STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This is a work of fiction. No reference to real persons is
intended. It contains strong, non-traditional sexual imagery
and language. If you don't like this kind of thing, don't read it.
This may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.
Feedback is welcome. Zebulon@fastmail.ca
(MF, FF, Bond)
* * * * * Start of Part 5 * * * * *
The car arrived exactly on schedule. As they went to
meet it, they moved through a lobby of book buyers and
sellers. There were little booths set up all over the place.
The rare book exhibition was apparently being held in the
hotel where they were staying. They were met at the front
door by Niccole who led them to their car. The three got in
and the car pulled out.
After a short drive, they passed through a large gate and
entered a beautifully wooded estate. There were two large
signs on either side of the gate which said the house was
closed for a private party. The gate was open and Deborah
didn't notice any guards. Niccole, who was seated in front,
next to the driver, suggested that Alice now put on her
collar.
Derrick had remembered at the last minute that almost
all of the slave wore collars with their names engraved
on the side. He had gone to a downtown sex shop and
picked out something appropriate. He had even arranged
for the engraving.
Deborah pulled the collar out of her purse and handed it
to Staci who buckled it on herself. 'Alice,' was carved
ornately into the silver oval on the side.
They drove to a check-point and stopped. Now there
were guards. They were dressed in private security guard
uniforms and carried military looking weaponry. Deborah's
heart was racing.
There were no problems. They were waved through and
soon found themselves in front of a grand mansion
overlooking the ocean. There were cars ahead of them.
There were a half dozen beautiful, semi-naked wearing
collars and sandals bustling about. Each also wore a black studded belt with a strap which ran from one side,
over her shoulder, and down to the middle of her back. A
mousy with small and very pink nipples,
opened the doors for them. She was carrying a chain leash.
Niccole exchanged a few words with her. Deborah and
Staci stood waiting. Deborah looked around in a slow full
circle. She didn't know if her photographer had been able to
follow, or where he might be, but she wanted to give him a
chance to get a good of her if he could. He would
probably be far away with a high powered lens.
Niccole turned to Deborah and said, "Please come with
me. Your slave will be attended to." Deborah resisted the
temptation to look back at Staci. She followed Niccole and
headed for the mansion. The tall, strong woman from the
airport met them at the main door. She was wearing a black
jump suit. "Good afternoon, Mistress Rachel, I trust
everything was to your liking."
"Very much so."
"Wonderful. Let me show you to your table."
Deborah was taken to what might have been a grand
ballroom but which had been converted into a combination
dining and showroom. There was a large stage platform
which took up almost a third of the floor space. There were
a series of tables of various sizes set in five rows, all facing
the stage. Each table was set for dinner. There were tables
for one, tables for two, tables for six. The woman showed
her to a table in the far back corner which had two chairs
but was set for only one. She was obviously at the bottom
of the pecking order, but that was to be expected. Her
lowly status actually seemed to calm her. For the first time,
in a small way, things didn't seem too be coming too easy.
"Dinner won't start for a couple of hours," The woman
said, "so feel free to mingle and enjoy the scenery."
"Thank you," said Deborah.
The woman in the black jump suit left. In the hallway
she met a tall, aristocratic man. She nodded at him and
said, "Like clockwork, Number One."
He nodded back, "I never had any doubts, Number Two
--no doubts at all."
When Deborah had been seated, about a third of the
tables were filled. A nearly naked girl, dressed like the
slaves outside, took her drink request. Deborah asked for
iced tea. As the walked away, Deborah noticed she was
wearing spiked heels instead of sandals. Another showed her a menu with a half dozen entrees and took her
dinner order. More people were entering the room and
being shown to tables. Some guests were standing around
and talking. These seemed to know each other well.
Others, like herself, were sitting alone or in small groups
and keeping to themselves. She didn't see Derrick
anywhere.
Most of the guests would drift in and out of the room
instead of simply sitting at their tables. Some would leave
for a few minutes, some disappeared for much longer. But
Deborah didn't know what they were up to and felt she'd
better stay put. There were enough other guests who had
remained at their tables after being seated that she didn't feel
self conscious. Eventually all the tables were filled and the
stragglers were returning to their seats. The first course
was served.
Deborah had ordered broiled Salmon. It was
magnificent. The appetizers were magnificent, the soup was
magnificent, the salad was magnificent, the bread was
magnificent, main course was magnificent, dessert was
magnificent. Deborah ate sparingly but enjoyed it all.
There were wines with every course, but she didn't drink
anything but her iced tea. She imagined, however, that the
wines would have been magnificent as well.
After dinner there was a break to use the bathrooms and
to prepare for the auction. The mood was light. Deborah
used the time to mingle with the other guests. She talked
little and listened much. She was trying to gather all the
information she could. Most of the guests seemed to be
very rich or agents of the very rich.
She soon realized that buyers sat in the front and sellers
sat in the back. She also realized that there were far more
buyers than sellers. Small wonder she was seated in the
back row.
A bell chimed and the guests returned to their seats. The
tables had been meticulously cleaned during the break. The
lights in the dining area dimmed and stage lights went up. A
strikingly beautiful woman with short hair, very white
skin, and a radiant smile came out on stage. She had on
long black gloves which came up over her elbows. She was
wearing tall, spiked-heeled boots which came up over her
knees. There was a fishnet body which left her
shoulders and upper arms bare. There was a small tattoo
set in her left shoulder. There were openings through which
her projected. She wore a black collar set with
what appeared to be diamonds and a black belt set
with metal studs. The belt had a long black riding crop
thrust through one side. She had silver rings in her ears and
dangling from one nipple. She thanked the guests for being
there and introduced herself as Mistress Synklair, their
auctioneer for the evening.
* * * * *
And without further ceremony the auction began. The
first item on the block was a thin blond. She didn't seem to
have a trace of hair anywhere on her body except for her
head. Her only item of apparel, aside from the collar, were
silver clips fastened to her nipples. She was led in by one of
the staff slaves who handed Mistress Synklair a card as they
passed. The slave unleashed the near the front of the
stage and then left. The stood quietly, smiling at the
assemblage.
Mistress Synklair said, reading from the card, "This is
Ginger. She is five foot six and 125 pounds. She is 24
years and was recruited two years ago. A former school
teacher from Manchester, England, she is a natural
submissive who was first trained by a certain English Duke
who shall remain nameless." There was polite laughter
among some of the guests. "The Duke sold her privately to
Mistress Darnell who did her finishing work. Ginger is
especially skilled at oral sex on and takes the lash
exceptionally well. . . . Turn around, dear." The turned.
There were signs of lash marks on her back. Mistress
Synklair walked over, removed the crop from her belt and
gave the a wicked slice down the fleshy part of her right
side.
Ginger whimpered, but didn't cry out. Turn again, dear.
She turned back to face the audience, tears were running
down her cheek, but she was still smiling. Mistress Synklair
gave her another slash across the front of her left thigh. The
girl flinched and whimpered again, but did not cry out or
lose the smile.
Mistress Synklair took one gloved hand and inserted a
finger in Ginger's pussy. Obligingly, the spread her legs.
The auctioneer held her finger up to show glistening
wetness on the black leather of the glove. There were
approving nods at several tables in the front of the room.
Deborah was horrified, but tried not to show it. Derrick
never mentioned anything like this. She hoped to God they
wouldn't lash poor Staci. And if she did, she prayed even
more fervently that Staci would have the good sense to just
take it and not blow their cover.
The bidding started. There was no display, there was no
masturbation. Ginger must be a special item for sadists.
Ginger was purchased by an gentleman sitting by
himself in the second row. He paid what Deborah
considered to be an amazing price and seemed well pleased.
Mistress Synklair asked if he wanted to take delivery now
or have her wrapped.
"Send her over," he said, "I'll wrap her later."
"Very good," she said and motioned to someone off
stage. The who brought her out came back and
rehooked her leash. She walked her out and handed the
leash to her buyer. For the rest of the evening Ginger sat at
his feet. She would fondle his crotch and from time to time
he would twist her nipple clips.
"Our next item," said Mistress Synklair as a short,
buxom oriental was led out on a leash, "is Miko . . ."
and so the auction went. The next three who were
brought up followed Derrick's description exactly. The
would go through a brief display ritual and then be
masturbated as the bidding progressed. Deborah relaxed a
little.
Miko received what Deborah thought was an extremely
high bid which the seller did not accept. The next was
classically beautiful and had long brown hair, a slim waist,
firm ass, beautiful smile. She sold for almost twice the high
bid for Miko. The next was a very short brunette. She
had a pearl necklace choker and somewhat small breasts.
But she was supposed to be exceptionally skilled in various
aspects of love-making. And when Mistress Synklair
mentioned that her trainer was Master Latimer, Deborah
could feel the interest peak all over the room. As she came
on stage, the sounds of her passion were like an erotic
symphony. She sold for considerably more than the before her.
An hour after the auction had started, Deborah checked
her watch. They had moved fourteen girls. The prices were
so high they surprised her. No wonder this was a booming
industry. She was going to take keen delight in exposing
and destroying it. She was taking no notes and using no
recorder but trying to remember as much detail about the
girls she was seeing as possible. It would help her tremendously if she could locate the families of some of
these poor girls. Then she realized that fourteen in an
hour meant less than five minutes per girl. Staci's dance
routine took just over five minutes. Derrick had badly
overestimated the time allowed for the display.
She was so absorbed in these thoughts and concerned
about what they might mean that she hardly noticed a thin
aristocratic gentleman quietly walking across the back of the
room toward her table. He was carrying a glass of wine.
He walked around behind her, pulled out the empty chair,
and sat. "Good evening, Miss Turner," he said in a soft
pleasant voice offering his hand. He was smiling. Without
thinking Deborah took his hand. Her blood turned to ice.
He had called her Miss Turner, not Mistress Rachel.
Mistress Synklair was just announcing the next item for
sale. "Here we have Tammy, a five foot eight, 120-pound
ski instructor from Vail, Colorado. . . ."
Deborah wore the expression of a deer caught in the
headlights of oncoming traffic. She was staring at the tall
stranger and saying nothing. He, in turn, was still smiling at
her with great warmth. "Now please stay calm," he said.
"If you create any kind of fuss at all, you'll be removed by
the guards who are waiting in the next room. Do you
understand?"
Deborah opened her mouth but nothing came out.
He repeated his question quietly and distinctly, "Do . . .
you . . . understand?"
"Y . . . yes," Deborah finally managed to get out in a
very thin voice.
"Excellent. Now should you not be present when your
item comes up for auction, it will automatically go to the
highest bidder and you will have no chance to reject the
offer. So your partner is clearly depending on you keeping
quiet and controlling yourself. Do you clearly understand
that?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now let me inform you of certain things which
you need to know. First, your photographer met with a
very unfortunate traffic accident his second day on the
island." He pulled some pictures out of his jacket pocket
and showed them to her. "He was taken to the hospital.
But as you can see," he said with a shrug, "there was
nothing to be done."
Deborah looked at the pictures and swallowed hard.
Her mouth was suddenly very dry.
The gentleman motioned to a who came over and set
an empty wine glass in front of Deborah. The filled her
glass and topped off his.
"It's an interesting bit of trivia, but these pictures were
actually taken with his own camera."
Deborah put down the pictures, lifted the glass, and took
a large gulp.
"Now concerning your cousin, Derrick." Deborah
looked up and saw he was no longer smiling. "He caused a
great deal of embarrassment to his former employer. Would
you please turn your attention to the table in the other
corner of the room." Deborah felt the hair rise on the back
of her neck. She turned slowly and looked. She saw a
heavy-set staring at her intently and scowling. The
voice behind her said, "Your cousin's former employer. He
insisted on having personal guards at the last auction and
you can see the mischief it caused." Deborah turned back.
"You can also see that he is here tonight without his
personal guard dogs. He is really much better off relying on
our security system."
"Now as to your cousin." Another appeared
carrying a large box. The must have signaled her when
Deborah's back was turned. She set the box on the floor at
Deborah's feet. "Please remember to stay calm. If you care
to open that box you will find the head of your cousin nicely
arranged with a lovely selection of local flowers." Deborah
drew her feet as far away from the box as possible. "Would
you care to have a peek?" She didn't make a move toward
the box, but couldn't stop staring and imagining what was
inside.
"No?" the asked.
Deborah shook her head.
"Are you sure? This will be your only chance to
personally verify what I am telling you." Deborah shook
her head again. "Very well." He motioned to the who
carried it away.
Deborah couldn't take her eyes off of the box as it was
removed. She became aware of silence in the room. The
last was gone and everyone in the room including
Mistress Synklair was looking at her. No, they were
looking at the man. He looked back at Mistress Synklair,
nodded, and said to Deborah, "Now we come to the high
point of the evening, at least as far as you are concerned."
There was a creaking noise. Then some movement.
Four staff slaves, two male and two female, were wheeling a
large wooden structure onto the stage. It was like a free
standing door frame set on two long axles and four short fat
wheels. Hanging from the inside of the frame was Staci.
Her feet were anchored to the bottom corners and her
wrists to the top corners. Her collar was gone, but there
was a chain around her neck which went straight up to the
center of the frame. She wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing.
Her mouth was filled with a bright rubber ball gag which
was tied around her head under her hair. It did little more
than muffle the pathetic sounds of pain and protest which
she was making. The tears which filled her eyes had run
completely down her face and left streaks down her breasts,
belly and legs. And her creamy skin was marred with a
collection of bright lash marks that were clearly visible
to the back of the room.
Mistress Synklair waited until the structure was in place
at the front of the stage and the creaking had stopped. "My
dear friends, you are now in for a treat--a special security
offering."
* * * * * End of Part 5 * * * * *
STACI DAVIS: INVESTIGATIVE SLAVE
by Zebulon
This may be reposted anywhere as long as (1) proper
credit is given, (2) I am informed of where it is being posted,
and (3) I am allowed free access to the web site where it is
being posted.
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