Slave Lover (15 page)

In reply, Robert merely nodded his head. Off to one side stood Sheila looking down with fearful eyes.

“She came and got us and told us what was going on,” he said.

“Sheila,” Constance called out. “You saved my life.”

“I couldn’t let them do it,” the redhead said. “I think Madge is just wicked.”

Robert helped Constance to stand up. There were two attendants nearby, one of whom was Roger. He smiled and told her he was glad to see her still among them. Then Robert dismissed the two men and told Sheila that she would be contacted the next day and would probably receive placement on the staff as a reward.

Then the two of them were alone.

“It was a close call,” he said.

“You actually sound concerned,” she replied.

“I would have missed you very much.”

“With all the women you have at your disposal?”

“You know as well as I do that special is special. You know how I feel about you.”

“In normal circumstances you would probably ask me to marry you. What do you do here?”

For an answer he put his arms around her and drew her close to him. His hands slid down her back and cupped her buttocks. He pulled her tightly and she felt his cock press against her cunt. It was hot and it tingled. She tilted her face up to receive his kiss, and sighed when his tongue went into her mouth. They sank slowly to the ground together, and when they were lying side by side she unzipped his pants and took his cock in her hand. It was hot and hard and thick and she closed her eyes in pleasure at the feel of it. Luckily, she was already naked so it was easy for him to roll over onto her and slip his prick into her already sopping cunt.

“I was almost dead a few minutes ago and now I’m lying here being fucked,” she thought.

She allowed herself to drift off into a revery, which detailed the strange journey she had found herself on, in the way that people often do during sex, letting the sensations of the physical serve as a kind of muted and pleasant background music to the progression of ideas. And she had quite lost herself in that process when she came to and found that she was in Robert’s arms, her legs wrapped around his back, her hands in his hair, her mouth open and letting forth cries of passion. Then she was kissing him and hugging him and giving herself to him entirely, her body a rocking horse he rode, her cunt a sea he swam in, her tits a cushion for his soul.

“Oh Constance,” he moaned as he fucked his rampant cock into her drooling cunt.

“Darling,” she whispered to the man who had saved her life, now twice.

And they rode the wave of their excitement until it burst and he spilled his seed inside her and she sucked it into her belly and was touched by the faint biological overtone of conceiving a child in the bowels of the Slave Parlor.

They climaxed together and lay in one another’s arms for a long time afterwards, even allowing themselves the luxury of slipping into sleep.

Finally, he roused himself and pulled himself from her. She smiled and stretched. She looked up at him with the delicious languor of a well-fed cat. He held down one hand and helped her to her feet. He put one arm around her and they strolled off.

“How about dinner in my room?” he asked.

“Sounds marvelous,” she told him.

“And then a movie.”

“Great.”

“And then for a proper romp in bed. I have a cabinet full of happy pills that make what you’ve taken so far seem like candy bars.”

“I’m due back on duty.”

“No, in light of your experience, you’ve been given three days off.”

She smiled and they walked on until, a few feet later, Constance heard the distant sound of rifles being shot off.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“They’ve executed Madge and her cohorts,” he told her.

Constance felt a sharp pain in her heart. “Madge,” she said.

“Don’t think about it,” he counseled. “She tried to kill you. You should kill any sentimental feelings you have for her.”

“I wonder if, after a while, I’ll be capable of any feeling at all.”

“Why should you want to be?” he asked. “Feelings only interfere with sensation.”

They walked for a bit and then Constance stopped and looked around her a long time. The sky was clear. The sea was white in the moonlight. The buildings seemed to sleep. And over in the distance, she knew, the Parlor carried on its gaming, like an all-night casino.

Constance tried to remember how long she’d been there. Probably three months. It all seemed so familiar. She knew most of the faces and routines. And yet it was all so alien and distant. She still didn’t know who the owners were. And it was still a situation that would have outraged her sensibilities of several months ago. Could she have changed that much?

Robert paused to stand next to her.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

She gazed at him and then swept her glance over the entire compound.

“Home,” she said, and smiled, and put her arm around his waist, and walked with him toward a night of entertainment and sensual delight.

“But what’s wrong with having a baby?”

Constance paced up and down in front of the large bay window of the suite that she now shared with Robert. It had been six months since the fateful night on which he saved her life, and both had risen higher in the organization. Robert was now a liaison officer, which meant that he handled messages between the entire staff at the Parlor and the owners themselves. He was sworn to secrecy and could tell Constance nothing about the people he worked with, but on more than one occasion hinted that her eyes would bulge out if she had the faintest inkling who the controllers really were. He told her that he had not met with any of them personally, but through hints and deductions could guess at the identity of many of them.

“They’ve really covered themselves. Even if the place were busted, they would get off. The only thing I can’t yet figure out is why they maintain the place to begin with. But I think it must be one of those embarrassing things, like the Vietnam War, where they just got in and don’t know how to get out.” That was about as much as he had been able to convey to her about the people who kept the Parlor going.

Constance had been promoted, over three stages, to the rank of activities coordinator, which meant that she took the orders, picked the girls, and made out the schedules. The two of them were given permission, as a reward, to live together. Their apartment was the envy of everyone who worked there and their occasional parties were infamous.

Now Constance turned to face Robert who was sprawled on the couch reading the copy of the Times that had just been flown in. He had been looking it over for half an hour, muttering that the world outside had gone mad and that he was glad to have found an asylum away from the idiocies of civilization. Constance kept trying to pull him into what had become her favorite topic.

“It’s just unheard of,” he finally replied. “I mean, who ever heard of having a baby in a slave colony?”

“I don’t recall from any of the history I’ve read that people stopped having babies just because they were slaves. In fact, it seems to me that slaves reproduce more. And anyway, we’re not technically slaves. We are actually employees.”

“Who aren’t allowed to leave.”

“I imagine we could escape if we wanted to. Now.”

He glanced over at her, frowning at her incursion into the forbidden topic. “I like it here,” he said. “It gives me everything I want.”

“All right then. If this is where we’re going to settle down, then I want to have a baby.”

“What about your duties?”

“I’ve already cleared it through channels. I can get time off during the last month of pregnancy and for the first few months after birth. And then I can set up a day-care nursery. Maybe some of the other women will want children also.”

“And what happens to the child when it grows up?”

“It finds its place in the world it was born into, just like any other child.”

“And do you imagine the children will have a good time playing games in the Parlor?”

“The Parlor is a fact of life,” she said. “Every society has its little horror show. The only difference here is that we’re more open about it, that’s all.”

Robert put his paper down and held out his arms. “When have I been able to deny you anything?” he said.

“Whenever you want, until I break down your resistance,” she replied.

She went over and lay down next to him. She snuggled in tightly, her breasts crushing against his chest. He let his hands roam freely over her, sampling her charms for perhaps the three hundredth time, but with no loss of excitement and affection. He nibbled at her ear and licked her throat. Constance purred and pushed herself even further into him. Naked, relaxed, turned on, they gave themselves up to the leisured lovemaking that comes as a reward to those couples who have been able to get through the difficult periods of relationship to sail on a smooth sea of erotic enjoyment.

He cupped her lush buttocks and squeezed the firm flesh. She tightened her ass cheeks and pulled his fingers into her. He bent down and began to lavish the hot wet kisses of his tongue on one of her breasts, licking the nipple, which had turned purple and was already wrinkled with desire. His cock got hard and slid between her thighs, rubbing against the excitable outside lips of her hungry cunt. She straddled his cock and rubbed herself back and forth on it, humping him with growing lust.

“I didn’t think we’d be doing it so soon after last night,” she whispered.

The night before they had had one of their infrequent gatherings, and had two of the slave girls brought in along with three of the guards. They had decided to enact “Roman Emperor,” and Robert had stretched out on their bed while the two women sucked his cock simultaneously, kissing and licking one another’s mouths through the medium of his throbbing erection, their tits cradling his thighs, their asses high and hot before his eyes. And as he wallowed in the voluptuousness of surrender to their tender ministrations, he watched the show on the floor in front of him. There Constance was fucked by three men at once. They had taken her in a variety of ways. First serially, with her on her knees as one after the other of the guards mounted her from behind and fucked her dog-fashion. Then she blew each of the men, walking on her knees from man to man, wrapping her trembling and wet lips around each of their cocks. And finally, they triple-teamed her. One lay on his back and she impaled herself on his cock. The second fucked her in the ass. And the third took her mouth. And they rode her like that for an hour, stuffing her with cock, covering her with their hands and bodies. And all the while Robert watched through lidded eyes and allowed his slaves to lavish pleasure on his prick.

“Having you alone is always a treat after one of our groups,” he told her.

“You know,” she confessed, “whenever we start to make love I am struck by a strange thought right at the beginning. I say to myself, ‘What if, suddenly, we forget how to do it? What if we lose the knack because of overdoing it so much?’”

“And then what happens?”

“And then I get a hot flash in my belly and my ass starts to move and I wonder how I got such a foolish idea in the first place.”

Robert chuckled and gathered her in more tightly to himself. He pulled her under him and hoisted himself on top so that he was lying with his full weight on her. She parted her legs and he tilted his pelvis and his cock head came directly into contact with the opening of her cunt. She bit her lip as he entered her, his cock sliding slow and full into the hot, wet recesses of her pussy.

“A rare treat, my dear,” he said. “A good, old-fashioned fuck in the classic missionary position.”

Her legs rose in the air and spread apart. He aimed his cock like a spear and sunk himself into her very core. Her cunt went soft and squishy and she pushed it against him, rippling the inner muscles. It almost felt as though it would turn inside out in its engulfing need to spread apart and swallow him. The odor of her secretions was already filling the room like the smell of orchids in a hothouse.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned. “Ohhhh, drive it deep. Fill me up. Shove your cock all the way up into my belly.”

She grabbed the backs of her knees and pulled her legs even more widely apart. She was split apart like a log that had just been cleft by an axe. Her whole body was trembling, her tits jiggling, her mouth open and wet. She clenched her thighs and pumped her ass and tried to pull him entirely inside her. He rode her with wild dispassion, totally involved and yet at a distance, enjoying not only his own sensations but vicariously grooving on the effect he was having on her.

“Fuck me like a sow in heat,” she grunted. “Fuck me hard.”

He began to buck into her, pile-driving his stiff rod into her tender and spongy cunt. She let out a series of high-pitched moans, going wild with the rough handling her pussy was receiving. She had her fingers dug into his back, the nails breaking the skin, causing little rivulets of blood to run down between his shoulder blades. As he fucked her, she sailed off into a spectacular reverie, seeing all at once the universal and varied fucking that was taking place all over the world. She pictured the rooms of the buildings in the compound, the attendants popping happy pills, the slave women in their lesbian orgies, the bizarre carryings-on in the Parlor. She saw fists going into cunts, into assholes. She saw women drinking piss. Everywhere there was a rain of cock and pussy, tits and ass, gulping mouths and lapping tongues.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cried out. And at precisely that instant, Robert climaxed, shudders running up and down his spine, his buttocks quivering, the sperm splashing from his cock into the waiting walls of Constance’s cunt.

“Oh yes, yes!” she cried. “Give it to me. Give me your cum. Give me your baby.”

And she glued her body to his, sucking the last drops of sperm from his cock with her cunt, grasping him, pulling at him, milking him dry, until he lay on her spent and exhausted, an emptied vessel, a tool that had served its purpose.

“I think we did it,” she said after a long while. “I really felt it. I felt you shoot it up into my womb.”

“It will be interesting,” was all he could get it together to say.

He began to rouse himself to reach for a cigarette when all of a sudden all of the alarm bells in the compound went off at once. It was as though an airplane had suddenly come crashing out of the sky and exploded right in their middle. Constance felt her heart stop with fear. The very floor seemed to shake with the vibration.

“What is it?” she gasped.

“A raid,” he said. “We’re being raided.”

“But I thought this place was invulnerable.”

“Politics keep shifting,” he said. “Maybe it’s suddenly become in the interest of the owners to have the scene busted up.”

“What can we do?” she asked.

“There’s a secret passageway,” he told her. “We have to get dressed very quickly, get our money stash, and try to get out before we’re caught.”

Even in the midst of the emergency, Constance had a moment for a fleeting smile. “That’s what I like about you, Robert,” she said. “You never get lost in subtleties.”

He was already putting his pants and shirt on and urging her to do the same when they heard the sound of gunfire. The guards were fighting off whichever force it was that was invading. Constance pulled on a pair of slacks and a shirt. They put on shoes, dug out a small leather pouch that held money and traveling essentials, and went out a back door behind the false wall at the back of the clothes closet.

They fled down a long hallway and came at last to a small door. They yanked it open and stepped out into the middle of the jungle, which started right outside the compound. Robert had a map and a compass in the pouch, and they planned to wend their way to a village and move out from there. But the minute they straightened up and stepped into the sunlight, they realized that the game was up. Four men in grey business suits holding automatic pistols were standing there waiting for them.

“FBI,” one of the men said. “Don’t move.”

They swooped down and frisked the two of them, relieving them of their pouch. Robert and Constance were told to put their hands on their heads and to march back through the tunnel. They moved slowly and finally got back into their room where several other agents had already arrived from the other direction. Constance glanced out the window and saw that the compound was swarming with men in grey business suits. They were surrounded by hordes of slave girls who were jumping up and down in glee, ready to give their all to their rescuers. But most of them were either naked or dressed in the scantiest of clothing, and the fact that they were ready to drop to their knees and suck the cocks of the agents seemed the most normal thing in the world to them; they had lost touch with the reality of the outside world in which such things weren’t thought, much less done.

“They are going to have a harder time adjusting back to their old lives than they can begin to imagine,” Constance thought. “And what about me? I ought to be with them, one of the women freed from the tyranny of her captors. And yet, here I am, being treated as a prisoner. Will I be put on trial? Will I be arrested? Will I go to prison?” As the questions bounced back and forth across her mind, she was already beginning to write the story, figuring out how she might escape the censure of the law.

It would be difficult for her to plead innocence. Too many of the other women knew of her status, had seen her in the Parlor, had joined her in her quarters for wild parties. Constance also had the files of all the slaves and customers in her office, and it would be easy for any prosecutor to prove that she was a kind of Eichmann of the Slave Parlor.

“Take him out,” one of the agents said. Robert had a gun poked in his back and was led from the room. As he reached the door, he turned to Constance, smiled, and winked. She doubted she would ever see him again. She was convinced he would find some way to kill himself before he allowed himself the ignominy of a public trial. Her eyes misted over as she watched what could easily be the father of the child she was certain she had just conceived walk out of her life forever.

When he was gone, there were five agents left in the room. The one in charge sent two others out on an errand, and when the door had closed she was left with the three remaining men. It didn’t take but a split second for her to realize just what they had in mind.

“We have about twenty minutes,” the one in charge said.

“Will we be disturbed?” the second one asked.

“No, this sector is secure and no one will enter without contacting me first.” He flourished his walkie-talkie.

“So the cunt is all ours for twenty minutes,” the second one went on.

“Take your clothes off, bitch,” the man in charge told Constance.

She balked for an instant and the third man came up behind her and cuffed her ears. Her head rang with the blow and she staggered forward.

“Off with ‘em, cunt,” the first man repeated.

Constance trembled. Never had she been so repulsed and frightened. Even when tied to a table, blindfolded and gagged, with a strange man fist-fucking her, she had never felt the level of repulsion she now experienced. There was something brutal about these men that surpassed anything she had ever encountered. She tried to figure out what it was as she slipped out of her pants, exposing her pretty and delicate ass to their hot eyes, letting them have access to her cunt; she speculated on what the insight might mean as she shrugged out of her blouse, letting her tits fall free. In a few seconds she was standing stark naked in the middle of the triangle formed by the three agents.