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Subject: {ASSM} REPOST: Abducted and Enslaved Part 2
Date: Sun, 20 Jan 2002 18:10:06 -0500
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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


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