while since she’d done anything remotely like what she was planning. A normal person wouldn’t feel this way, she reminded herself, smiling. She then pressed the accelerator, heading for the two-seventy-eight, and the two hour trip to Philly.

She had everything she needed, although someone might wonder about the shovel lying on the floor. Or the long, slim package under her seat.


“She’s gone away again?” Courtney asked. “Where?”

Gena tugged on the nipple clamps and Courtney winced, “Not your concern, Slave; you need to focus on pleasing me now.”

Courtney, her buttocks already criss-crossed with modest welts, murmured, “Yes, Mistress,” and returned to licking the dark, thick labia.


After checking into a nondescript motel, Hannah made her way to the car dealership of Kyle Gilbertson. She saw his car parked in its stall and headed back to his house. Parking a block away, she once again made her way up the alley, a large back pack over her shoulder.

As before she had no difficulty jimmying the patio lock and was inside within moments. She searched upstairs and down, finding the place untidy but deserted.

After stashing her pack, she left to have a late lunch; before heading out of the city for a while and then returning back here, before her target came home.


Abigail came charging in full of excitement and information about what llamas eat and how to groom them, etcetera. She started in a rush and Joyce simply let her run on, nodding every now and then. Julie had been taken to a room in the basement, as she was not officially arriving until later.


Hannah checked her watch; five-thirty, as she watched Gilbertson stuffing things into his briefcase. She started her car and waited. In a minute he was heading toward the door so she set off.

If he went somewhere before going home, so be it. She would still be waiting, he’d have to show up sooner or later.

(End of Chapter 20)    

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A Sanctuary of One by LongDarkRoad Chapter 19 Just A Nail, Driven

A Sanctuary of One

By LongDarkRoad

Chapter 19

Just A Nail, Driven Into The Body On The Cross Of Life

The event was being held in a mansion on the Upper East Side. Their car pulled up to an imposing three-storey brick building, featuring massive steps they now ascended. They were greeted by a uniformed butler who directed them down a wide hallway to the gathering spot, the main hall.

This large and elegant room was decorated by four sixteen-foot Ionic pillars, two as you entered and two by the massive marble fireplace. An eighty-two inch flat screen took up a chunk of one wall (there would be two ‘camera girls’ working tonight, recording live action of the slaves and their owners, which then would be displayed on the screen, for the entertainment of all.)

As they stood checking things out, Julie noted the four large, standing X-crosses waiting in each corner, heralding the promise of slaves being spanked and whipped on display. The assortment of paddles and other punishment devices hanging on the walls secured that promise.

A naked, young woman came up to them and greeted Gena, handing her a collar and then waiting. “Strip and give your clothes to this girl,” Julie was commanded, and when she was naked, not even wearing her sandals, Gena fastened the black, leather collar around the slender, brown neck.

“Would you like me to insert this?” The young woman asked, holding up a black butt plug, thick and three inches in length.

Gena grinned, “On your knees Slave, and spread your ass.”

The girl was clearly experienced at this, as she had applied gel and inserted the plug moments after Julie was posed. The girl quickly clipped a leash to the collar and gave the loop to Julie, who sat upright and handed it in turn to her mistress. A smiling Gena then led her crawling slave into the large hall, where several owners and slaves were already gathered.

The Masters and Mistresses were sipping champagne and enjoying the plates of appetizers being carried around by four young, naked men and women. Behind Gena and her slave, another couple entered and then an actual gong sounded; all were now present.

Mistress Z, vivacious in a tight, scarlet gown, welcomed the guests to ‘our home’. The truth was that the mansion, worth somewhere between fifteen and twenty million, was owned by a group of wealthy women who had all taken up BDSM years earlier. Z reminded everyone of the rules and limits and that champagne and cocktails were available from any of the four servers, who were, however, off limits for any ‘play’.

Gena allowed her slave a glass of champagne, slurped from a saucer, and then led her to an elegant mid-fifties-aged couple dressed all in white. After some brief chat, Gena took their slave, a lovely, almost ebony-hued girl and headed off to some couches across the room, leaving Julie to the couple, who smiled warmly. The woman, her hands sheathed in elbow-high, white, soft-leather gloves, then unzipped her man and brought Slave-Julie’s face up to the man’s crotch, and then his thickening cock was engulfed by her mouth.

From her couch, Gena smiled at the sight, remembering that her slave had remarked on how long it had been since she sucked cock. She’ll make up for that tonight, Gena had thought with a smile.


Courtney’s cell phone buzzed, but she was unable to answer, her arms tied behind her at the elbows, her face buried between the thighs of her mistress. Hannah picked the phone up in a leisurely way and checked the message.

“It’s from Woodhouse,” she murmured to her slave, “we’re doing a shoot tomorrow for ‘Spread’ website. Says she’s looking forward to seeing us. I’ll bet she is,” Hannah chuckled and pressed Courtney’s face hard against her. “I like the thought of my bitch being naked on the web, all those dudes and cunts droolin’ over your hot bod, mmmm…love it.”

Courtney mumbled a response, but it was muffled.


It had been possibly two hours and Slave-Julie had not seen her mistress until now, as the woman returned looking relaxed and content.

As part of the process for these events, all the guests had submitted to a blood test just two days prior with the clear understanding that there would be no sexual activity from then until tonight. The group had a doctor and a lab on retainer who rushed through the work to ensure all were ‘clean’; that way no condoms were felt necessary.

Julie had thus sucked and been fucked by all three masters and one male slave’s bare cock. She’d also had her face between two different women’s legs and been spanked by several guests. She had spent twenty minutes on the X-stand, where hot wax had been dripped on her and heavy clamps applied to her breasts and genitals, to the appreciation of those watching.

It was interesting, Julie had pondered as she stood, bound and on display, that she enjoyed being like that; she enjoyed watching the men’s members harden at the sight of her; she enjoyed the eyes of the women, examining her naked body with clear desire.

For now, however, she was licking her Mistress’s shoes, as Gena relaxed in an over-stuffed armchair, sipping a liqueur and chatting with a dark-haired woman.

One of the young assistants came then and whispered something to Gena and then hurried off. “Come, sweet slave, there’s someone you need to meet,” Gena said, standing and tugging on the leash.

They crossed over the thick carpet and entered a den of sorts, the dark wood and expensive leather furnishings exuding an aura of wealth, with Gena instructing her slave to look at the floor until asked to look up.

They came to a stop before a pair of ornate Walter Steiger’s, with Slave-Julie being commanded to kiss (not lick) the faux leopard design, and then to rub her face against the soft covering. After a minute or two of this, the slave was directed to show her abused, brown ass to the owner of the shoes, who chuckled at the sight.

Then Slave-Julie was placed before the woman and her head was raised. With a shock of surprise, greater than greeting Claire Butler or anything else she’d seen, Julie looked up into the mocking, smiling face of her mother-in-law, Joyce White.

“Well, aren’t you a sight,” the woman, resplendent in a dark blue gown, commented, eyes twinkling.

****               ****

Slave-Julie lay confined within her cage, her mistress not having yet released her, although it was just past eight a.m. But then they had come home in the proverbial wee hours, the slave returning with her mistress rather than being traded off as was possible.

She had slept in fits, waking twice from dreams, and now she lay considering her life. She had enjoyed the slave-event, a lot actually, up to meeting Joyce White. That had been so surreal; why had she never suspected anything? According to her mistress, White Sr. was a long-time BDSM aficionado, one of a group of very wealthy women who had been involved for many years in the scene. She was in fact one of the owners of the mansion they were in last night.

The woman had clearly relished using Slave-Julie once given the chance; being very aggressive, almost nasty at times. By the time they were driving back to the condo, Julie was exhausted. She was also disturbed; what would the future hold? Joyce White had been clear, and she enjoyed sharing the fact, that she possessed hours of video of Julie in the most graphic of sexual and submissive acts. “I own your ass,” the woman had said simply and with a grin.

And, Julie admitted to herself, unless she wished to take her money and run off, leaving her family and everything she knew behind, it was true.

And would she leave anyway; this was what she was?


Joyce White noted her husband’s mild-mannered assistant leaving his room and went to the door, knocking gently, then entering. Her husband was sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair with a look of contentment on his face.

“I’m guessing Lyle has been…of service this morning,” Joyce smirked, standing a few feet from the chair, “hips or lips?”

Her husband looked up with a pleasant face; happy endings were not as easily found as he grew older, so he appreciated them and enjoyed the moments after. “Well, my dear, that’s neither here nor there, is it?” he replied, a smirk on his face as well.

“I’m surprised you didn’t miss him more on our trip,” Joyce purred.

White laughed, putting his hands behind his head, “I was able to grab a spa or two over there, my sweet, as you guessed. You aren’t one to talk; I’m pretty sure some cravings needed satisfying for you too, hmmmm? That where you were last night, ‘til four in the morning?” His voice was even and without spite.

Joyce chuckled, “You always were a light sleeper, dear” she said, pleasantly. The two had lived a certain way for years, each with their own ‘interests’ while enjoying the privileged life of a wealthy couple. She paused now, considering. “I just want to mention something to you. I’m having Abigail move in here. I want her to attend that private school, Esterbrook, just over in the valley. It is among the highest ranked on the east coast.”

Daniel White looked on and absorbed this. “I know you had decided to live here, more or less permanently, but this decision is rather, um, sudden, isn’t it? How on earth do Christopher and his little brown wife feel about things? I’m sure nothing matters to Abby like that horse, but you’d think her parents would have some objection to you, spiriting away their only daughter?”

Joyce White shrugged as if these objections were of no concern. “Christopher’s whore of a wife has no say in anything; I’ve kept that video of her and that young fellow she was banging just in case; so, no, don’t worry about her. And Christopher has always done what I’ve asked,” she said, looking pleased.

Daniel White snorted. Christopher was not his biological child; it hadn’t mattered as he was raised as his son; it didn’t matter now. “Hmmm, yes, the mama’s boy. Nothing changes. But…” he looked into Joyce’s face before she turned to the door, “that might be what happens when a child suckles his mother’s tits ‘til he’s four.”

Joyce smiled a thin smile. “I always knew you were a tad jealous, dear,” she murmured as she left, knowing full well that Daniel had never expressed any interest in her impressive mammaries, which always annoyed her. Although she’d never admit that to him.


Hannah walked with her trademark aloofness down the short catwalk; she was a sight; thigh-high black leather boots that added three inches to her already imposing height; black lace garter with a tiny black lace thong; black nylons; black see-through bra visible at times beneath a black leather vest. Her dark hair had been spiked and she was wearing black eye-shadow and mascara.

Courtney was almost as impressive, although she was dressed much more…simply, and was on her knees. She sported a red leather breast harness, a red garter belt with red nylons; no thong, her usual tight labia puffy from spanking, a red leather collar with the word ‘SLAVE’ on it finished her attire, attached to a red leash held by Hannah.

Courtney had been photographed and recorded tied to various structures and with her tongue exploring Hannah’s dark nether lips; she had pleasured herself with a number of devices and now the final shots were of her and her mistress.

By this time, a crowd had grown around Marcie Woodhouse, watching. The cameraman with the larger rig, the one with the hand-held; two lighting techs, one looking after fixed lights and the other bringing a spot in when asked were there, as well as the director. Even the wardrobe and make-up women; all were watching, mesmerized by these two beautiful creatures.

When the director finally said, “Well, by God, I think that’s a wrap,” people simply stood, eyes still fixed.

Hannah laughed, unclasped the leash and threw it playfully at the ‘crowd’ saying, “Okay, break it up, peeps.” And then, as if a spell was broken, the group broke into applause.


“So you would like to live here, all the time?” Joyce asked her granddaughter.

“And be with Star-Shine every day?” Abigail asked, her eyes bright.

“Well, you would still be going to school, in the fall; just a different school.”

“What about Noah?” The girl tilted her curly head.

“Noah will stay with your parents and go to his school, and then they would see you on the weekends. Angel would be with you all the time, right.”

Abigail nodded and turned back to her play set, sitting on a small table. It was a Lego Sunshine Ranch set; one of the horses of course was Star-Shine. “I like Angel. Won’t Mommy and Daddy be lonely without me?”

Joyce White tousled Abigail’s hair. “Of course they will, that’s why they’ll come out to see you. But you’ll be busy; we’re getting two llamas, like we talked about.”

“Are they mine?” Abigail asked, eyes big.

“Well. They’re ours, and you’ll get to see them and pet them and feed them. Of course, Ms. Ostrander will be, um, in charge of them.”

“Okay,” the girl murmured, then remembered, “And the puppy?“ The exclusive townhouse they lived in didn’t allow pets.

“Mrs. Murphy is giving us one of her lab pups; it should be about six weeks from now. So, you and Angel will be in charge of the puppy.” The two sat for a moment, then, noting the time, White said quietly, “I think it’s time you relaxed on your bed, hey Princess, and play with, what’s your bear’s name?”


“Right, Bobo, and play with Bobo.”

Abigail moved a couple of pieces around, then grabbed the large, stuffed panda and jumped on her bed. “I like not having to get dressed all the time,” she said, stretching out and cuddling her bear.

Joyce nodded with a small smile; that was something she was happy with as well.


Slave-Julie brought the coffee to her mistress, setting it on the table, and then she knelt, looking down.

“That was…quite the night, hmmmm Slave?” Gena asked, a grin on her face. Julie nodded; she didn’t know what to say or where to start. “Seeing your mother-in-law must have blown your mind?” Gena continued, in a soft voice.

Julie looked up into the smiling face, “I’m pretty, uh, yeah, blown away it is, Mistress.” She replied quietly, then gazed down again and waited.

Gena put down her cup. “I’ve known Joyce White, or Madame ‘W’, as we call her, for a long time. She was one of the first major players I was introduced to when I got serious into the whole slave scene. She’s taught me a few things, helped me a lot, really. It was crazy to have this, um, connection to you. But here it is. I guess it’s good to put all the cards on the table, like they say, hmmmm, sweet slave?”

Slave-Julie looked up again; what did this woman want? “Please tell me what you have planned?” She asked, quietly.

Gena regarded the kneeling woman for a moment, thinking she should be punished for asking a question, but with all she’d experienced the last few days, she decided to let it go. She was pretty sure what Madame ‘W’ wanted, and she would go along with it. “It’s probably time to nail down what you are, hey? You’re our property, I think you’d admit that. So, you need to sign a longer contract as my, our, slave. That’s the next, kind of, official step, for us.

Then they sat quietly, until Julie asked, “And after that?”

Gena reached down and pulled aggressively on a dark nipple, making Julie wince, “And then we do whatever the fuck we want with you,” she said, the smile still on her lips. “We’ll tattoo you, so everyone sees easily that you belong to Joyce White, and we’ll have you marked with a slave registration number as well, here on your neck.”

She touched a spot and continued, “And of course, now that we’ve got Mistress Claire moving in with Christopher full time, she’ll be sleeping in the master bedroom where she belongs, you sleeping on the floor in the spare room, where you belong. So, now, when you’re not serving Mistress White you’ll be serving me or Mistress Claire. You’ll be busy, slave.”

Julie nodded, unable to speak. Miss Gena grabbed a handful of her hair and tilted her face up. “What are you?” she asked, softly but firmly.

And there it was, the reality. This was her life. “I am a slave, M-miss Gena.”

Gena smiled, a feeling of satisfaction rising within her, “Yes, yes you are; and why do you exist?”

Slave-Julie looked down, saying quietly, “To please my mistress.”

Gena smiled; this had all gone so, so well, perfectly actually.


“Wow,” Marcie enthused, as Hannah and Courtney, now changed back to their clothes, stood before the woman, ready to leave. “No money today, right, but I don’t think we’ll have any problems with selling most of these shots and clips. And if someone wants to do another video…?”

“No worries,” Hannah replied, looking down at the older woman. “I’m open to using Courtney however, even, you know, kinky stuff; it just comes down to the money.”

“And how do you, um, feel, Courtney?”

“She agrees to whatever I want, don’t you, Sweets?” Hannah asked, a smile on her face.

Courtney bowed her head, saying quietly, “Yes, Mistress.” Being exposed like this in public was more arousing than she would have believed; right now, she would do pretty much anything her mistress asked of her. She had come so close to orgasm during the session that it was on her mind now as they stood. She wanted to be with Hannah and she wanted that beautiful pain and pleasure, and then to mash herself against her mistress’s tall, exquisite body; to be wonderfully content and safe.

Marcie looked on, a strange expression on her face. She was well aware of BDSM and slave/master relationships; she had just never witnessed one up close, and with someone as strikingly beautiful as Courtney. She shook hands with Hannah and then the two tall women began heading down the hall to the rear exit.

As they approached the door, a diminutive figure stepped out from a room. Hannah recognized her as the make-up girl, her five-two or so stature reminding one of a middle grader beside the other women. She looked up into Hannah’s face and murmured. “You are incredible.”

Hannah smiled down at the face, “How old are you, girl?”

“Uh, twenty-three, and I know, you don’t have to say anything. I get asked for I.D. all the time. Ms. Woodhouse even confirmed with my birth records, so, no worries.” She smiled, and Hannah considered that the girl was quite pretty, but with her light brown hair, small stature and shyness, was likely to be ignored by the world. “Well, shit, like yeah, I would never have guessed. Glad you liked the, um, show.” The girl looked like she wished to continue, but was unsure. “You want to ask me something, Sweets?”

Looking down, she began, “Are you like a real, um, you know…”

“Dom?” Hannah asked, chuckling and reaching out to stroke the girl’s face, which provoked a distinct shiver.

“Is that like, um, a dominatrix?” The girl asked softly.

“That’s it absolutely, why?”

The girl bit her lip and looked around, “How do you get, like your um, slaves or whatever?” She glanced at Courtney. ”This woman is like totally hot. Is she really your slave or are you guys just acting?”

Hannah turned to Courtney, “On your knees, Slave.”

Courtney immediately dropped to her knees. “Boots,” Hannah commanded, and Courtney began to lovingly wash the black leather of Hannah’s thigh-highs with her pink tongue, as if she had been doing this her whole life. The girl stood, transfixed, fingers twisting together. “Yes, she’s my slave, and I find ‘em, wherever. Why?”

“I, um, oh gosh, I would, like do anything to serve you,” the girl gulped as she looked up.

Hannah pondered for a moment. “Are you done here, or what?”

“Oh I’m finished my shift. I was just waiting to see you.”

Hannah smiled, thinking this could be fun. “Come on,” she said, turning as Courtney stood and the two began the walk to the door, the girl running now to catch up.

“What’s your name?” Hannah asked. “Um, and call me Mistress Hannah.”

“Oh, it’s Sydney, um, Mistress Hannah. “Sydney Giles.”

“Well, come sweet Syd, and let’s see what you can do. I’m thinking that cute, little ass of yours could use some attention.”


“So, what’s on today?” Joyce White asked. She was sitting on the back deck talking to Gena and watching as Abigail rode her horse in the outdoor corral, under the experienced eye of Della Ostrander.

“Well, our slave-girl is at home. With the, um, housekeeper up there with you and with your son at his office, she needs to be there, for now. But we think we’ve found a girl, or Hannah has, to move in and be the new nanny or whatever you want to call her.”

After Hannah had arrived back at Gena’s with two slaves in tow, a couple of hours of ‘fun’ followed, ending with Courtney being gagged and tied to the X-frame and forced to watch as her mistress made love to Sydney.

After their time together, Hannah and the girl talked, with it coming to light that the girl actually had a degree in early childhood education, but had always been involved with make-up, starting with drama in high school. She had been looking for something all the while, but the work with Marcie and others paid some bills. The thought of being a live-in nanny/ housekeeper for a ten year old boy, at a very good salary, interested her greatly.

“And I would, um, still be able to, like see you?” Sydney had asked and Hannah had smiled.

White Sr. smiled now as well as she heard Gena’s comment, but she was more interested at this point in how her daughter-in-law was taking this. “Did the, um, Slave-Whore have anything of value to say?”

Gena pondered; Julie had a response, for sure. “She’s, um, like I guess confused right, almost like dazed. We’ll see how she gets things together after being at home. But she understands she has few options; you hold all the cards. And of course, there’s the fact that she loves being dominated. She’s done fooling herself; she’s down with all this.”

Joyce smiled, both at that comment and the ease that Abigail showed in stopping and turning her mount, then making it back up. “That’s good, very good. She’s a whore, but she’s now my whore. That’s the bottom line. We just need to separate her from her finances at some point and it’s all done, apart from a divorce down the road.”

She put her cell down with the call ended, the smile remaining on her red lips.


“So what have you been doing?” Noah asked, as he carefully added the flag to his Lego pirate ship.

“Oh, just lots of things, Honey. But you’ve had lots to do, right, with your incredible trip and everything and being with your Gran?”

“Yeah, the trip was pretty awesome, but now Abigail and Angel are gone and everything. Are you going to be making dinner?” He asked in his practical way.

Julie smiled, “I can make dinner, you know. But I think we’ve found a young woman to help out. We’ll see. But you’ll be seeing Angel this weekend, right?”

“I guess.” He studied his model for a moment, then added, “I don’t like riding, not like Abby. She loves it. And the horse is, um, hers. Gramma said, anyway.”

Just then the intercom buzzed and in a few moments Julie was opening the door to a woman a couple of inches shorter and at least a decade younger than herself. “You must be, um, Sydney.” She said, having been prepared by both Mistresses, Gena and Hannah.

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” Sydney murmured and then entered.

(End of Chapter 19)