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 14 * * * * *
Deborah let the remain in her apartment for the day.
She went to work and left Rhonda with strict instructions to
keep out of sight. Stay away from the windows, don't
answer the door, don't answer the phone.
Rhonda promised she would be careful.
When Deborah got home that evening, Rhonda was
wearing a flowered dress. Something she had pulled from
her shopping bag. She had cleaned the apartment within an
inch of its life. Dinner was prepared and waiting. The food
was excellent. So was the conversation. They avoided
talking about the Mart. Rhonda told Deborah about her life
before being recruited. Deborah told Rhonda about her
work at the station.
Rhonda stayed another day. Deborah realized she would
have to decide what to do about the before much
longer. But the weekend seemed soon enough, and another
day wouldn't make any difference. Rhonda had dinner ready
again that night. They spent another pleasant evening
together.
On Friday, Deborah wondered how dangerous the Mart
really was. She had avoided thinking about it for almost a
year. She had done exactly what they told her to and never
received a in response. She had put her life on hold.
She hadn't followed up on the seeds she had sown to get a
job in front of the camera. She was still working
anonymously in the back room. The most daring thing she
had tried was to get Walter in research to do some internet
searches for materials about white slavery. She had a
forlorn hope she might find something which would rescue
Staci. The materials had been interesting, but didn't help.
Deborah suddenly froze with fear. The computer search.
They monitored computers. Then she relaxed. That had
been months before and nothing had come of it. She
wondered if she were like a bank employee who was still
lying on the floor hours after the robber was long gone, just
because she had been told not to move.
That evening she had another wonderful dinner with
Rhonda. It was amazing how the could pull such
fabulous meals out of the raw materials in her kitchen.
Deborah went shopping on Saturday morning to replenish
supplies. Rhonda had made her a list. Saturday morning
they talked about the Mart again.
What was Rhonda going to do if Deborah couldn't help
her? There was another journalist in San Diego who was
researching white slavery. Rhonda would find him. She
was sure he would help her.
Did she have enough money left to get to San Diego?
Rhonda looked dejected. She had used just about all she
had to get this far. She still had about a hundred dollars
left, but it wouldn't be enough. It wouldn't get her to San
Diego.
It was right after dinner that Deborah thought of the
envelope from the auction. She rushed back to get it.
Damn them, she thought. I can at least use their own blood
money to help this poor girl. The $5,000 was still there and
so was a data card from the auction. The card had been
accidentally stuck on the side of the envelope. Deborah
recognized a description of the with the silver rings.
His name was Gerry Toben-Meyer. The notes said he was a
runaway from Ashland, Nebraska.
Deborah wondered. She looked up to see Rhonda at her
bedroom door. "Are you all right?"
"Maybe better than all right. You said the computer at
the office was bugged. What about my home PC?"
"It is too small to listen to. They need a very big
computer to hide their virus in."
"What if I used a modem? Would they be able to follow
what I was doing?"
"No. They can not listen for voices and computers at the
same time."
They moved to Deborah's office. She did a computer
search of the Ashland telephone directory. There was only
one Toben-Meyer in Ashland. Gerald Toben-Meyer, Jr.
That had to be it. The with the rings had to be Gerald
the third. She almost called right then, but remembered the
phone was probably bugged.
"Wait here." She practically flew out the front door of
her apartment. There was a public telephone in a drug store
on the corner. It was starting to rain, but she didn't care.
She dialed. A woman answered. Deborah asked about a
missing son. There was a long confused silence. And then
an answer. Yes, she was Gerry's mother. Who was this.
Deborah wouldn't leave her name, but told her she was a
friend trying to help. She swore the woman to secrecy and
told her she might have some information about her missing
son. She asked the woman about distinguishing marks on
her son's body. The with the rings had a rather large
blemish on one hip. The woman seemed extremely agitated.
It took her a minute to compose herself. She mentioned a
birthmark and described it in detail. It was him all right.
She told the woman not to tell anyone about this call and it
was possible she would get her son back. The woman
seemed almost overcome with emotion. Deborah asked if
the woman would go on television to talk about her son's
disappearance? Anything, she would do absolutely
anything.
Deborah tripped back to her apartment through the
pouring rain. She came in looking like a drenched cat, but
was happy as a loon. She told Rhonda about the call. She
showed her the $5,000 in cash. "We'll hide together. We
can contact the FBI and your writer in San Diego. We've
got your story, my story, the card from the auction, and the
Toben-Meyer in Nebraska. They'll have to believe
us. I'll write it up. We'll send copies to every and
newspaper in the country. We'll pack tomorrow and leave
first thing Monday morning."
Rhonda seemed curiously unexcited but Deborah was
too pumped to notice. "How about dessert first?" Rhonda
asked. "I made fruit tortes."
"Fabulous! Let me just get out of these wet things and
take a quick shower. OK?"
"Sure. Oh! There's a bottle of champagne in the
refrigerator."
"I bought that the day after my meeting with Richard and
Fred. I was going to open it when I got my new job. I
haven't had much to feel good about over the past year. Go
ahead and open it. Now we've really got something to
celebrate.
While Deborah showered, Rhonda got the desserts
ready. She opened the champagne and made a fire.
Deborah came out wearing soft flannel pajamas. They sat
on the floor in front of the fire, ate the delicious tortes, and
drank champagne. Deborah couldn't stop talking about the
future. The two of them. They were going to kill off the
horrible white slavery business. They might even be able to
rescue Staci. And if not, they would ensure her sacrifice
wasn't meaningless.
As they finished the bottle, Deborah began to feel
lightheaded and amorous. Alcohol didn't usually affect her
that way, but it had been a long time since she'd had more
than a single drink. It had been an even longer time since
she'd shared her bed with anyone. And Rhonda had told her
she was bisexual.
Deborah would have preferred a man. She hadn't
planned to have sex with her. But they were about to go
into hiding together--perhaps for a very long time. It would
be nice if they could be close. This was more a blurry half-
thought than a seductive plan.
They were sitting with their backs against the sofa.
Deborah was feeling better than she had in almost a year.
She looked over at Rhonda who was staring thoughtfully
into the fire. She seemed especially sweet and content.
Deborah was fascinated by the tiny reddish-gold hairs on the
nape of her neck. She reached out a hand and gently
stroked those hairs. The redhead looked over at her with a
surprised smile. She saw the passion in Deborah's eyes.
She could feel the sudden attraction and for a brief moment
seemed taken aback. But she quickly softened and let her
cheek brush against Deborah's arm.
Deborah leaned over and moved her hand around
Rhonda's neck. She pulled her close and kissed her. It was
a long, deep, passionate kiss. It made Deborah even more
lightheaded. "Whoa," she said as they broke off. "I guess I
shouldn't drink that much when I'm not used to it." She
leaned back against the sofa. Her head was spinning
slightly.
Rhonda got up on her knees and took her by the
shoulders. "Shhhhh. Relax. Let me." She laid Deborah on
her back on the floor and kissed her again. Deborah could
feel the girl's hand on her through the fabric of her
pajamas. Her nipple was hard. Rhonda was rolling the little
fleshy bulb between her fingers. It felt delicious.
Rhonda moved her mouth and kissed Deborah on the
chin. She licked her way down to the base of the neck and
then brought her hands up and started undoing buttons.
Deborah lay back and soaked it all in. She felt heavy and a
little drowsy.
When the last button was undone, Rhonda pulled the
pajama top open and one nipple while she fondled
the other. Deborah had nice breasts, not overly large, but
very round and firm. For some reason the redhead's
stimulation was the most erotic Deborah could remember.
She didn't know if it was the wine, the length of time she
had gone without, or some special talent the possessed.
In any case it was wonderful. Deborah could feel her flooding with dampness and pleasure. She wanted to reach
up and put her hands on Rhonda's body, but she was so
tired. She'd have to do better next time. She was afraid
she'd drift off before the redhead had finished.
Rhonda seemed to sense Deborah's lethargy and quickly
shifted her attentions again. She pulled off the pajama
bottoms and spread Deborah's legs until they were
completely open to her. She lifted both knees so that
Deborah's feet were flat on the rug. Then she got on her
belly and used her mouth to cover the other woman's pussy.
Deborah could feel the waves of erotic pleasure crashing
through her. The little redhead's hands were a constant
flurry of stimulation and attention. She tweaked her
nipples, rubbed her and belly. The other hand
stimulated her and stroked the tender flesh of her inner
thighs.
Deborah was approaching orgasm much more quickly
than usual. Rhonda had to be remarkably good, or she was
incredibly horny. Maybe both. Deborah found her vaginal
muscles starting to tighten. She was almost frozen with the
erotic shocks running through her system. Rhonda's mouth
was loose and warm. Her lips were lax and rubbing up
against her lips on both sides. The hot little tongue
was racing all around her clit sending shock waves of sexual
heat throughout her body.
Then it started. Deborah's whole body tingled, her
muscles went completely catatonic. The first wave broke
over her like a shot. It was followed by an eruption of little
pulses. The mouth at her crotch never stopped working.
Deborah was grunting heavily and trying to bring her hands
up to Rhonda's head. They didn't want to move.
As the prolonged orgasm drew itself out, she felt the
tingling in her skin lessen and a more intense heaviness
settle in her chest. The waves of sensation between her legs
were still damping out as she thought through the fog, 'That
was fabulous.' Her skin was so moist it was almost wet.
She usually didn't sweat this much when making love.
* * * * *
Rhonda came back from the bathroom. She had
showered and was wearing clean pajamas. Deborah was
lying where she had left her--on her back in front of the
fire. Rhonda reached down and felt her chest. Her
heartbeat was feeble. Her eyes were glazed.
Rhonda picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello. This is
customer 27285-3. . . . That's right, dash three. Could you
please check with central and tell them they can call back
any time. . . . I'll be here for the next few hours. . . . They
know the number." She hung up.
Within minutes the phone rang. "Two? . . . It's just
about over." She looked back down at Deborah whose
breathing had become increasingly shallow. She felt her
chest again. The heartbeat was almost non-existent, "Any
minute actually. . . . She should have thrown my ass out as
soon as she figured out who I was. . . . Maybe, but at least
she wouldn't have had a heart attack. . . ." Rhonda laughed,
"Yeah, she had a last meal and a last fuck, too. . . . No, I
don't need any help. I'll have everything arranged and be
out of here in the morning. . . . Yeah, I might as well get a
good night's sleep. Besides, I'll be less conspicuous if I
leave with the morning commuters. . . . OK, I'll check in
and give you a report before I go. . . . Sure. Go ahead and
tell them to be ready. They can expect me before noon. . . .
Thanks, Number Two. Goodbye."
* * * * *
"Any news?" Number One asked.
He looks tired, Number Two thought, "Yes. Everything
went just about exactly as expected."
Number One mulled that over. "So we're finished with
it?"
"Yes."
"I only hope the inquest doesn't cause more problems. It
would be nice if she didn't leave any notes. I suppose Three
checked as carefully as she could?"
"Of course. And we took some other measures as well."
"Other measures?"
"Do you remember a while ago I mentioned having an
idea for some insurance with respect to this problem?"
"Yes?"
"We had a German porno house send Miss Turner a
check. She had no idea what it was for. She called to ask,
but not speaking German she didn't get very far. Eventually
she cashed the check. The Germans have it recorded as a
royalty payment."
"I see."
"They had an author who wrote four bondage novels
under a pseudonym and then dropped dead. Their records
now show that Miss Turner was the author. Before leaving,
Three did a careful check and took what she could find
including the card from the auction and a computer disk
with all of Turner's original notes. But Three also left some
things. She left several new copies of each bondage novel
plus draft versions on a computer disk. She also left
correspondence to and from the publisher, draft sketches of
as yet unwritten novels, and an uncashed advance check."
"So even if she did leave records on us and they turn up,
they will be interpreted as fictional notes for a future
pornographic novel?"
"Almost certainly."
Number One considered this and years seemed to drop
from his face. He no longer looked nearly as tired.
"And you know that panicky call we got from the
Ashland caretaker?"
"Yes?"
"Turner hadn't even opened the envelope and found the
card until yesterday."
Number One laughed.
"The caretaker was afraid she'd screwed up the
conversation. It had been so long she had forgotten what
she was supposed to say. It took fifteen minutes to calm
her down and assure her everything was fine."
Number One laughed some more and Two joined him.
There followed a couple of minutes of thoughtful silence.
Then Number Two remembered some more good news, "By
the way, you know that little problem with Wiesel and
Zeldona?"
"Yes?"
"Well a certain third party has beaten them both to the
punch."
"Really?" Number One said brightly.
"Yes, indeed. He recruited a Ph.D. in English literature
with a strong knowledge of Japanese. The buyer has
already taken possession and the woman is being custom
trained by his own Slave Mistress."
"No," Number One said with a broad smile.
"Yes," Number Two replied with an equally pleased
expression.
"I smell Mister Randall's hand in this."
"You have an exceptional sense of smell."
"Well, it's about time someone beat Wiesel at his own
game." He mulled over this bit of intelligence. It seemed to
clear up the last lingering conflict on his agenda.
"Outstanding, Two, simply outstanding. . . . Let me
rephrase that, my heartiest congratulations, Number One."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, Number One."
"I see," said the new head of Mart security. "And what
do we call you, now that you've retired? Are you going
back to one of your aliases?"
"I doubt it. I'll think it over and let you know. In the
mean time, you'd better tell Three she's been promoted and
should start thinking about her own successor."
"Definitely. And you know something?"
"Hmmm?"
"I'm going to suggest she look for a man. With you
gone, we're going to miss a man's touch around here."
"Thank you, Number One."
* * * * *
When Mistress Zeldona got the word about losing the
Hong Kong contract, she was pissed, but quickly cooled
down. The whole business had been an education. Mart
security helped her arrange Amy's sale to a very elite North-
African brothel. She even turned a tidy profit but decided it
was more damn trouble than it had been worth. She would
not get involved in special orders again.
* * * * *
Master Wiesel's reaction was even more philosophical.
'It happens,' he thought. 'After all, I do it all the time.' Now
what was he going to do with Staci? He went to talk with
Number One at the Mart and was only mildly surprised to
discover the change in leadership. The new Number One
told him that they were through with the and he could
have her for expenses. She named a figure which was non-
negotiable and extremely reasonable. Master Wiesel didn't
have to think twice before accepting.
* * * * *
Three months later Staci Davis again found herself on
the auction block. Only this time she belonged. Mistress
Rayna hardly gave her a second look. Staci now knew
exactly what was expected of her and how to behave. It
was a different estate in a different country. Yet everything
seemed strangely familiar. She stood with the other girls,
hands bound behind her back, gag in her mouth, collar
chained to a hook. They had given her one of the higher
numbers so she would go later in the auction. That was
good, she had learned. It meant they expected her to bring
a better price.
Staci found herself watching the staff slaves and the
other absently. She was trying to imagine her future.
She hoped her new Master would turn out to be a big,
powerful, man. She somehow felt sure of it. She would be
his perfect slave. She thought of Mr. Duval. Her new
Master would be a who would know how to bend her
to his will, how to keep her on the edge, how to take his
pleasure with her.
Staci was fantasizing again. The big bad boss had
become the big bad Master. She would serve him well and
would become his favorite slave. It had become an
obsession.
* * * * * End of Part 14 * * * * *
* * * * * End of * * * * *
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 freeing ess to the web site where it is
being posted.
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