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 8 * * * * *
The four staff slaves who wheeled Staci in did not leave.
The arranged themselves, one male and one female on each
side of the large wooden structure. Staci who was strung
up, with her mouth full of rubber ball gag and the front of
her body full of lash marks, was squealing into the gag and
looking wildly around the room for Ms. Turner.
Mistress Synklair continued, "Yes, my friends, you are
indeed in for a rare treat. And I remind you that this is a
special security offering."
As Deborah sat immobile and watched her friend's terror
and helplessness, she felt a deep sense of shame and guilt
and fear. Fear for her friend and fear for herself. But
through it all, the phrase 'special security offering' floated
through. The Mistress had repeated it, with emphasis. Her
reporter's mind told her it was important.
"This girl," she said, "is totally untrained. She's had
some journalistic background and is interested in the white
slave business. In fact, she's so interested that she's decided
to put herself on the market to get some first hand
experience." There was some mild laughter from the
audience. "And speaking of first hand experience, we're
going to let Leslie demonstrate the little bitch's sexual
responsiveness."
One of the female staff slaves walked up behind Staci
and wrapped one arm around her waist and threaded the
other between her legs. She used the upper hand to spread
her lips and rub Staci's clit. With the other she ran
fingers up and around the bound girl's anus and cunt. Within
seconds Staci was hot and wet and panting through her
nose. The wasn't trying for subtlety--she was trying to
bring Staci off as quickly as possible. There was an auction
to get on with and this was only light entertainment. Staci
came with a jarring climax. She screeched into the gag and
jerked around in her bondage. The came out from
behind Staci, made a little curtsy, and returned to her
position. The audience politely applauded.
"And lest you think that a journalistic slut is too anal
retentive to make a good slave. Jason and Amanda will
show you otherwise."
During this introduction, as Staci hung panting, wrists
and ankles aching, coming down from the orgasm, she
spotted Ms. Turner in the corner of the room. She was
seated at a table with a strange man. Her face was difficult
to read at this distance and in the dim light.
The other female slave moved in front of Staci and
dropped to her knees between her legs. With her back to
the audience, she started on Staci's clit. At the
same time, Staci felt the hard dick of one of the male slaves
ramming into her thoroughly abused ass. He was standing
on the platform behind her with his hands grasping her for balance as he fucked her from behind. It took just two
minutes for her to come again. A couple of seconds later,
the male shot his load into her.
"Isn't that great folks. Doesn't Staci deserve a big hand,"
there was more polite laughter and applause. The woman
curtsied, the bowed. And speaking of big hands, we've
asked Paul if he would use his big hands to show you how
much potential the little shrew has for absorbing
punishment."
The last of the slaves came up to Staci as she was
panting and gasping through her nose. He began slapping
her body with considerable force. He slapped her ass
cheeks, her breasts. He slapped her thighs and arms. He
slapped each side of her face with careful measured force to
leave the cheeks bright but do no permanent damage.
Staci was writhing and twitching in her bondage. There was
no escape. And after all the abuse and fear and orgasms,
the pain of his slaps were beginning to merge into a dull
painful sexual fog. He slapped her sides. He slapped her
back. He raked his fingernails down her sides. Staci
whimpered into her gag. She was at the end of her
endurance and beyond violent response.
During most of this display Deborah had watched mute
and helpless and the head of Mart security said nothing.
Once the final beating had begun, he cleared his throat.
Deborah looked over, it was far easier than watching what
was happening on the stage. With the sound of Paul's slaps
and Staci's grunts in the background, Number One said, "In
a few moments the bidding will open. This is a formality.
There will only be one bid. You will have two choices. If
you decline that bid you severely limit the options of those
who would protect the security and confidentiality of this
enterprise. Do you understand what that implies?"
Deborah did. She nodded her head and tried to avoid
looking at Staci.
"On the other hand, if you accept the bid, openly and
publicly, you will protect the security of yourself and Miss
Davis. She will become hostage to your cooperation. You
will retire back to your former life with the task of carefully
and systematically destroying all records of your
investigation. If you do well and keep your mouth shut,
things will be much more pleasant for all concerned. Is that
clear as well?"
It was. She nodded again and looked completely
defeated.
Number One nodded at Mistress Synklair. She in turn
nodded at Paul who stopped, bowed, and returned to his
position. The audience applauded somewhat more
enthusiastically than earlier, led by the who had
successfully bid for Ginger.
When she was first wheeled out Staci was standing.
Now she hung limp and exhausted, all her weight hanging
on her cuffed wrists. The chain around her neck was all that
kept her head from hanging down on her chest. Her
disconsolate eyes were focused on Deborah in the corner.
Mistress Synklair said, "This being a security offering, we
have a bid of $5,000." It was an incredibly low figure
compared to what had come before. No one bid against it.
Everyone in the audience but Deborah knew what was
going on. And those who might not have known, such as
the gentleman from the mob, had been briefed before the
auction began.
"There being no further bids and this being a security
offering, we require formal confirmation by the seller. Is the
$5,000 bid acceptable."
Deborah sat frozen for a long moment and then nodded
so slightly it was almost imperceptible. The sitting next
to her quietly said, "You are required to stand and declare
yourself in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in
the room."
Deborah slowly stood. Staci was watching and could
tell that something was terribly wrong. She was almost too
tired to think, but mustered every ounce of energy to shake
in her bounds and cry into the gag. It wasn't much, but it
was enough to rattle Deborah and get Mistress Synklair's
attention. The auctioneer took a couple of steps in her
direction, withdrew the black riding crop at her belt, and
gave Staci two hard swats on each tit. These were much
more painful than Paul's slaps. Staci screeched into her gag
and trembled. "The decision is not yours, bitch," Mistress
Synklair said, "so shut up and let your owner speak." She
looked directly at Deborah and asked, "Well?"
Deborah was sweating profusely. Looking helpless, she
opened her mouth, but all that came out was a hoarse
groan. Her throat was like a desert. She looked down at
her empty wine glass. The slid his half full glass
toward her. She picked it up and took a large swallow.
She cleared her throat and, trying not to look at Staci said,
"Yes."
"Yes what, dear," asked Mistress Synklair sweetly.
Tears were filling Deborah's eyes. "Yes, the $5,000 bid
is accepted." She collapsed back into her seat.
The look in Staci's face suggested terrible
disappointment, but not surprise. She was wheeled back
off-stage by the four staff slaves.
"How about we all give a big hand to Miss Deborah
Turner."
The audience applauded, especially the mobster in the
other corner. Deborah wanted to press her hands over her
ears, but just sat limply. The applause died out.
"And now," Mistress Synklair said, "I think we could all
do with a little break. There are more wines, cheeses,
desserts and coffees in the anteroom. Please help
yourselves and be back in twenty minutes."
* * * * *
The stage lights went down. The house lights came up.
The room quickly cleared. Only a few guests remained at
their tables including Deborah and the head of Mart
security. Deborah started to get up.
"Where are you going," the asked.
"Back to the hotel, I suppose," she said staring at the
floor.
"That is not possible."
Deborah looked up at him.
"You will be the last to leave this event. You will stay
here tonight. Your room has already been prepared. You
will be driven directly to the airport in time for your flight."
Deborah nodded but said nothing.
"Besides," the continued, "there is still the matter of
your $5,000."
She shook her head. "I don't want it."
"Ah, but you must take it. A deal is a deal. Besides, you
have been to no little expense with respect to this
misadventure. $5,000 should nicely reimburse you and
compensate for your time."
Deborah nodded again. "Am I permitted to use the
lady's room?"
"Please. You are our guest. I'll meet you back here
when the auction is over to complete our business." With
that he rose and left.
Deborah followed and found the bathroom. When she
came out she stopped at the refreshment table and got a
fresh glass of wine. The other guests avoided her. That
was fine with her. When she got back to her table, she
found Niccole. Neither of them said anything. The lights
soon dimmed and the auction recommenced.
Everything which followed was boringly predictable.
Girls were brought in singly or in pairs and bid on. Most
sold, a few did not. There were three male slaves put on the
block as well. The first time a male came out it sparked
Deborah's interest.
It was the with the silver rings. He wasn't wearing a
collar. He was lead out by tall male staff slave whose
leash was hooked to the ring in his scrotum. The looked thoroughly miserable. He was brought to the front
of the stage where he stood facing the audience. Mistress
Synklair said that he was 19 and had come to them under
very unusual circumstances. She said he was not yet
properly trained, but didn't elaborate. He was 5'9" and 145
pounds.
The didn't do much by way of display. He turned
this way and that, bent over, showed his body to the
audience, but nothing as artistic as the women. When he
was finished Mistress Synklair said, "Gerry has been used
more for work than sex, but we'll have Jos demonstrate his
potential. All the requires is a strict hand and the
proper training." And as the bidding commenced the giant came up behind the and reached around to grasp
his dick. He started slowly and sensuously jerking him off.
The boy's eyes were closed. The expression on his face
suggested that he was rather used to this kind of treatment.
He wasn't overly excited, but didn't resist. The numbers
weren't nearly as high as for most of the women, but were
certainly large. Once the last bidders were stalled Mistress
Synklair gave the nod to Jos who finished the job. The boy,
whose face had finally started showing some passion, shot
his wad directly onto the front of the stage. He quivered for
a few moments longer and then opened his eyes. That
broke the deadlock and the final bid came in. Jos led the
boy away. A slave came running out with a rag to clean the
spill.
Then the next was led out and put on the block.
It was just past one when the last slave had been
auctioned off. The stage lights went down, the house lights
came up. The guests started filing out.
The auction had begun at seven o'clock. It had lasted
over five hours. There had been three twenty minute
breaks. Deborah sat with Niccole and waited.
There were laughs and yawns and loud voices which
died away into the night. There was the sound of many cars
being started and driving away. Eventually things quieted.
Number One returned at 2:15. He pulled over a third
chair and sat. Reaching into a coat pocket he extracted a
wad of crisp new $100 bills. He counted out 50 of them,
laying them in neat rows on the table top. "$5,000," he
said, "as per the contract."
Deborah seemed reluctant to touch the money.
"You could probably use an envelope to carry them,
couldn't you?" He looked over at Niccole, "I don't suppose
you have an envelope on you. Do you dear?"
"I'm sorry Number One."
"No reason you should; no reason you should." He
thought for a moment and then called out, "Is anyone still
backstage?"
Paul came out and said, "Yes, Number One?"
"Do you know if Tracy has incinerated the records from
this auction yet?"
"I think she's just getting to that now, Number One."
"Run down quickly and see if she's got an envelope."
"Yes, Number One."
While he was gone, Number One carefully collected the
bills and tapped them into a single neat stack. A couple
minutes later a pretty staff slave with big green eyes
and even bigger glasses showed up with a envelope.
"Here they are, Number One."
"Here what are, dear?"
"The data cards from the auction, Number One. Paul
told me you wanted the envelope, and this is the only
envelope we used."
The laughed heartily. "That's fine dear. All I
wanted was an empty envelope, not what was in it."
"Oh." The looked upset.
"Don't worry, dear; you did fine." He held his hand out.
"Let me have that for a minute."
She handed it to him. It wasn't sealed. He upended the
oversized envelope with one hand and let the cards fall out
into the other. These he handed back to Tracy. "Go ahead
and toss them in the fire with the rest."
"Yes, Number One. Right away." She skipped quickly
back where she had come from.
The put the bills in the envelope, licked the seal,
closed it. He still seemed to be chuckling to himself about
the mixup with Tracy as he handed the envelope to
Deborah. "Sleep well, and don't forget your part of the
bargain."
"I won't"
"No traces at all. We were very good at digging out
information concerning you and your activities. And we'll
be watching you very closely from now on."
"I understand."
The winked at Niccole who led Deborah to her
room. It was a lovely room overlooking the ocean. Her
luggage was there, exactly as it had been at the hotel. She
had set out some toiletry items on the bathroom sink at the
hotel and here they were on the sink of the bathroom which
adjoined her bedroom. They were laid out in exactly the
same order. Of, Staci's luggage, there was no trace.
Late next morning, she would get a wake-up call in
plenty of time to pack and prepare for her flight. They
would bring a wonderful brunch to her room. She would be
driven to the airport and delivered to her plane. She would
go back to her life, seeing no option other than to do as
she had been told.
Over the next few days she would carefully go through
her office at home and burn everything concerning her
cousin Derrick, her association with Staci, her trip to the
Caribbean, her knowledge of the Mart and its activities.
She would erase all her computer files on the subject both at
home and at the station. She would keep one copy on a
small disk deep in the back of her apartment closet.
And she'd try to forget. She put the unopened envelope
with the money in the hat box with the computer disk.
Perhaps she'd open it some day, but not now.
* * * * *
After Niccole had escorted Deborah out of the room,
Number Two entered and sat next to Number One. "Is
everything in order?" he asked.
"Definitely," she answered. "With this reporter business
going on, I took special pains to be sure of it."
"Very good."
"Did she take the bait?"
"It was there when I put the cash in. How did you work
that, by the way?"
"Easy. Have you ever gotten a letter which was
accidentally stuck to the inside of an envelope?"
"Yes."
"Well this was intentionally stuck. I got the seal of an
envelope wet and stirred until I had glue. I put a drop of
the glue on the inside seam of another envelope and pressed
the card in good and tight. After it dried, I checked to be
sure it would stay. The other cards were put in after the
auction. Tip it over and all the cards fall out but one.
Anyone finding it later would swear it was an accident.
You could even check it through a forensics lab, it's the
same glue."
"Very clever." They sat in silence for a while. Finally,
Number One asked, "And everything is ready to go?
"Yup, everything is packed, including you know who.
The truck should be pulling out at any moment. Ruby will
be leaving with most of her stable in about an hour. Rayna
will stay for another day with Jos, Paul, and Christina to
handle the cleaning up. I'm going to hang around with
them, just to keep an eye on things. I'm putting Number
Three in charge of the follow-up on our Miss Turner."
"Nicely done, Two. I guess I'll head for the plane."
"The car is waiting out front."
* * * * * End of Part 8 * * * * *
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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