Message-ID: <34866asstr$1011568206@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: "MARK MERSEREAU" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4133.2400 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 17:40:02 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 17:40:02 GMT Subject: {ASSM} REPOST: Abducted and Enslaved Part 2 Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 18:10:06 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, newsman Hi, Moderator: See the attached. Mark { ASSM } {Mersereau} REPOST "Abducted & Enslaved" ( MF Mf FF FM Ff Fm Mdom Fdom nc voy sm bd oral toys ) (2/?) The usual disclaimers: This is strictly adult material; all characters are fictional. Events in this story are unethical, immoral, and illegal. Readers should understand that the story is strictly fiction and many of the events and characters in it have no place in a civilized society. No redistribution without attribution to the above-named author. No commercial use whatsoever of this story. N.B. The author wrote this in MSWord and in that form contains pagination and formatting to indicate of internal dialogue and emphasis. For those readers interested in obtaining this original version, please contact the author at mdotmersereau@aol.com. Please indicate whether you can unzip compressed files with the .zip and or .exe extensions (the latter not feasible with Apples). A&E-Part 2 (Chapters 5-10) CHAPTER FIVE: The Captives are Taken Onto the Ship Despite the prisoners' fatigue, their captors allowed them no rest. The boss, who had greeted them originally, split them into two groups. He pointed out nine of them, seemingly at random except that he divided them evenly according to sex, with three males and six females in each group. Sheila, in the first group, found herself separated from both Ed and Wendy. Ken and Al led them into the room they had originally entered. They were again bound, hands behind them, and hooded. Instead of draw strings about the hoods, leather collars provided with riveted-on rings were fastened about their throats. A cord was drawn through a ring in each collar so all nine prisoners were linked loosely together. They were led from the building and walked to the pier. The air from the sea soon had them all shivering in their scant attire. They heard the sound of an engine, purring softly close by. A man grasped Sheila's arm. "Careful," he told her. "It's a step down. He aided her into the vessel and walked her, followed by the other prisoners, to the front. "Sit here." A moment later she felt a cold, wet bench against her bare buttocks and labia, a slightly concave surface against her right hip. Another body squashed in beside her. "Keep tight together," the man ordered; "there's hardly room in here for the nine of you." Someone withdrew the cord from their collar rings. The body beside her pushed harder against her own, but Sheila was grateful for its warmth. "I'm Sheila," she whispered, shivering. "I-I'm Jane," her companion replied. "I can't believe this is happening. All this is so awful. What's going to happen to us? One of those men was really disgusting; I'm still cringing from it! This seems like a nightmare. I can't believe that just a few hours ago I said 'Bye' to Mom and Dad, excited about my date with Bill. Now, I'm kidnapped. God, maybe they're taking us somewhere where we'll never be found!" I'd like to assure her, but I don't know myself what's going to happen. To any of us. The boat began to move. From the motions of the waves, it seemed they were heading out to sea. About half an hour elapsed, after which the boat slowed, then bumped against what proved to be a larger, ocean-going, ship. A man helped them into a boatswain's chair which lifted them, one at a time, onto the larger vessel. As soon as Sheila felt her feet strike the deck, she felt hands grip her under the arms and lift her from the chair. A hand grasped her arm, and she was led quickly, so she had difficulty not stumbling, against another body and a railing. She felt a rope put through her collar. Then, a hand went under her halter. "How d'ya like these tits!" a man said. His hand began squeezing and kneading her breast. She cried, "Please! you're hurting me!" There was no response from the man. Instead, she heard another man's voice: "Yeah, wouldn't you like to fuck her?!" A hand, perhaps his, pulled her skirt up. "Hey! she's blonde--look at her snatch!" he added. A hand went between her legs, and a finger worked between her labia, roughly probing. It felt uncomfortable, almost hurt. She exclaimed, "Stop! Please!" and she tried to pull away, but they had her jammed between themselves and the railing. "Hey Roy! You two there!" she heard a man, farther off, yell. "Get the next one!" The men released her. "C'mon Roy. What d'ya think? Chance we can fuck any of 'em- -before we dock at the island?" She heard them trot away. The person next to her, in a girl's voice, spoke. "Jesus! did they hurt you? There wasn't a thing I could do. My hands are tied." "No," Sheila said. "I'm all right." But she was shivering, not just from the cold. They stood waiting, for another ten or fifteen minutes. Then a man, in a loud voice, told them, "We're taking you inside now. Walk slowly, follow the person in front of you. We'll enter a door and there are steps down, so be careful!" Sheila followed the girl who'd spoken to her, and after stepping over some barrier a few inches high, she took three steps. The girl in front of her said, "Watch it--here are the steps!" They went down three flights. As they went, it grew warmer, and Sheila was grateful for it. She stopped shivering. At the bottom, they were led a short distance down a corridor. She heard a door open and a moment later she followed the girl, over a similar barrier, into a room. The person behind her, a man, stumbled against her, evidently tripping, and exclaimed, "Oh! sorry!" and righted himself. "Watch the feet!" he said. Sheila heard the door close, and a bolt lock it. For a few moments she and the others stood about, not moving, but finally the man behind her said, "I think we're alone." She heard another male voice say, "I think so too. Let's see if we can untie ourselves." They aided each other in unbinding each other's hands, then their collars and hoods. They found themselves in a relatively small cabin. Their cabin contained four bunks, one above and one below against each of the longer walls. The floor was carpeted. They found a small bathroom containing a shower, sink, and toilet. A single recessed fluorescent light illuminated the main room, a bulb over a cabinet lit the bathroom. There were no portholes. One of the men said, "I think we're below the water line. That's probably why." There were nine of them, six of them girls and women, and three men. Everyone was exhausted. The female prisoners took the four bunks, each lower being shared by two girls. The men found areas of the carpet to rest on. After about two hours, there was increased activity on the ship, and it began to move. All of them were so tired that, in spite of the noise on the vessel and its motion, most of them slept. After some hours, from time to time, some of them awoke. They were hungry, but no one appeared to provide food, or even water. They resorted to drinking with cupped hands at the bathroom sink and hoped the water was safe. Few of them knew each other; so a blonde young man of about eighteen or nineteen, took the initiative. He had the physique of a wrestler or football lineman and was sitting on the carpet against the outer bulkhead. "My name is Bill. Jane and I were on a double date last night . . . or," he stammered slightly, "rather, we thought we were. The driver of the limo that picked us up said he'd pick up the other couple after us. That was bullshit. Instead, we were met by a couple of men with guns. They got in and we were driven to the dock. That's about all we know. Can you think of anything else, Jane?" The girl had begun crying when the young man began talking. When he addressed her, she suppressed her sobs and wiped her cheeks. "N-No," Jane responded. "E-Except, the couple were foreigners. They had accents." She was blonde and shapely. To Sheila, she looked a year or two younger than Bill, perhaps seventeen. "Where did you meet them?," Sheila asked. Bill replied, "At a party that a modelling agency put on," Bill replied. "SMF? 'Swimsuit Models of the Future?'" Sheila asked. "Yes! How did you know that? Do you know them?" "No, but we attended a reception that was given by SMF. Lots of lovely girls and women were there. What made you go to this party?" Bill said, "We saw a 'models wanted' ad by SMF in a magazine. It said that the promoters would pay girls to have tryout photos taken of them at the party. Everything was free there, even the drinks. Jane isn't old enough to take the wine or beer but we pigged out on the food." "The couple s-seemed real sophisticated," Jane stammered. "They asked us to double date with them. They were sure I was going to be hired. I-I was so excited, thinking that I was going to have a career in modelling." "They claimed they had four tickets to the premier of a new film, and that the stars were going to attend," Bill said. "But, we never saw them after the party. All we saw was the inside of that limosine!" "That's similar to how I and my husband were taken," Sheila said. She described what had happened to herself and her two friends. A petite girl with long black hair who sat sharing a lower bunk with an auburn-haired girl said, "That's similar to what happened to Mia and me." She indicated the girl beside her. "We're roommates at SUNY. A boy in one of our classes showed me an ad in the News for that SMF company, and he and some of the other kids thought Mia and I ought to go to the open house. We thought we might want summer modelling jobs if we could get them, and both of us could use the money. College is pretty expensive for my parents." The girl next to her said, "Robyn's exaggerating. I didn't think I'd get a job. She's the one with the model's figure, anyone can see that. I just went along with her for company."' Sheila thought they both were model material, although Robyn, the brunette was certainly more striking. She was petite, but with oversized breasts for her frame, and gorgeous black tresses that she kept in a ponytail. "Does anyone have an idea why we've been kidnapped like this?" Robyn asked. Sheila said nothing. She saw no point in frightening everyone, but Jerry, he of the large organ, with short brown hair, about thirty, said, "I hate to say it but it looks like slavery to me. Maybe kidnapping for ransom. I don't see what else it can be." "Slavery?" Robyn said. "How can there be slavery today? That was ended a long time ago." The third male in the room spoke up then. A boy of about sixteen, with brown hair in need of a haircut, he and his girl friend were seated beside each other next to the bunk opposite that on which Robyn and Mia sat. He said, "That sounds crazy. Why would anyone want slaves today? Maybe they took us for ransom, like you said. Still, I can't believe even that. I never heard of such a thing." "Oh, there's slavery going on, all right," Jerry said. "If you read the papers and watched 'Sixty Minutes' you'd know that. I never heard of it happening in the USA, but it's going on in Europe. Mostly, or rather all girls, from Eastern Europe. They get kidnapped and sold in various countries, like Turkey, or even Italy, for big bucks. Five thousand or more if the girl is pretty." At that there was silence. "B-But, they took you, too," the blonde Jane said. "They didn't just take girls." "I know," Jerry responded, shrugging. "I don't know why. Maybe, like I said a minute ago, it's for ransom. That's going on in some countries, too." There was a knock on the cabin door. A male voice yelled through it, "Everyone stand back, away from the door!" A moment later the door was unlocked, and a man entered. Behind him stood another man wielding a pistol. They were apparently ship's officers since they wore uniforms and officers' caps. "Is either of you blondes named Sheila?," the front man asked, looking from Jane to Sheila. "I-I am," Sheila responded, apprehensive. Why were they asking for her by name? Oh god; I hope they didn't find the camera in my purse clasp. The man withdrew a black cloth and a roll of tape from a pocket. He tossed them to Jerry. "Blindfold her with this," he said. "Just cover her eyes. Then wrap the tape around the cloth so it's tight. I don't want it to slip off." When Jerry was done, the man took Sheila's hand. He led her from the room. CHAPTER SIX: Ken, Al, Pierre, and Roy Abuse Sheila in theirCabin Yvonne's steward, Pierre, glanced quickly up and down the corridor. He saw no one, and he softly unlocked the door to the Captain's suite. Yvonne is on the bridge. She shouldn't be back down for another forty minutes. He listened, heard nothing, and let himself in. Quickly, he went to the table and collected the used utensils and the empty wine bottle. He set them beside the tray and large cloth. This was one of his rest periods, but he would use the cleanup as an excuse should she return and catch him. Pierre found the album in the right bottom drawer of her desk. He examined its position so he could return it without it appearing to have been disturbed. He glanced at the wall chronometer. He had no more than thirty minutes before she'd be off the bridge and return. He would have to hurry. He removed the album and slipped it under the tray. He draped the cloth over the tray. He set the dirty plates and cup on the cloth and tray, and lifted them, placing the entire shaky edifice on the flat of his right hand. After tentatively testing its balance, he carefully went to the stateroom door. He glanced down both sides of the corridor. It was empty, and he closed the door quickly behind him. He left the B deck and went down past C where the cheaper cabins were, and one more flight, to D, where the kitchen and crew's quarters were located. He glanced down the hall, was satisfied it was empty, then quickly passed the kitchen and the communal bath. He reached the cabin that he shared with the other three men. Ken, Al, and his fellow steward, Roy, were all there, Ken and Al were sitting on Al's lower bunk, while Roy was sitting opposite them, on Pierre's bunk. The moment Pierre entered, Roy stood up. He helped removed the items from the tray, the cloth, and finally, the tray. "Whew!" Pierre exclaimed. "The album is as heavy as the average dinner the Captain orders. It's fortunate that I had only two decks to come down." "Let's see the cunts," Ken said. He jumped up and reached for the album. Pierre pulled it away. "Be careful! I'm not supposed to take this out except to show the clients. Don't get your greasy hands on it!" "My hands ain't greasy. Anyway, open it up on the bunk here, so we can all see it." Pierre laid it on the coverlet and opened it. "I only have about twenty minutes," he said. I'll have to get it back before she leaves the bridge." He flipped past a number of colored tabs and lay it open at the section with the tab labeled, 'Shipment 19'. He let the other three men eagerly thumb through it. "Jesus!" Roy said. "I never saw so many gorgeous broads in my life! Stark fucking naked!" "I told you they were," Ken bragged. "They're right out of Penthouse!" Al turned to the steward. "You actually brought one of these broads up deck for the rich pricks to fuck?" Pierre nodded. "On the last trip. The Captain is gonna pull the same scam on this trip; I heard her talking about it with two clients. Of course the clients have to pay. That's why she's pulling the scam. I got big money for that girl on the last trip; you'll never guess how much!" Roy laughed scornfully. "You did? You mean the Captain did. Did you cream any of it off, or did she get it all?" "She gave me a cut. Not as big as she should have. I'm pissed about that." "Well, we sure the fuck won't pay." "Hurry it up. I have to get this back. Pick a girl out." "Suppose she makes a fuss?" Al asked. "What if she squeals to the Captain?" "She won't. Roy and I will both wear officer's hats. Girls are dumb about ships. She won't know these are stewards uniforms. She'll think we're officers. Besides, when the Captain takes a girl up for those two clients, she'll think it's what goes on here." "I know the one I want," Ken said. "The one you hassled me about back in the storage building." "Yeah," Al replied. I got a hardon for her too. She's got great tits. See if her picture is in here." * * * They took Sheila down one flight of stairs and into a hall that she supposed was similar to the one her cabin door exited into. After a few step, she heard a door opened. "Step up," one of the men told her, and she stepped over some barrier into the next room. They took off her blindfold and she saw she was in a cabin very much like the one she'd left, with bunks above and below against the two longer walls. The two men who had brought her wore wore white uniforms, with dark blue officers caps.. I guess they're ship's officers. But she was horrified to see the two men who's abused her in the building where she'd undressed. Ken and Al, who were looking at her, grinning. "I guess you're not too happy to see us, huh?" Ken said. "Well, we're gonna finish what we started last night. We ain't gonna be interrupted, this time." "Who fucks her first?" Al asked. "Well, shit," Ken said; "I'm first. After the way you pulled me off her, you sure as hell ain't gonna be." He stood up. "Let's get those rags she's wearing off." Pierre said, "Be careful. Don't tear any of it. Sheila, you take it off, all right?' Sheila felt herself trembling. I have no choice. Well, it's what I expected when I accepted this assignment from Max. She undid the halter string and removed the garment. "Oh man!" Ken exclaimed; "Look at those tits!' Before Sheila could touch the skirt, Ken had grabbed her waist and thrust his face onto her left breast, taking the nipple in his mouth. Sheila felt strange. Her feeling was detached, as though she were watching a play and that none of this was real. Ken's sucking mouth, and his hands didn't seem real. Nor did the hands from one of the men behind her, pulling down her skirt and lifting her feet in turn by her ankles, to remove it. The entire cabin seemed unreal. Its single fluorescent light above her and the bunks, the lower right one she now noticed had several color photographs of nude women torn crudely from some magazine taped to its wall. Someone's hands were between her legs, feeling her genitals, probing roughly for her vagina, finding it. "Please!" she protested. "You're hurting me!" "OK, I'll make it easier," she heard one of them say. She thought it was Pierre, his voice was rougher than the others. Two men pushed her back onto the right hand bunk, and she fell awkwardly onto the counterpane, lying with her upper body and hips on it, her legs over the edge. Her bare feet--her slippers had come off with her skirt--were flat on the cabin carpet. Hands grasped her ankles and pulled her legs apart; then she felt bare skin between her thighs, someone had removed his clothing already. She stared at the base of the upper bunk above her and noticed a broken metal spring. The mattress above it had torn and some of its contents, like dirty cotton, protruded. She notice the pictures again; there were eight. Three above, five below, but she couldn't see much of them, the angle was too acute. Ken was mouthing each of her nipples in turn, sucking. They had both become erect, although she felt no sense of arousal, just hard nipples. Now, the one between her legs had his hand on her labia--no, his mouth; that surprised her. She felt a tongue separating her lips, spreading them as it explored. What a weird experience. As a reporter, I suppose I should try to remember this. She was less frightened now than she had been the night before, when Ken and Al had probed her with their hands and fingers. In fact, she felt hardly any fear, simply this feeling of detachment. "Hey Pierre!" she heard a man, Al(?), laugh. "How come you're eating her out? You like the taste of cunt?" The mouth withdrew, just long enough for Pierre to reply, "I like them juicy." Al laughed again. "Jesus, the French!" "He's Canadian," Roy said. Rather than arousing her, the tongue tickled. He seemed to be licking every millimeter of her vulva. He sucked her labia and began pulling on them. She wanted to pull away, but that was impossible. Several times his tongue probed the vestibule of her vagina. Her clit wasn't the least hard, but periodically he pulled on its hood. The whole scene seemed weird. Her nipples were becoming sore. It was a relief when Ken finally took his mouth off them. "Now we're gonna finish what we started last night," he said, smiling down at her. "One of you hold her hands." Sheila thought it was Al, who was kneeling on the bed behind her. His knees were digging into her upper arms on each side of her. He reached around her, his arms pressing down against her breasts as he grasped her wrists. He pulled her arms back and held them in a position that, if she had been standing they would have been above her head. Ken stood up. She saw him undo his belt, unzip his pants, and pull them, along with his undershorts, down his legs. He kicked them off, leaving them on the carpet. His penis was erect. Naked from his shirttail to his socks, Ken knelt on the bed, straddling Sheila's waist. He gripped his organ, pointing it at her face. He moved closer, until his knees were pressed into her armpits, and his penis was directly before her, inches from her eyes. She felt his muscular thighs pressing her chest, squashing her breasts. "Do you open your mouth?" he asked, "or do I choke you?" "I-I'll do it." She opened her mouth, but he took his time. He looked about, apparently to see if the others were watching. Then, holding the shaft with two fingers, with the head he followed the contour of her parted lips, brushing over their entire surface. Finally, he inserted it between her teeth. He moved it forward and it pressed down on her tongue. It slid to the back of her mouth. He gave a short, hard thrust with his hips. Sheila gagged. Her eyes watered. For a moment she couldn'tsee. Hands gripped her head, and the shaft began to move back and forth over her tongue. All Sheila was able to see was his naked belly thrusting toward and away from her face. The shaft between her teeth seemed enormous, and each time he thrust it forward she felt a surge of panic that it would plug her throat. She was vaguely conscious of the other men. The man holding her wrists behind her must have opened his pants. His hands brought hers together. Her palms encountered warm flesh, his penis, which was erect and she realized he wanted her to grip it. She closed her fingers about it. Ken clutched her head, and he began thrusting faster. Sheila had difficulty holding her mouth open enough. It worried her; once, during a long blowjob she'd given Eli, he'd complained about her scratching him with her teeth. She was afraid of what Ken might do if she angered him by doing the same to him. The mouth and tongue that had been licking and sucking her genitals abruptly withdrew. Hands grasped her ankles. The hands pushed her legs upward, and apart. Her knees were to each side of Ken in his position straddling her chest. He continued to grip her head while he thrust his shaft forward and back in her mouth. Keeping her mouth open enough to accommodate its size was beginning to make her jaws ache. Each time he thrust forward it plugged the opening to her throat. She struggled not to gag. She felt fingers part her buttocks. Something cold and hard pressed against her anus; then it entered. The sensation of cold began to fill her rectum. KY Jelly? Oh god, are they going to fuck me in the ass?! Then she felt the penis against her anus. It pressed harder and harder. Suddenly, she felt the head slip in.. It felt like an enormous pole. It reminded her of the big cucumber she had once masturbated with. She had feared it would be too large for her vagina but, with enough vaseline, she had forced it in. This felt that large. It was so uncomfortable that she almost forgot her fear that the shaft, that she held in her mouth and that was thrusting over her tongue and gagging her, would enter her throat. She felt helpless. Ken gripped her head, holding it up so that she was continually fearful that he would drive his organ into her throat. Someone with vise-like hands was holding her wrists behind her. Another held her ankles pushed up so her knees were on each side of Ken's hips. The thrusts in her anus felt like a baseball bat entering her. They made her fear that something in her would tear if it went in farther. She wanted to pull back, but she was immobilized. When a thrust did drive it in farther, it didn't happen, but her fear remained. The organ in her mouth suddenly gave a hard thrust, so deep that she retched. She gagged, and her eyes watered. The shaft pulled back and stopped. The head was still in her mouth, pressing down on her tongue. It swelled. He exclaimed, "Aaaaaah! Drink it you bitch!" It squirted , again and again, and her mouth filled. The flavor caused her salivary glands to generate even more fluid. She yearned to spit. She used to be thrilled when Eli came in her mouth. Now she felt nauseous. Sheila prayed that Ken would pull it out. But it remained where was after his orgasm, until it shrank on her tongue. It was like a limp worm when he finally withdrew it and relieved her aching jaws. He released her head and turned to look behind him.. "Jesus Al!" he said; "Ain't you come yet?!" The enormous presence pulled out of her anus. She heard Al's voice, complaining, "The bunk's too narrow. There's no head-room. Let's take her on the floor." One of the others--was his name Roy?--said, "Yeah. We'll get at her better there." Ken said, "You fuck her for a while, Roy. I'll be hard again when you're done." "No, she's gonna suck me first, like she did you," Roy responded. They made Sheila kneel on the carpet, and each of the other three men used her mouth. Unbelievably, by the time that the penis of the last man squirted, Sheila's only thought was the anticipation of relief for her aching jaws. She hoped that would end it, but it was only the beginning. They compelled her to kneel on a bunk with her buttocks over its edge. Al held her while Ken used her. Ken was followed again by each of the others. When it was Ken's turn again, he said, "I'm having trouble getting a hardon. I'm gonna use her mouth again." They dragged her back onto the carpet. As she knelt, Ken flicked his limp penis up and down before her face. "Here it is, Cunt. Make it hard!" The men became impatient at awaiting their turns, and they took her two at a time. Pierre stood behind her and used her between the buttocks while she had to bend over and masturbate Roy who stood before her. She was no longer able to open her jaws when ordered to, and semen shot in her face. Her anus and rectum were sore. She felt her legs were going to collapse under her despite the man gripping her hips. She lost count of how many times she'd been taken in the ass, and how many times semen had spurted in her mouth or in her face. At some time she must have collapsed. Perhaps she fell asleep while standing. She couldn't remember. She vaguely recalled a man wiping her face with a damp cloth. One man held her up while another drew her halter about her breasts. He raised her feet one at a time to slip her legs into her skirt, and her feet into her slippers. She was led, stumbling, up a flight of stairs and was walked to her cabin. The men turned her over to two women; they lay her on a bunk where she fell asleep. CHAPTER SEVEN: Leon & the Director in Paris Marie looked up at the newcomer. Bon dieu--what a man. He's like a movie star! His smile sent shivers through her. He resembled in no way those nondescript men who had preceded him over the two years that she had worked for the director. His blue eyes took her in casually. To Marie they were soft hands following each contour of her body. With her soft auburn hair, her curvaceous figure and substantial bosom, with her innocent wide eyes and long lashes, Marie knew she was attractive to men. But, suddenly she felt awkward, flawed. Was she attractive to him? She patted her hair and prayed that her bra strap wasn't showing again. Leon made no attempt to converse with her. Marie was disappointed: he merely said "Monsieur Castel, Mademoiselle, to see Le Directeur." He took a seat, looking at her with a faint smile. Blushing, Marie looked down. * * * Le Directeur continued through the dossier. This Castel wasn't at all like the other seven or eight field agents that he briefed in a year. This man seemed virtually fearless. For dangerous assignments that was appropriate enough. Although, from what the Americans knew, it seemed this one might not be dangerous. On the other hand, the director knew better than to trust early indications in any investigation. When an opponent sensed danger, he often took severe and effective measures, particularly where large amounts of money were concerned. Certainly danger was present for any agent sent from France and other western countries into the bribe-rife Eastern Europe's white female slave trade. Murder and torture were common. It was probably wise to send in an agent who could handle himself. Fearless or not, Castel has his faults. Le Directeur examined the photograph. It's nearly two years old. Still, at thirty-nine the man should not have changed much. Devilishly good looking; reminds me of the protagonist in that novel translated from the English, 'Le Peinture de Dorian Gray'. Castel has many of his characteristics. With women, especially. Apparently has no regard for them, considers them in toto as the pool of vehicles to choose from when motivated by his sexual appetite. The incident as a fifteen year old schoolboy with his two friends created such a scandal that, since then, he's assumed a mantle of respect for girls and women. According to the other two boys involved in the affair, he was the instigator. Seems likely they were truthful; it fits in both with Castel's character as a controller, and his subsequent numerous--always brief--affairs. Considering how young the boys were, each fifteen at the time of the 'incident', they did quite a lot to the girl. Out of curiosity rather than in the expectation of discovering anything necessary for his meeting with the agent, the Director read the transcripts of the interviews. The girl was the daughter of a small perfumer. Leon met her when he went with his mother to the boutique run by the girl's family. Initially, the girl waited on Leon's mother but the girl's mother who was also in the shop, evidently recognizing wealth when she saw it, intervened and she took over. Subsequently, Leon and the girl conversed while the two mothers discussed perfume. The director picked up the transcript of Leon's interview and leaned back in his chair. According to Leon's testimony, the girl invited Leon to picnic with her. He considered her invitation to be suggestive. Her parent's estate was devoted to flower cultivation-- much of the province of Grasse even today is still used for that purpose. Theirs contained a copse; the young couple went to a clearing in it with a basket of food and wine and a blanket, all provided by the girl. Leon claimed they had 'some sex' as well as food and wine. The interviewer didn't dig further. A pity. I would have. He glanced at the girl's transcript. She claimed the picnic was entirely Leon's idea. Some kissing but she denied any 'sex'. Interviewer dug no further (again! These stupid provincials!. Had all this occurred in Paris, we'd have discovered the truth). They had another picnic three days later. Leon brought along two friends from school. Disagreement--naturally--about how it began. Leon and two other boys claimed they 'fooled around' on the blanket with the girl, all four including her, laughing. Then . . . He glanced at each manuscript. All four agreed that Leon started it. He 'played' with the girl, while the other two held her. At Leon's instigation, they tied her to the trunk of a tree. She protested at first but Leon persuaded the other two that 'she didn't mean it', that her protest was a formality, that she was ashamed to admit her arousal. She didn't scream or even cry. Then, all three of the boys put hands under her clothing and explored her body. The director glanced again at the girl's affidavit. She claimed only that they touched her 'everywhere'. Leon 'finger-fucked' her. He claimed that the girl was sexually aroused and liked it. The other boys--stupid or ignorant?--didn't know whether she was or not. The girl testified that she was not, and that she continued to protest. They all four agreed that she kept saying "Non! non!" Leon was the only one who claimed it was pro forma. Then, they all agreed, Leon removed his trousers, and he had intercourse with her standing up. The girl protested initially but stopped after some minutes. Leon said, "Your turn," and the other two also had intercourse with her. The girl began to cry. They undid her hands but kept her waist bound to the tree trunk; Leon coerced her, by pinching her nipples and 'other parts of her body', into performing what the investigators term 'an unnatural act' with a wine bottle. The director looked at the doctor's statement. "The victim's hymen was found to be intact but her vaginal opening appeared large enough to permit the actions she claims were committed upon her by the young men. This is not particularly unusual. Some minor abrasions in the orifice confirmed recent intercourse." He perused the boys' transcripts. Out of her hearing, according to the other two boys, Leon told them he'd persuade her to use her mouth. Back then, girls of seventeen were ignorant, certainly in the provinces. The girl would have none of the knowledge a young Parisienne of today. The girl may never have heard of oral sex. That must have been traumatic for her. Unless, of course, the theory held by the investigators that she was sexually experienced has some validity. The director looked over each interrogation transcript, trying to get a sense of whose words sounded truthful. Leon pinched her nipples as well as 'other places'. The girl claimed that 'he gave me no choice', that his pinching compelled her to do it. Leon, on the other hand, claimed his pinching wasn't that hard; that, except for her nipples it wasn't even pinching. He said her sounds indicated pleasure. He undid her from the tree and she performed the act on him while he lay on the blanket. While she did it, Leon fondled her with his hands and told the others, "She likes it, I can tell." After the girl satisfied him, Leon wanted her to do it with each of his friends, but they demurred, saying they 'didn't want that'. They each had intercourse with her once more. When the second boy was ready to have her, Leon told the girl, 'take it doggie style, on your hands and knees'. While the boy had her from the rear, Leon had her as he'd had her before, from the front. Because of Leon's age and that of the girl, who was seventeen, the authorities dropped the matter. Two members of the panel were fixed on the notion that the girl, two years older than the boys, might have been the seducer. The parents of the girl were compensated, and nothing more was done. Since then, Castel avoided scandal. The director attached the paper clip and marker, "Personal Actions" and slipped the papers back in the folder. He took out the "Professional Actions" papers and removed the marker and clip. He's certainly a manipulator. In the field, that could be an advantage. If things go well, he'll learn what the setup on the island is fairly soon after his arrival. Risk seems less than ones he's faced before. Still, one never knows for certain. Not until an agent disappears and--perhaps--is found later, floating in the Seine. Or is never found at all. Castel valued money, which was normal enough. On an occasional assignment, however, he had stretched his authority. Not as yet in activities blatantly illegal. Fortunately Castel seemed to keep on the proper side of the law. Castel might have made a master criminal. Perhaps as notorious as that Adam Smith. What a headache for Paris and London he had been! The model for the fictional Moriarty of that British author, Doyle. Sheer nerve and contempt for his opponents. Those, plus intelligence, explained his success. The director closed the folder and slipped it in a drawer. He flicked the intercom on. "Send him in, Marie." The door opened and Leon strolled in. Disdaining the trouble to await Le Directeur's invitation, he took the chair before the desk. "I've been ordered to report to you, as you know, M. Le Directeur. About an international problem, one necessitating a knowledge of English." The older man nodded. "And other abilities, M. Castel. Have you read the summary sheet that I faxed you?" "Such as it is. It seems that you're quite ignorant about what I'm being sent into. Some island in the tropics, with a slave trade in white women. Not much information I can use to prepare myself. You're not even aware of its location." "We believe it's in our area of the Windward Islands, perhaps near Santa Lucia. A number of our islands are privately owned. All by wealthy and, for the most part, influential people. A few owners happen to be French, but most are foreigners." "How do you propose I pose as a client?" Leon asked, withdrawing a packet from his jacket. "They are wealthy. You aren't known for generosity with l'argent petit, Monsieur le Chef." The Chef de Securit reddened. On paper, the man was subordinate to him. But he had been recommended for this investigation by a close associate of the Premier. In the past, politics had laid its coarse hand on him and he knew better than to resist it when motivated solely by personal irritations. He extended his arm over the desk, holding out his lighter and striking it simultaneously. "We have the names of several of these so-called 'clients'. One is a woman who takes her vacation there each spring. She has a reputation for liaisons with younger men. She's extremely wealthy." "You expect her to pay my passage?" Castel chuckled. Le Directeur read it as a sneer, but perhaps he was being too thin-skinned. Castel continued. "Isn't that improbable? Or, at least problematic? I don't know the woman. Evidently you expect me to seduce her. How long do I have? Is she married? Is she haut societ ? I'm not in that class, M. le Directeur." The director suppressed his annoyance. Is this man trying to get out of the job? How the devil has he survived in the field? Some thug should have assassinated him long ago. "Babette is an attorney," the director replied; "but she inherited wealth. Her father, who's a widower, lives in Monaco, in a villa. I understand her mother left her several hundreds of millions. She has no siblings. As for her husband, he lives on the Riviera with his mistress. Babette and he split several years ago." "Does she have a current lover?" "She recently gave him the boot. For chasing actresses." "How old is she?" The directeur cleared his throat. This Castel is reported to have a temper. "Not very young. Uh, forty-nine, I believe." Leon blew a ring, and leaned back. "You want me to be une prostitu e." The older man sighed. Damn politicians! Why did they saddle me with this dandy?! "Monsieur Castel, this is a most delicate matter. I understand your distaste for this assignment, but I have it on the highest authority that you were chosen as the sole man in Securit who possesses the intellect and sheer audacity to carry it out." The statement produced in the director a slight feeling of la naus e, but it was the sort of unctuous phrasing that he deemed necessary with political appointees. Leon suppressed his urge to laugh at the man. He flicked the cigarette over the ashtray. On reflection, however, he realized that he had little choice. Hardly any more than had Le Directeur. "I presume you have a photograph of the girl?" The older man withdrew the folder from the middle drawer and opened it on the desk. He handed Leon the photo. "Mmm! Very pretty. She's what, about twenty?" "Twenty-two. As I said, an exchange student, a graduate one. Quite mature and, as you might suppose, intelligent. She disappeared along with her roommate. I understand that normally, graduate students in the United States live like Sorbonne students, off-campus. This Millet girl chose not to. Perhaps she felt more comfortable as a foreigner by living with the other students. In any case, her roommate and she were abducted together. We have more detailed information from the New York authorities. It's all in the folder." He drew out the second folder. "This contains information about Babette LaFleur." "Do you have a picture of her?" The directeur withdrew it and handed it to him. "Mmm, actually, she isn't bad. She must have been a real beauty, once." The woman was a brunette; obviously older than himself, but her figure looked good. A pretty face. Being wealthy, perhaps she kept her youthful countenance free of age lines surgically. That might be true of her figure as well. Ample breasts, but clothing and brassieres could enhance their appearance, so the photo meant little. Her hair was smooth and uncurled, parted in the middle and shoulder length. "She's still quite attractive," the director affirmed. "I've arranged for you to be invited to the American Ambassador's party, which she'll be attending. I suppose she'll have an escort, but he'll be ad hoc. You should be able to introduce yourself without his being a nuisance." "Do I have a free hand?" Le Directeur guessed what Leon was thinking of. However, the matter was delicate. "Within reason. In what sense do you want your 'hands free'?" "M. Le Directeur, I'm sure you've assigned many undercover agents. What does an agent do--with a pistol to his head--if he's ordered by a gang of 'engorg s', to strangle someone?" "We have no indication that the abductors are murderers." "Perhaps not. But you have too little information to assert that. Moreover, there are other acts that will be necessary to preserve my cover. I'm sure you ascertain my meaning. I must act the part of a 'client', participating in all the activities of one." Le Directeur understood Castel's meaning. Whatever the man's motives or intentions toward those women, the safety of Le Directeur's agents took first priority. Not that he could verbally state as much. This problem crept up more often than the director liked, which was never. What made this situation far more complicated was the involvement of this daughter of the Consul. If anything happened to her, whether Securit had any responsibility for it or not, the blame would most likely be placed on his shoulders. Is he interested in preserving his cover? Or in carte blanche to enjoy all the young women he can? Like most undercover agents he is probably not that different from the criminals he associates with. Leon reached in his jacket pocket, and withdrew a smallnotebook. "I would much appreciate your signature on a page in my pocket diary, giving me carte blanche. The diary will remain here in France. In the care of a friend, you have my word." Hoping this didn't return to haunt him, the director took out his pen. CHAPTER EIGHT: Janine & Holly Arrive on the Island and Begin Training It was ten in the morning and still cool when Crane waited for the two new females. The sun hadn't yet scorched the sand and pier. The tide was in; nevertheless, the pier was too high for the launch to dock where the cruise ship usually did. He waited at a point halfway between there and the shore. He inhaled the invigorating sea air and, along with its odor he caught the scent of perfume. He wondered from which young woman it emanated. Beside him were his two female trainers. Kelly was buxom, a slightly overweight blond (dirty blonde), and eighteen years old. Nina, a svelte brunette, was twenty-two. Each wore the usual blue shift and brass collar. Their earrings differed; Nina's were delicate gold spirals while Kelly's were two inch diameter blue rings. Crane disliked those blue ones: they made him think of hoola hoops. They watched the approaching boat. It crept, sidling sideways, toward the pier. Crane was able to make out the hooded figures of the two captives in it. Soon he could even see their hands that were bound behind them. The boat struck a stanchion gently, and the crewman who wasn't doing the steering threw out a line. Crane caught it and secured it. A few moments later the man was helping each girl up onto the pier. Crane watched as Kelly took the arm of the taller brunette and Nina that of the blonde. The blue girls escorted them down the sunlit boardwalk and onto the jungle trail that led to the main building. Crane waited until the two crewmen were beside him; then he asked the skipper Mike, a fortyish gaunt man with a graying beard, "I understand we had problems getting these two. Do you have the details?" "A little, Crane." Mike always took his time. Crane waited patiently. The former fisherman withdrew a pipe from a satchel over his shoulder and followed with a small plastic packet that he opened. Using his forefinger, he filled the bowl with the tobacco and tamped it. He lit it up. After exhaling his first puff, he began, "We nabbed the two when they left a college hangout on their way back to the campus. When they didn't get back, one of their friends who had been in the hangout with them, reported them missing. Evidently that allowed the cops to get on it fast. The broad with the long hair is some celebrity, and there was a lot of pressure to find them. "I talked to Yvonne on the liner, but she wanted no part of them. She refuses to take on any girls until the searching dies down. I saw helicopters and patrol boats all up and down the East Coast. Luckily, I had my fishing lines out and some catch on ice to display. I wasn't boarded, just asked on the radio if I'd seen anything suspicious." * * * Late that day Crane stood at his large window facing the west. The sun was an orange globe, so low that its rays were no longer bright enough to hurt his eyes. With the rainbow of colors filling the western sky and, below it the calm blue-black sea, it was a beautiful sight. Why did he feel sombre? You aren't sombre Crane. You're bored. You're a manipulator, and you've no one new to put under your thumb. He heard a knock on the door. "Come in!" It was Kelly. "Master Crane, Nina sent me up to tell you the two new girls are ready for you." "Have they had anything to eat?" "Oh yes, Master Crane. We gave them lunch at about one. The doctor's medication was in the lobster bisque. Afterwards, I gave them enemas and bathed them. They're all prepared. As you ordered, we brought them to the lounge." "Whips and toys? Collars?" "I think we got everything, Master Crane." "Good. Let's go see them." They descended the stairs to the lounge. Crane paused before entering to get a view of the new girls before meeting them. Their two male guards were seated at the bar talking with the bartender who was leaning over it. The two occasionally glanced over toward the female captives who were sitting with Nina on a couch against a wall. Nina's heavy shoulderbag--stuffed it seemed, from its rotundity--lay on the carpet beside the sofa. Three male clients and Rita were at a table adjacent to the bar, while two other clients were in armchairs, conversing and occasionally glancing toward the couch. The two men were obviously interested in the female captives. One girl was a striking willowy brunette with long black tresses. She looked to be in her early twenties. Crane supposed she was the one all the commotion was about. The younger girl, her roommate at the university, was the girl his agency in New York had intended to acquire. Blonde and not as tall as the brunette, she looked several years younger. She was pretty enough to feature in any swimsuit competition, typical of the women selected by SMF. She didn't interest Crane except for her value in the auction. Perhaps the brunette would provide him some diversion. From what Mike had told him, she must be of importance to the American authorities. Neither girl wore the clothing she'd arrived in; no doubt it was being laundered. Each was now dressed in a trainee uniform, a conservative one, black and white striped pleated miniskirt with white cutoff tee, the hem a couple of inches above her navel. Hems of the miniskirts ended at mid-thigh. Crane was able to discern about an inch band of skin separating the skirts from the elasticized tops of their black stockings. On their feet they wore glossy black flats. Despite the shortness of their skirts, Crane saw no sign of their panties. First day trainees were obliged to wear them, so he assumed they were wearing thongs. Even from the doorway the sheerness of the nylon tees was apparent. He could see both the bumps of each girl's nipples and the pink hue of the material over their aroelas. He entered the room and walked to them. Nina looked up. "Master Crane," she said, indicating with a wave of her hand to the blonde on her right, "this is Holly Harding. This is Janine Millet." She pronounce it 'Millay'. "H-Hi Mister Crane," the blonde said. She gave him a smile that looked forced. The brunette looked up impassively. She said nothing. Crane wasn't concerned with niceties. He said, "You've probably learned a few things from Nina and Kelly about why you were brought here. Normally I'd process you with five or six other females, but I can't spare a lot of staff labor on just the two of you. I'll try to inform you what to expect here in as few words as possible." The brunette broke in with, "Mister Crane, you made a serious mistake when you kidnapped us. Right now I'm sure the American FBI and CIA are searching for me. Probably some of their military as well. It would be best for you if you released us as soon as possible. You shouldn't worry about our knowing where this is; they kept those hoods on us all during our dreadful trip in that boat." Crane felt a stirring of some interest. He detected a slight French accent, although her English otherwise was flawless with, in addition, a slight British accent. But those were asides. Her lack of fear--at least overt fear--was what interested him. She considered herself more important than her companion. He'd have to find out more about her. But only after he'd made her more compliant. It's been a long time since any female has been this self-possessed after arriving here. Of course these two haven't gone through the normal orientation process with all its humiliations. They don't yet know what they're in for. He pondered how to begin with them. It was a unique situation. The male trainers were unimaginative. Too often they immediately subjected novices to physical abuse, with whippings or occasionally even the use of prods, to coerce compliance. Those methods bored him. His two female trainers were more subtle and preferred psychological abuse, humiliations of all types rather than crude physical methods. They usually succeeded in breaking down the resistance in captive females just as readily as the methods used by their male counterparts. When he'd spoken of not sparing his staff for just the two of them, of course he was deliberately exaggerating. It would probably be three days or more before Yvonne's ship arrived with the batch of new females that these two would have been part of. Along with them on the ship would come a new crowd of clients. He might just as well amuse himself with these two before the new crush of work descended on him. "Are you aware of why you were brought here?" Crane asked. "No," the blonde said with a shake of her head that caused her hair to brush her shoulders. Her hair was smooth, centrally-parted, and so light a blonde that Crane would have bet that on a cloudy day it would appear to be silver. "For ransom undoubtedly," the brunette said. "You're making a great mistake keeping us here. I told you, lots of people will be searching for us. I'm sure they have to be looking right now." Well, it might be amusing to convert them into sex toys without informing them that's my goal. Janine is older and seems the spokesperson for the two of them. She'll be the interesting subject; the blonde will be easy. "Janine, stand up." Janine gave him a smile that approached a sneer. "I'm not accustomed to taking orders, Mister Crane. Particularly from persons I have no liking for." Crane was aware that everyone in the room was now watching. He had no need to raise his voice when he turned and called one of the guards. "Miguel, would you please take this girl? Tie her over one of the card tables so that she's in the rear entry position." The dark-haired, mustached young man had been watching with his fellow guard and the bartender. "Sure,Crane," he responded, grinning. He approached the seated girls. When he reached them, he bent over Janine and he seized her arm. The brunette tried to ward him off. "You're hurting me!" she protested. The blonde girl looked up at him. She appeared frightened. "What are you doing?" she asked. The guard didn't respond. He pulled Janine from the couch. When she refused to walk, crying, "Let me go!" he dragged her over the carpet, to one of the four heavy mahogany card tables in the center of the room. The guard pushed Janine forward. She fell onto it, only avoiding striking her face by catching herself at the last moment with her hands. The second guard retrieved Nina's bag from beside the sofa. From it, he extracted several cut lengths of rope. He joined Miguel, who was holding Janine face down on the table. He grasped the girl's right wrist and pulled her arm over the table edge. He bound her wrist to its closest leg. He handed another length of rope to Miguel, who repeated the action with her left wrist. When they'd finished, Crane thanked them, and the guards walked back to seat themselves on the bar stools, rejoining the bartender. Crane approached the bound girl. Her long legs were vertical from her hips down to her feet, the latter flat on the carpet. Her struggles had caused the miniskirt to creep up her hips. It was high enough for Crane to see some of her buttocks above the lacy tops of her black stockings. A band of black nylon covered her pudenda and partly the crack of her ass. Crane found her far more attractive than the shapely blonde, whose big tits and over- voluptuous body held little interest for him. I'm developing a hardon; that's new. But then I don't get many women here with figures like hers. The blonde on the sofa watching, protested, "What are you going to do to her!?" "Mister Crane, what is it you want? Janine hasn't done anything to you!" Crane ignored her. "Kelly," he told the girl beside him; "I've seen Nina use a whip. I'm familiar with her capabilities using one. Would you like to demonstrate yours?" The girl next to him turned to look up at him, evidently surprised. She smiled. "Oh, would I ever! Thank you, Master!" "Then take over." Kelly paused for a moment, hesitating. "Well, Master," she began. She stopped then, and Crane was surprised to see she was blushing. Usually she's garrulous, never tongue-tied. What's bugging her? "What is it, Kelly? I'm not going to bite your head off!" She took a deep breath; then let it out. Finally she said; "Would you . . . well, I-I've sort of always wanted to use a man's belt." "Is that all?" He chuckled. He undid his belt and slipped it from the loops. "Here. I'll leave the details to you." Kelly approached the tied girl smiling, gripping the belt. She bent over Janine and leaned low until her face was close to the brunette's. "I'm your new teacher, Janine. From now on you'll address me as 'Mistress Kelly'. If you prefer, you may call me 'Milady'. Understand?" Janine twisted in her bonds to look at her. "I think you're all crazy in this place!" "Oh, dear me, what a pity," Kelly said. She shook her head in mock regret; "I'll have to discipline you." She moved behind Janine. She grasped the hem of the miniskirt, and she pulled it up over the girl's back. This exposed the brunette's entire buttocks except for the crack between them which was partly covered by the thong. Further down, the nylon over the girl's pudenda was so narrow that Crane saw twin furrows of curly black hair to each side of it, like shrubbery bordering a walk. At this point, the three male clients and Rita all rose from their table near the door and approached the center of the room. They selected a table even closer to the bound girl than he was, and seated themselves to watch. The two guards and the bartender then stood up. They followed suit, taking a table on the other side of Janine. Crane smiled. Kelly squatted behind the girl. She hooked her fingertips into the waist of the thong and jerked the panties down, over the bl ack stockings past her knees. She let them slither down, to lie looped around the girl's ankles. It left Janine's buttocks and pudenda visible to everyone in the room. Kelly reached up with one hand. Her palms stroked over the white cheeks, and her fingers followed all their contours. She ran her fingernails down the length of the crack between them. Her cute ass is has really turned me on. My cock is like a piece of steel. Kelly stood up. She got behind Janine and, gripping the buckle, she wrapped two loops of the belt about her hand until the loose end was shortened to about the length of her forearm. She drew back her arm. "This," she said, "is for not addressing me properly." She swung it hard across Janine's buttocks. It struck both cheeks with a loud 'crack!'. Janine cried, "Ow!" She turned her head, and she looked back at Kelly. "You have no right to do that!" she exclaimed. "You have no right to hit me! I'm no child, and I've done nothing wrong. If you know what's good for you, you'll release me--now. And you have no reason to embarrass me like this. Please pull my panties back up, and lower my skirt. It's outrageous of you, letting all these people see me like this!" Kelly smiled. She leaned over Janine and again put her face close to the young woman's. Janine's head was on the tables' surface, her face turned sideways, and she was looking at Kelly. Kelly put pursed lips to Janine's upturned cheek, and kissed it. "Dear me," she mocked; "is Janine embarrassed by having all these nice people see her cunt?" Kelly reached down between Janine's thighs. The brunette pressed her legs together tightly, but her action was futile. Kelly ran her fingers through the fur of Janine's outer labia, brushing them lightly. Using her thumb and forefinger, she spread them. She jabbed the exposed pink inner ones with her nails. "Oh!" Janine gasped. Her hips jerked forward, in an attempt to escape. But she was unable to move even an inch, and she succeeded only in striking her thighs hard against the table. She looked shocked. "It isn't really so difficult, Janine, " Kelly simpered. "Surely you can learn to properly address your teacher! "You must try harder to learn, Dear. Please understand that I'm not angry with you. I'm simply trying to help you." Crane gazed at the girl's bare buttocks and exposed labia. He felt more aroused than he had in a long time. Tonight I'll use that cute rump. After dinner I'll have her brought up to my apartment. I'll tie her bent over the bottom bar of my bed with her arms under it and bound about her legs. I'll spend the night fucking her in the ass. "Please!" Janine's blonde roommate cried, "leave her alone! She hasn't done anything to you!" Kelly looked over at Janine's friend. "You must learn to be quiet while I'm instructing Janine, Holly. This is to remind you to be silent in class." Kelly swung the belt, hard. It struck the brunette's buttocks with a whack! that sounded like a ruler striking a desktop. Janine emitted a loud "Ow!" The blow was harder than the previous one, and she jerked and pulled at her bonds so hard at the impact that her body thrust upward, onto the table. It left her feet in the air, her legs dangling over the table edge. Holly began to cry, uncontrollably. Janine's response, Crane judged from looking at her face, seemed to be acute embarrassment. She said nothing but blushed deeply. "Oh my," Kelly said. She bent over Janine and gazed at her buttocks, as the girl lay prone on the table. "These are certainly beginning to look pink." She ran her palm over Janine's rear. The brunette squirmed at the contact. "Are they a bit sore? So soon? Oh, surely not." "Leave me alone!" Janine said. "Please pull my skirt down. Now!" "You look uncomfortable in the air like that," Kelly said. She gripped Janine's hips and pulled her back, until the girl's feet were again flat on the carpet. She was careful not to allow the hem of Janine's miniskirt to slip back down. Meticulously, she re-tucked it in the skirt's waist. "Now, Janine," Kelly said, "We'll return to your instruction. Tell me what my name is." "Will you stop this foolishness? You know I'm not going to do say these childish things! Lower my skirt, right now!" "Oh dear," Kelly responded, shaking her head. "You do require discipline, Janine. Well, remember, it's for your own good." Kelly swung the belt. She struck Janine's buttocks so hard that they quivered, and the blow drew a loud, "Ow!" from the brunette. "Stop it, right now! I'm not going to say those stupid things!" It had no deterrent effect on Kelly. Janine attempted to dodge the blows, but her feet were barely on the carpet; and they were further impeded by her panties that remained around her ankles like a coil of black rope. Each blow struck fully as hard as the first. Kelly aimed carefully between her blows. But she swung the belt with such force that perhaps it caused her arm to tire by the sixth blow. Rather more likely, Crane thought, was that she deliberately mis-aimed it. The belt struck Janine directly on her exposed pudenda. Janine screamed, "Ow!! Bastards! Stop it, immediately!" If possible, she was blushing even more. Crane thought that, despite the obvious sting of the strap, her embarrassment was more acute than her pain. The blonde girl was sobbing. Finally, she exclaimed, "Please stop! Stop it! Stop hitting her!" "Nina," Crane said; "Please silence Janine's noisy friend." "Yes, Master," Nina replied. She rose from the sofa and retrieved her bag. She rummaged through it, and she withdrew a multistranded cat whip, the tails of which were tipped with small plastic bearings. "Stand up, Holly," she told the blonde. "You're too disruptive." Holly's eyes widened, and she stared at the intimidating whip. She suddenly quieted her sobbing. She began to tremble. "I-I'm sorry I spoke. I promise I'll be quiet." "Stand up," Nina repeated. Holly rose from the sofa, shaking. "Don't whip me! Please!" she begged. "Take off your panties," Nina said. Holly looked about the room, at Crane, and then at the men and Rita. Her face reddened. "Must I? I promise, I'll be quiet." Her countenance angry, Nina repeated, "I said, take off your panties! The more disobedient you are, the worse you're going to be whipped!" "Oh no, please!" Holly cried, surrendering. "I-I'll take them off." Hastily, she crouched, her face pink. She reached awkwardly under her pleated miniskirt. Instead of pulling her thong down by its waist however, she didn't reach that high. She drew it down by its two leg openings. When the garment was halfway down her stockinged legs, she stood up. She allowed it to slide down her black-stockinged legs to her ankles. She kicked off her shoes, and followed it with the thong. She left them on the carpet. "Pick up your panties," Nina told her. The blonde girl crouched awkwardly, so low that her knees nearly touched the carpet. Blushing the entire time, she avoided bending over as she retrieved her panties. Holly finally stood up. She held out the black nylon panties toward Nina. Her eyes were on the whip that Nina gripped. Nina said, "I know you don't want to be whipped, Holly. If you really want to avoid it and if you promise not to be any more disruptive, I'll allow you to make a choice that will avoid the whipping." "A choice?" "Yes. Which would you prefer, a whipping or a gagging?" Holly looked puzzled. "A gagging? I'm not sure what you mean." "Goodness me, what an airhead!" Nina exclaimed. "When I say gagging, I mean gagging. We don't want you making any more noise. Stuff your panties in your mouth. Choose either that or the whipping. Which is it?" "Oh!" Holly exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes. "Is that the choice? You want me to do that?" "I'm getting exasperated!" Nina exclaimed. "You haven't been addressing me properly, and you're becoming a nuisance again. One more word from you and I'll give you no choice. Your ass will be so sore that you won't be able to sit for a week!" "A-All right," Holly choked out. "I-I'll take the gagging." "Well then, hurry," Nina replied; "In your mouth with it!" Blushing, Holly raised the thong. She opened her mouth. Using the fingers of both hands she stuffed it between her teeth. "All the way in. I don't want to see nylon dangling from your mouth." Holly forced it in until her cheeks bulged. Pressing the nylon with her fingers until her teeth were nearly biting them, she managed to close her mouth. "Good," Nina said. "Now, sit down. We'll watch Janine's training." CHAPTER NINE: Sheila's Boss Max is Interrogated by Lieutenant McCurdy "Max," Grace said to the intercom; "It's Lieutenant McCurdy, on line three." Max sighed. Rory seldom called in person unless he was pissed about something. He glanced at the clock. Just after nine. It looked like a long morning. "Would you bring me coffee, Grace? This is liable to run into break time." He leaned back, punched the 'record' button, and lifted the receiver. "Stedman. What's up Rory?" "Listen, you Bastard, you're fucking up my investigation! If you give me shit, I'll feed your balls to my Doberman. Get your ass down here to the station and fill me in on these model abductions. You're in this thing to your ass, Max. Get down here and spill your guts. I mean now!" The slam of Rory's phone impacted Max's ear before he could utter a response. He retrieved his threadbare sport jacket from the tree, took two gulps from the cup his secretary held, and pushed through the door. "I'll be at the precinct station, Grace. God knows how long." Twenty minutes later, he was in McCurdy's office. Unlike his own--perpetually in a state of disorder--the lieutenant's was immaculate. The cigarette burns on the desktop had been partly obscured by polish, and the only objects on it were his telephone, a pad, and a pencil. Family photos lined three walls; the one behind him solely occupied by double windows that faced on Ninety-Fifth. McCurdy was, like Max, slightly overweight but it was hardly noticeable on his six and one-half foot frame, seven inches taller than Max's. At fifty, his hair was iron gray, in need of cutting. His eyes were a piercing blue so dark as to seem black and, with his Roman nose and clean-shaven countenance, he could have passed in another time for a Caesar. He waved Max to the chair before his desk. It was entirely wood, and cheap. Max hoped he wouldn't be in it long. "I should make you stand, you prick. Anyway, no bullshit, Max. Tell me all you know about these abductions. I know fucking well you're into it, so don't bullshit me." Max saw no advantage in being evasive. He had too little to go on as it was. Ed's followup with the blonde after the open house seemed promising, but that was all. He had nothing concrete. At least now he knew that the cops hadn't dropped their own investigation, so they had to know more than he. Max summarized what he'd learned from Ed and the young contacts who'd interviewed the girls. He didn't mention Sheila or the open house, which hadn't as yet led to anything definite. "Everything I have is in this folder, Rory. I'll leave it with you, but I need the photos. Ed has the only copies." McCurdy took a few notes and then said, "And just what were McGinnis and those two broads doing at that wine and cheese affair last Sunday--the blast put on by SMF? I know that the blonde with the tits works for you. And the skinny brunette is her roommate. What were they there for, Max? Maybe I should have had you bring them along, but I didn't want a fucking committee in my office." Max explained. "They were supposed to call me when they got back from Sheila's photo session last night, but as of nine this morning they hadn't called. I tried to get Ed first thing this morning, and then Sheila, but I only got their machines. I was about to phone Wendy's employer when I got your call." Rory stood up, more agitated than Max had ever seen him. He paced around his desk and Max several times, retrieving a pack of gum from a side pocket of his jacket and stuffing a stick in his mouth. "Christ, Max. You're gonna get me back on the nicotine habit. How dumb can you get? Those girls and Ed could be off to that island by now. If you'd told me about this before going off on your own, I'd have at least had a tail on them. When were you going to let me know that you were gumming up our investigation? Six months from now? After you published an expose on the snatches?" Max felt his face grow hot. Rory had never spoken to him like this before--as if he were a high school boy caught shoplifting. He loosened his tie, retrieved a cigar, and then stuffed it back in his inside pocket. That's all I need to do, light up while Rory's trying to quit. "Rory, once we learn where the island is, I intend to notify the proper authorities. Your men told me the cases were closed. Anyway, the island probably isn't in your jurisdiction. I mean, it has to be outside New York, so it's a Federal problem." Rory dropped back in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair. "Max, you went off half-cocked. If you'd called me, I'd have told you to hold off. Some new abductions made us reopen everything. You're right about one thing, though. It is a problem for the Feds. And for me--for both of us." Max looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" "Max, just four nights after those six girls turned up, several more disappeared. Two were SUNY coeds, roommates. One of those was an exchange student, the daughter of the French Consul here. The FBI jumped in on it right away. We're working with them as well as with the French Securit . I'm liaison with them both. "Your three people make this investigation all the more complicated. The first thing I want to find out is what they've learned. That is, if they haven't been abducted." "I don't see how that's possible. Ed and Sheila, plus her apartment-mate? Ed is no patsy, Rory." Rory stared at him. "Max, sometimes I wonder about you. A pistol is all it takes to persuade the toughest guy." "Even if they have been taken, Rory, they may be able to contact me." "I wouldn't bet on it. You must know whatever a pimp or kidnapper--whatever you want to call one--does when he gets a fresh female?" He didn't bother to await a reply. "He strips her naked and rapes her. Your assumption that your blonde will keep her shoes on and her purse handy is fucking naive, Max." "Ed is pretty resourceful, Rory. He's delivered the goods in our past investigations." "Look, Max--if your people find out anything, anything, you let me know. And I mean, right away. My ass is on the line in this French girl's disappearance. If you hold back, I'll make your name worth diddly here. And, if I can, with the Feds as well." Max shifted in his chair. He wondered if the lack of padding and solid wood was a form of sadism on Rory's part. I suppose a good number of its occupants are 'perpetrators' as Rory calls them. "Two of my people took a risk in this assignment, Rory. I have to think of their safety first. And, don't threaten me. You know better than that." McCurdy pulled open a drawer and placed an ashtray on the desk. He carefully removed a wad of gum from between his teeth and deposited it in its center. "Yeah, Max. I do. Independence of the press and all that bull." He fastened his gimlet eyes on his friend. "Don't get any ideas about lighting a cigar." Max, relaxing a little, resisted the urge to smile. "If they're O.K. and have any info, I'll pass it along, Rory. But don't ask me to hold back on publication--that's my call. For now, I'll keep the lid on, but only because my people may be at risk. Not because either you or the feds want me to." "Look, Max, we've been up this alley before. We can work together on this and we'll both benefit." He popped another stick in his mouth and dropped the crumpled wrapper in the ashtray. Then, giving him his steely stare, he pointed his forefinger at Max. "You keep me informed about whatever you hear from your people--as soon as you hear it. O.K.? For my part, I'll do my best to look out for your people--assuming they're there--when the bust goes down. If your people plan any action--if they can--you run it by me first." He paused, but Max said nothing. Rory sighed, and leaned back. "Maybe we can help each out here, Max. We both have a stake in this working out." "Information's a two way street, Rory. Do you have any other information--stuff my people can use?" "Not for publication, Max. Anything I give you is off the record. You'd better keep the lid on it. And I mean it, Max. This is sensitive stuff, and if your people are there when whoever it is goes in . . ." "What do you want, Rory, 'Scout's honor'?" "Yeah, asshole. 'Scout's honor'." "O.K., Rory. I'll keep the lid on unless something changes. If it does, I'll contact you before we do anything--assuming the delay doesn't endanger my people." Rory nodded. "Fair enough. The French are pretty sure that island is in their area of the Atlantic, east of Central America. They have a lead on someone that they think goes to the island periodically, to 'sample the wares', I suppose. The guy vacations there every spring. Securit is sending one of their agents along with that guy, next time he goes to the island. But this can't get out, at least not yet. Understood?" Max pondered. He didn't see how the presence of a French cop could have any bearing on what information Ed and Sheila obtained if it actually turned out that they'd been abducted. In fact, if the French raided the island, his two reporters would be right on the scene and might even be witnesses in any future prosecution. Helluva story! Bigger than I thought. International sex-slave trade. The French Consul's daughter! But now with the French undercover, and Ed and Sheila . . . Two fucking undercover investigations on top of each other . . . cops and press, for Christ's sake . . . on a fuckin' island . . . But if Ed and Sheila actually get to the island and the French get wind of it, extracting any information from there could be a real bitch. Then again, if they do get to the island, Ed and Sheila might need the help of the French to just get themselves out. Much less bring out the proof . . . Shit! Could we really be inside this big a story and have to cooperate with the bastards? They'll do the most to keep it bottled up! Had to be the fucking French! What Western country is more fond of secrecy than the French? But we don't know yet where Ed and Sheila are. First I'll have to find out as much as possible from what the cops know. "How'd you learn about the SMF connection, Rory?" "Look, Max, maybe cops aren't all college grads like you, but we aren't as stupid as the media makes us out. Most of the women who were abducted went to some SMF affair beforehand. We had a stakeout and female cop at the last open house, and she got photos. Ed and your blonde and her roommate were in them. And so was the Colombian who leases the property. We're in the process of finding out all we can about the people who work for SMF. Some are really former models. The photographer is legit, but what happens to the photos he doesn't know. He turns over all of them, even the negatives, to the Hernandez guy." CHAPTER TEN: Leon & Babette with the Captain, On Board the Transport "We haven't moved for hours!" Babette exclaimed. She went to the porthole. There were a few lights, but very distant ones. "Why are we stopped?" Leon shrugged. He continued working with the weights, lying on his back on the mat. Up-down-up-down. "Je n'en ai aucune ide." "Well, I'm going . . ." She stopped. So did he, holding the bar with arms straight up. Both had heard the sound against the bulkhead, a dull thud that shook their vessel ever so slightly. The impact of a smaller boat against the side of the ship. Leon lowered the barbells onto the carpet, and he stood up. Going to the phone, he dialed their steward. "No answer. Something important is happening. You said you knew the Captain. Let's see her." "Oh, Leon--I don't think we should. Not if 'something important' is going on. She must be busy." He shrugged. "It won't hurt to find out. You're paying enough for this trip. We'll tell her the truth--we couldn't contact our steward." "Leon. Yvonne is . . . well, unconventional. I have no idea what she'll do if we bother her when she's busy. She may be very angry." "I don't know what you're so inhibited for! It's the first time I've known you to be reluctant to do something. This is nothing. If she's busy, she's busy. We'll come back here. Or go topside to have a look." Babette reluctantly acquiesced. They left their cabin, climbed one deck, and walked to the door below the stairwell. Leon rapped on the door. "Ou est la?" a female voice responded. "Ah . . . Yvonne, it's me, Babette. If you're busy . . ." "Ah, Babette, ma cherie! Entr , s'il vous plait. Il est ouvert." Leon opened the door and they stepped over the water bar and into the room. "Not bad!" Leon said, looking about the room, which was unoccupied. It was far more luxurious than their own cabin. Covering the floor was thick pile carpetting. The furnishings included two reclining armchairs, a sofa and coffee table, and, between pairs of sconces on each of the four walls, hung gorgeous Bougereau nudes, prints of ones in the Muse d'Orsay. There was a doorway opposite the end of the room from which they had entered. On entering the stateroom, Leon was able to observe the rear of an armchair through the doorway and beyond it, a bed. As he was looking about, a motion in the other room caught his attention, and he saw a girl. She seemed to be bending over, kneeling on a stool that stood before the armchair. She looked up, and Leon caught sight of ample, bare breasts and a youthful figure. Almost simultaneously, the girl noticed him. She appeared shocked, and she immediately jumped up and ran to one side, out of his field of view. As far as Leon could determine, she was nude. "That can't be the captain," Leon remarked. "What?" Babette said, looking toward the other room. The girl was no longer visible. A moment later, another woman's head appeared, looking around the back of the chair. A redhead, she looked about Babette's age or perhaps a few years younger. "Oh Babette," she exclaimed, laughing. "I had no idea you brought along a man! You've frightened poor Suzy half to death! But it's so good to see you again! Will you introduce your guest? I saw his name on the manifest, but I fear I've forgotten it." She stood up, came around the chair towards them, straightening her clothing, which consisted of a uniform with a navy blue jacket with brass buttons and a heavy white cotton pleated skirt. Leon looked her over. Bobbed red hair, a pretty face. Slender, perhaps five feet eight. She smoothed wrinkles in her garments as she greeted them. "You've probably guess that I'm lesbian," she told Leon. "Poor Suzy. She's just eighteen. She isn't queer; she's 'bi' like Babette. But she has no experience with men. They intimidate her." She put her hand out to Leon. "I'm Yvonne." "I'm pleased to meet you, Captain," he said, shaking her hand. "My name is Leon Castel." He detected the aroma, faint but unmistak able, of aroused female. She probably didn't have time to put her panties back on. "Please call me Yvonne, Leon. I presume you're Babette's latest conquest." Glancing at Babette, she asked, "Tell me, Cherie, is he a baron or a marquis? And, where did you find him?" "Stop joking, Yvonne. You'll swell his head further. "I picked him up in Paris. He's a bit of a rou . Like you. But, he's even more reticent about his life than you. I suspect he, too, lives somewhat on the edge of la loi. Ugly though he is, he isn't bad in bed." Leon was thirty-nine, with an athletic physique and, at six feet was four inches taller than his companion. Rather than 'ugly', he was in fact too good looking for Babette ever to concede in his presence. With women he was far too sure of himself. When Leon accepted her hesitant offer, that she had proffered with apprehension--fearing that he'd turn her down flat--to accompany her to Lecoliere Island, shivers of anticipation had coursed down her spine. Uneasily, she wondered how long she would keep him. It had been years since she'd had a relationship with such an attractive man. Leon cleared his throat, pondering the advisability of asking a question of the Captain. I'll see what she volunteers. There's no point in being nosy until I'm on the island. All I need is minimal information. The Director should be able to identify a female sea captain easily enough. I'll let him do the leg work. He's at his desk all day, the exercise will do him good. He said, "I shouldn't think that there are many women captains of ships." Yvonne shrugged. "Leon, vocations for women-teaching in elementary schools or secretarial duties-are pass . Dad was a sea captain. Since my school days I've spent more time on the ocean than on land. I ran a fishing trawler for nearly ten years. "I meet resistance from men in commercial shipping, but I'm pretty durable. Men don't often get the better of me." Her father captained a ship, and she captained a trawler. That should be enough for the Director. Now let's find out what's going on outside. Leon said, "We came to ask why the ship has been at anchor so long." "Well, as you can see," she replied; "at present I have very few duties to perform." Perhaps that reminded her of the girl in the other room. "Suzy!" she called. "Come out and meet Babette and Leon!" There was a silence for a few seconds. Then they heard, "Please, Yvonne! I'm embarrassed. Don't make me come out now." Yvonne shrugged. "Suzy is a bit shy. I suppose you'll have to meet her later. "Babette," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper; "Suzy's tongue technique is simply marvelous. You could take lessons from her." "Yvonne, please! Babette exclaimed, flushing. "You say the most outrageous things!" Leon smiled. When it comes to balls, I would say that Mademoiselle Capitaine has more than many men. "Yvonne," he said; "I assumed you didn't have many ship's duties, right now, but we knew that something was going on outside. We heard the impact of a boat against the hull." "Well, yes. I suppose you did," she responded. She lowered her voice again. "I don't want Suzy to hear. She's garrulous. The less she knows, the better. "At the moment we're loading our 'cargo'. They are almost certainly ones that you'll have the chance to bid on when we arrive at Lecoliere Island. You can have a look at them if you'd like. Want to?" "Girls?" "Certainly. Please keep your voice down. And women and men as well. There might be a boy or two, but I'm more interested in the girls and women. I pay little attention to the males." "I'd like to see the girls. Would you, Babette?" "Of course. I'd love to see them, Yvonne. It will benefit us if we have the opportunity to look them over before theauction." "I need to change my uniform," Yvonne said. "You won't be allowed up on deck unless I'm with you. Only certain members of the crew--ones who are aware of what goes on on the island--are allowed on deck right now. While I'm changing, help yourself to drinks from the cabinet." Ten minutes later they were on deck watching the boatswain's chair load prisoners onto the deck. As each shivering and nearly naked, hooded captive arrived, a guard led her to the railing where she was lined up with the previous arrivals. There the guard fed a rope from a ring in the previous arrival's collar through a ring in the newcomer's collar. "They're beautiful!," Babette exclaimed. "I assume you mean the women," Leon remarked. "I'd rather see their faces before making a judgement." "I do see one male I wouldn't mind taking back to Paris withme." Leon nodded, smiling. "He is rather exceptional." "If you want to see the women's faces," the Captain said; "I'll give you the opportunity later." The trio followed the arrivals who, linked by the rope, were feeling their way down two flights of stairs. They entered into a corridor in which a guard opened a cabin door. He herded the prisoners in and bolted the door behind them. "Will we be able to see them on the ship?" Leon asked. "I have an album containing photographs of them," Yvonne responded. "Besides the photos, it has detailed information about each girl." "I can't let it out of my hands. But, if you're interested enough, you and Babette can come to my stateroom to see it. If you're going to bid in the auction you'll be interested in the data that a typical client is interested in, like her age, hair color, height and so on, even some unusual details, like the size and shape of her breasts. You can judge how pretty they are from the photos; the album generally has four of each girl." "Nude?" "Of course, nude!" Babette said, smiling. "Don't act naive, Leon. What other kind would clients possibly be interestedin?!" There might be money in this, if there's time for it before we get to the island. "There seem to be a lot more clients than girls on this ship," Leon said. "I wouldn't think a client would have a very good chance of getting a girl in the auction." Yvonne shrugged. "It depends on how much the client is willing to bid for her. If he outbids the other clients, he'll get the girl." "There's a good chance he won't, though," Leon said. "Of course. With twenty-five clients and only twelve girls, that's obvious. But there are girls on the island already. Ones that the regular clients purchased previously. Crane keeps them in cells. He has them do the usual chores that any hotel needs to have done. Why the question?" "What I'm getting at, Yvonne, is that each client surely knows that his chance of getting one of these girls you're loading on the ship right now isn't good. But, the girls are here. No one's doing a thing with them now, I assume. They'll be on board for thirty-some hours or so, until we arrive at Lecoliere. I would think that some clients would grab the chance to use one or two of them before we dock. Couldn't we make a bit of money with them? Show some photos to the clients. Use the album as a sales tool--as advertising." Leon smiled down at the Captain. "Am I shocking you, Yvonne?" "Shocking me?!" Yvonne laughed. "Not only aren't you shocking me, Leon, but your idea isn't even original. I've already done just what you're suggesting. Several times, in fact. Do you imagine that you and Babette are the first passengers I've allowed to watch girls being loaded onto this ship-- and that you're the first to have thought about using them on the ship?" "You've done it before?" "I just told you I did. Not quite in the way you're suggesting, though. What's happened in the past has usually been a couple of clients spotting a girl, either when she's brought on board or seeing her photo in my album, and then making me an offer to spend a few hours using her as entertainment. Usually it's just two men who make me an offer for a girl, but I've rented one or two to larger groups. I draw the line at two girls though. It complicates my job by a lot. If you're serious about using a girl, we'll have to discuss it. And soon. We have only about thirty-six hours before landfall." "Well, I am serious. What's complex about the idea?" If you're serious, we'd better start moving on it. I'll have Pierre--my steward--take the album around to show to the clients. He'll determine how many are interested. He'll collect their money." "How much do you think we can make?" "I can't even guess that. It's best that we choose just one girl. We have a limited amount of time, just over thirty-six hours. We don't really have time to prepare more than one girl. "Between now and when we dock, I'll have to spend considerable time at the helm. You'll have to do the work here in my stateroom. You'll have to get things ready. Then, you'll have to monitor the girl and the clients. Babette, are you agreeable? There will be an awful lot of work for Leon to handle all by himself. Can you help?" "I have no interest in any money, but if you want me to I'll help Leon, certainly." "Can we see your album now?" Leon asked. "We ought to pick a girl ourselves to offer the clients, otherwise each passenger's liable to want a different girl." They climbed the stairs to the Captain's quarters. Indicating her sofa, Yvonne said, "Wait here. I keep the album in my office." When she returned, she sat on the sofa, resting the album on her lap. The album was a binder of the type used by attorneys for legal documents, larger than a photo album. Leon observed colored tabs that separated sections of the book. "What are the tabs for?" he asked. "To separate the shipments," Yvonne responded. "Each section contains information on a single shipment to the island." While she was opening the book, Leon tried to read a tab, hoping to find the one labeled with the date of the Millet girl's abduction. However, he discovered the tabs were undated. The tabs were labeled, 'Shipment 1', 'Shipment 2', and so on. The last labeled tab, where Yvonne opened the album, was entitled 'Shipment 19'. I'll have to go through the album. I'll wait for Yvonne to go on the bridge. Nineteen shipments! If there are twelve girls in each shipment, that means, hmm, two hundred forty minus twelve is two hundred twenty-eight girls. Incredible! This operation must have been going on for some years. The album should tell me a lot. I'll have to photograph each page. She didn't take much time getting this out; it's probably just in a desk, not in a safe. Glancing at Babette, Leon said, "I see you're looking at a busty blonde. The left page was closer to her than to him. Leon leaned against Yvonne in order to see it better. "Interested in her?," Yvonne asked Babette.. "She has an exquisite figure." "Yes, she has," Babette agreed. "A pretty face, too." * * * That evening, Leon and the two women dined in the Captain's quarters. Suzy, the young brunette, was serving them. The girl wore a French-maid's costume--a short, tight black skirt that displayed her rump, black stockings on her long legs, and black velvet pumps on her feet. Leon could see that her breasts were ample from the low cut, scoop-necked white blouse that she wore. Over her blouse and skirt she wore a miniscule black apron and on her head was a white cap. Leon would have liked her heels to have been higher, but he supposed that would be impractical considering the ship's motions. He watched her pour the Grand Marnier. She bent low, and he was able to view both her decolletage and twin hills of her ass. He reached out and stroked the latter lightly. It caused her to stop pouring for a moment. She otherwise showed no reaction. She didn't even glance at him, which surprised him. He'd done the same thing often enough to a cafe waitress with more effect. The waitress almost always displayed either annoyance--by a cold stare--or, on occasion, a slight smile. Once in a while he and she would engage in a stare-down, and his wink after they both stared for thirty or so seconds often caused the girl to burst into laughter. It provided him with a convenient opening with which to begin a teasing conversation with her. I'm a bit surprised that she didn't show more reaction. Perhaps, if she's as afraid of men as Yvonne claims, she's embarrassed. Yvonne took a sip from her glass. She told them, "When I rented a girl on our last trip to the island, our layover to pick up stock was rather long. The clients got bored with spending all their leisure in the casino, so I made the offer on my own initiative. Providing them with a girl turned out to be lucrative for me. Of course, then the clients had several days with her. "Unfortunately, with this girl, we have only tonight and part of tomorrow." Yvonne glanced at the maid. "Suzy; would you please bring us some coffee from the galley?" "Yes Mistress," the girl responded. She curtsied and left the room. Turning back to them, Yvonne explained, "I prefer Suzy not to hear much about the island or what is done to the girls there. I never allow her off the ship there. Suzy is a bit garrulous, and I'm not at all certain she could keep secret what goes onthere." "The girl I rented out last time became pregnant. Crane didn't care; he simply kept the girl in one of the slave cells. Clients eventually tire of a slave and they usually turn them over to Crane. He keeps them in the cells until he has six or so of them to ship back. I don't take them. He has some smaller boat dump them at various points along the coast. "I didn't take any precautions with that girl, but I can't let the same thing happen to this Sheila Ericson. Crane is very particular about the condition of the girls I deliver to him. If we rent her out, you'll have to be sure the clients use condoms. Clients aren't accustomed to using them or, for that matter, having any other constraints. "During much of tonight and tomorrow morning, we'll be passing by a number of islands, and I'll have to use care and keep in designated channels. I'll be on the bridge for much of that time. You two will have to watch the clients." "I'd like to be sure this is worth the trouble," Leon asked. "Will you at least tell us how much you made last time?" Yvonne shrugged. "Leon, I told you--how much we'll make is a guess. Sheila is blonde, which should help. Three or four men on board are partial to blondes. Her big tits should attract clients like flies to honey. "On the last trip, the girl was a pretty brunette, a little younger than Sheila, perhaps eighteen, but she had nowhere near the looks of Sheila. I think it was eleven . . . or was it twelve? . . . clients that used her. Twelve, I think. I charged each of them a thousand American dollars." "Mmm!" Leon exclaimed. "Twelve thousand! Not bad for a night's work!" "You get only half of that. My take is fifty per cent." "What!" he laughed. "We do all the work but you get half the fee? You aren't exactly generous, Yvonne." She shrugged. "It's my ship and my stateroom. And, I'm taking a risk letting clients use her before delivery." "Well," Leon conceded; "even if my net is only fifty percent, if we get twelve clients, that amounts to six thousand for you and the same for me." "Don't expect that much," Yvonne interjected. "We have only tonight and tomorrow morning. The previous time I had three days. We won't get twelve clients. If we do, we won't have time for them all." "Even so . . . " Leon said; "it will be a big chunk of cash." To be continued . . . The Author would appreciate feedback from Readers, especially: What you'd like to see in future chapters (perversions, abuse, body modification, or anything else.) What you liked. What you disliked. Whatever you feel like suggesting. Anything I haven't thought of. Email the author at: mdotmersereau@aol.com 35 ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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