Message-ID: <41788asstr$1050199803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: creole_noire@prodigy.net (Mazora) X-Original-Message-ID: Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: 12 Apr 2003 19:31:40 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 12 Apr 2003 12:31:40 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} STORY: Acquisitions (M,f Future Erotic Slavery) Date: Sat, 12 Apr 2003 22:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, hecate Hello to all, I'm a new arrival on this list and not at all certain that this piece is appropriate, but I hope that it is not too far out side the pale. The subject is a future world where slavery has become a matter of pleasure. For those who do not find such a possibility distasteful, I hope you enjoy. And the M in P.E.M. Davis is for... Mazora :-) The world is a strange place, often shaped by a turn in the road. Once upon a time that road was heavily dictated by slavery, indentured, conscripted or out and out ownership. In the here and now, while there are still pockets, we've turned away from it on the whole. But what if it had never gone away? With our technology and know-how today ~ what might it be in 2050? Acquisitions Part 1 ~ A Return to the Beginning Paul sat quietly in the darkness of his study and let the rings of his cigarette smoke rise as his fingers ran over the computer keys. There was no need to read the legal document on the screen. It didn't matter how much he and his father hated each other, the law was the law in the end, it was all his - she was his. The clock chimed loud through the silence; three o'clock in the morning. In another dozen hours she would be under his roof and finally after years of wanting, in his control. He closed his eyes and remembered glimpses of her as the brandy trickled down his throat. He had been seventeen, on that winter afternoon. Some infraction had banished him once again from school and he had been sentenced to his room until his father was able to speak of it. His mother had whispered after him on the stair; out of sight is always out of mind. But he seriously doubted it. So he roamed the halls of the upper floors where he knew no one would look for him. And finally he came to rest on the window seat at the end of a corridor in the East wing. He gazed down at the courtyard below and wondered if this would be that final straw, and bring the break that would separate he and the father he had hated for far too long. Suddenly he noticed a black car pull up to the front door. It was a collector's piece now and required a special permit to be used on the old roads. God how he hated his father's little rituals. A man he knew all too well climbed out of the driver's side and went around to the rear door. Hatcher had been in his father's employ since Paul was nine. He was a quiet man who did precisely what he was told and seldom disappointed. A reserved man to those who met him at dinner, but Paul had seen how his quiet reserve could turn bitter cold, if not a touch cruel when needed. Reaching in Hatcher pulled a woman from the car. Paul remembered how his hand grabbed her still. There was a heavy cape over her frame but her face plainly shown. Her flesh was the color of deep amber and her face moon shaped in the afternoon sun. There were serpentine tattoos across each cheek and down one side of her neck. Arabic, yes it was Arabic calligraphy. Done by a master of the art and just barely seen through the long thick braids that fell over her shoulders. The thought of her thrilled him anew. He had seen many men and women arrive in the hands of this man, but she had been the first of her kind. And never had he quite seen the likes of her before. Watching them until they were in side, Paul ran quickly to the stairs and as quietly as he could, descended the long stairs. Half way down he heard voices and stopped. It was his father talking to the man; they stood just outside his fathers' library door. He crouched down to watch between the banisters and listen. His father clicked through screen after screen of the DocuPalm Hatcher had given him and finally asked. " Is it all in order?" " As always Mr. Belfair." " No last minute squabbling over price?" " There's always that with them. But I think you will be pleased." His father returned to the machine in his hand and linked on until the bottom line was found. " Yes Hatcher! I'm very pleased. I've waited a long time for the likes of her." Paul watched as his father gave the device back to Hatcher and walked around the woman. Paul had finally out grown him, but his father was a tall man. And this woman stood almost his equal. He circled slowly until he stood in front of her once more and spoke. "My God you're a proud one, aren't you? Lower your eyes at once." Paul watched as she dropped her gaze. His father smiled and unlatched the clasp at her throat. All at once the cape fell away from her and to the floor. It was like a heavy veil, the sweet scent that rose up from her body and through the hall. Paul had watched many of his fathers' acquisitions arrive over the years, when no one knew he was near. That she wore little under the cape did not surprise him, but the impact of her standing there, deep in the knowledge of her own worth did. There was nothing but the torn bit of cloth at her hips, separating her from the men who took pleasure at the site of her. But that rag had nothing to do with her, of that Paul was certain. And then he saw Hatcher's face and in one quick moment he knew. Her breasts were heavy yet high. Her nipples stood thick and long from persistent use. The curve of her flesh fell down from her waist and flared out once more into her hips and the cloth that seemed hard pressed to hold. The hem barely covered her sex and her thighs were thick and perfectly curved down to her knees and the equally impressive calves below. The sight of her stopped the breath from moving through Paul's lungs. Around her left ankle there was a bracelet, a solid bangle of gold. And when Paul's father suddenly reached into her sex, the dozen small bells that hung from it, rang through the stone hall. " I have paid a considerable price for you and your skills, do not make me sorry I have done so." The woman shook on the hand churning in her, as she tried to maintain her calm. " There are fifteen properties in my harem for the moment, nine females and six males. They are there for my amusement and I expect them to be where I wish them, ready for why I wish them, the moment I call. I am a busy man and I keep them for my amusement. There are even those who say my entire household is here for nothing more than my amusement, right Hatcher? Paul knew that he would say nothing. As long as he did not break the energy of this moment, he would be allowed to watch. And Hatcher enjoyed watching greatly. "And when they no longer amuse, they are gone. Yes, you are a wet one - Good." Her bottom lip trembled and her ankles wobbled, ready to give way. He withdrew his hand as quickly as he had shoved it inside her, and watched. Under the surface of her dusky hue the color had risen scarlet at his hand, and still lingered over her cheeks and throat as she strove to quickly clear her head. " I have been told that you have been trained in all manners of pleasure and are exceptional at training, and watching over others who have been trained. Do this well for me." As suddenly as Paul's father had drawn his hands from the woman, both his hands forced her to her knees. He rapidly opened his trousers and freed his manhood. Then with a calm that Paul had come to hate in him, he stroked his cock with one hand, as he demanded she clean the other with her tongue. " All of my toys are kept in the west wing, my private pleasure chamber is there as well. My rules are in your room - Learn them by heart. You use your tongue well, what of your mouth." His hard flesh choked her now as he held her by her braids and thrust. He spoke no more but grunted through closed lips until he was overwhelmed by his need, and Paul watched and was hardened by it, as the proof of it overflowed her mouth. "Now." His speech and been slowed. "Helen will show you to your room and to mine when I want you - be ready for me." Paul had widened his gaze that afternoon and realized that the housekeeper had been present as always, in the shadows where she most enjoyed. Yes Paul recalled that afternoon very well. His father fastened his trousers and turned to walk away, never thinking a second thought about the woman on her knees until he opened his library door and stopped. " What were you named?" She was rising from the floor when she heard his question. " I am Sienna, My Lord." "Yes - My Lord will do nicely." He had walked on, having never turned back. Helen led Sienna by the arm as Hatcher walked behind. Paul had watched that day, until they turned up the opposite stair case and were gone. The images rushed back. He tried to stop them but they flooded over him the way naughty bits of a novel came back after under-lined, to quicken the heart again and again. He was watching her again, Sienna on her knees before countless strangers, Sienna dangling by her wrists from a courtyard wall. The smell of her after his father had left her chamber. The strap-on she used when teaching new arrivals male and female alike, to surrender all. Under his closed lids, she was there behind him, with him now. Her warm quick fingers ran over his nipples as he stroked and stroked. His fingers, still shaking dropped away. How long ago it had all seemed until his father's death three weeks before. Paul looked at the clock once more; it was almost five. There was time now, plenty of time to remember and still more, to forgive what had been done. He would go to bed and sleep well. It was his household now and tomorrow Sienna would finally be ~ his new acquisition. This story is a part of "Mazora's World"; a free Erotic exploration of one person's mind. http:/mazorasworld.com/ Written by P.E.M.Davis Copyright (C) October 2002, January 2003, April 2003 P.E.M.Davis and Mazora's World. All rights reserved. Not to be distributed reproduced, transmitted, posted or used, in any manner or portion without the express written permission, from the author. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+