East Coast Slavers Organization

East Coast Slavers Organization – I: A Caribbean Adventure

Chapter 07 – Time to Get to Work (or Cleaning up the Doctor's Mess)

Michael Moore returned to Miami on the morning flight. His twenty-four hour vacation, even though two days shorter than planned, had been successful beyond any expectations.

He left Ingrid Gaviard and Connie Baxter entwined in drugged bliss; unaware, as yet, of the full extent of unbridled lust and debauchery they must have committed together the night before. Michael grinned as he reflected on all the 'evidence' planted to make it appear that their actions had been solely between the two of them and not the non-consensual orgy it actually was.

His feet tapped reassuringly against his black leather satchel stuffed with damning video and negatives of the previous night's events. High quality, professional video cameras had captured every act committed in the luxury hotel suite, the dinner table at the restaurant, the restaurant ladies' bathroom, and the bright and sterile kitchen. Michael had set his hooks deep into four unsuspecting sluts. How he reeled them in depended upon his business needs and his upcoming acquisition runs.

His immediate need for a villa to finalize his reconnaissance and prepare for actual operations was left in the capable hands of the soon to awaken Connie Baxter.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Actually, Connie and Ingrid would not wake each other up for hours – well into the afternoon. When they first stirred, they discovered that their eyes were nearly glued shut from some crusty residue. The situation led them to believe it was cunt slime. They never realized it was sperm saved in condoms from the gangbang they were featured in.

Next, they noticed their cunts and asses ached with a deep throbbing pain. They were entwined together. They recoiled in horror only to painfully realize they were also attached by two sets of nipple chains. Also, their poor cunts and assholes felt like they were joined by two huge logs. Neither girl knew who the other was. Doctor Kay's magic drugs had once again worked wonders. Only Connie had any recollection of agreeing to meet Michael's submissive girlfriend.

Connie was the first to start to awaken. Her right arm was asleep and she wondered if maybe she had gotten lucky with that guy she met the day before. She dreamily thought about his strong body and rich tastes. The giant stack of $20 bills he left as a deposit made her pussy spasm with need. Vaguely, her abused pussy let her know that she had indeed fucked him. "Hmmm," she murmured and wriggled her hips a little in remembrance of a ghostly image of her fucking and humping over and over again. Connie thought it odd that her head felt clear as a bell, but her memories were so fuzzy and elusive. She kept her sleep-crusted eyes shut in the still-dark room and leaned back a little. Her sore nipples complained as her breasts pulled back on the entwined nipple chains of the two sleeping women. Connie sleepily leaned back toward her sexual partner and despite the fear of morning breath, nuzzled her lips against his soft and equally sleepy lips.

Ingrid was now also starting to stir. Her left arm was equally numb from the night-long weight of her sexual partner. She remembered the morning flight from the day before and meeting that horrid man, Michael Moore. Ingrid did fondly remember the final throes of her forced sex. The orgasms had been more intense than anything she ever experienced in her life. Like the slowly stirring Connie she sleepily wriggled her hips and felt Michael's morning woodie firmly lodged in her itchy cunt. Her first sleepy sound was also a, "Hmmm," reflecting remembered sexual thrills. From the throbbing, swollen feedback from Michael's boner, their night of sex was fantastic. "Why can't I remember it yet?" she wondered quietly. "I don't have a headache or hangover, so …" Her thoughts were interrupted by Michael's gentle exploration of her lips.

Their tongues momentarily twisted against each other and then both girls simultaneously drew their free arms tighter against their sexual partner. The kissing grew more intense, each felt their tender nipples, and breasts throb with renewed lust and need. Their youthful and well-toned bodies had recovered quickly from their night of unremembered rape and abuse.

Twin, hmmms of bliss rattled from deep within each of their throats and they hugged tighter. Each started to hump a little against the other, taking advantage of what they thought was Michael Moore's lust-swollen cock. The painfully raw pussy flesh amplified the quivers of growing lust each felt. Ingrid was hungry for his cock despite her remembered humiliation from the flight and Connie just simply lusted after the well-toned body of a rich businessman. For some reason they couldn't figure out, their rectums were also throbbing, almost as if they had given the hugely endowed Michael Moore their virgin asses.

It was at this point, as each girl was selfishly preoccupied with increasing her own level of lust, that each became aware of the unexpected shortness and softness of her partner. Four bleary, cum-smeared eyes fought their way open in the dark hotel room and tried to focus on their lover's face. Neither could see much with the drapes tightly shut. The older and more sexually experienced Ingrid, just let her sexual urge overtake her faint sense of alarm, closed her eyes again, and levered her way on top of Michael. She humped blindly for a minute or so, rotating his incredibly large cock around her unusually sensitive cunt when she tried to lean back to more fully control the fuck. Excruciating pain from her nipples and slight tugging from her throat stopped her backward movement. Her questioning hands encountered the lush pair of breasts on her partner simultaneously with a set of hands grabbing her own tits.

The more awake Ingrid hoarsely blurted out, "What the fuck. Who are you?" and tried to roll off her fuckmate. That's when each realized that they weren't fucking Michael's cock; but instead, some other huge thing joined their cunts together. Ingrid carefully brought her knees up alongside her unknown lover and raised her cunt to remove the cock. That caused an incredible shock of pain to shoot through each of the two abused and joined pussies and assholes. She sagged down on her partner and hissed, "I don't know what this is about, but you did this, so get us apart."

Connie responded with, "Are you Michael's girlfriend? Why were you fucking me? What kind of twisted bitch are you?"

Both women were used to commanding their own lives and felt that this situation had to be the fault of the other. Eventually, each undid their own nipple clips, setting off a round of shrieking, whimpering, and wriggling around as the renewed blood flow caused incredible pain from the black and blue nipples. Oddly enough, the interrupted morning sexual arousal was rekindled during this painful movement and each of their hips unconsciously started to vigorously hump against the other. The gigantic jelly cocks were buried ten inches deep in each cunt and rectum. Each climaxed heavily, unable to hide that fact from their partners, tremendously increasing their humiliation. Eventually, they figured out how to unclip the chain between their collars and they moved their heads as far apart as they could on the bed and gingerly scooted off the gigantic, neon-bright cocks.

Ingrid and Connie fell off opposite sides of the bed and crawled, one toward the window and the other toward a nearby floorlamp. The full afternoon sun illuminated a scene of debauchery that neither wished to believe happened. The proof was all there. Each pointed to the other's body in silent horror at the bright permanent red ink writing exposed to the light of day. The room was silent as the extent of their obviously wild night sunk in. Then Connie noticed a Polaroid Camera and some film lying under the edge of the sheet. When she yanked it back revealing lots of pictures, each jumped forward, frantic to grab the evidence. The instant prints showed lesbian scenes the girls could not believe, except the proof was undeniable.

The naked and abused women agreed that each could take and later destroy half the pictures and half of any evidence. Then the girls staggered through the luxury suite looking for Michael. The lipstick sign in the bathroom left each crestfallen that Michael had left them to their own playful romping in his expensive room.

They silently took turns showering. Ingrid went first, only too happy to get her whorish costume off. She wondered where the black lace-up corset and stockings came from. While Connie was in the shower, Ingrid wrapped a fluffy oversized towel around her and wandered through the empty suite, observing the empty champagne bottles and picked over trays of food. There were no clothes anywhere. The bedroom window was cracked open and when Ingrid idly walked over to it, she saw a shredded bra hanging half in the room, like some battle worn symbol of truce. She wearily walked over and yanked it back into the room. Several stories down, she saw remnants of clothes strewn across the landscape plantings along the building's wall. So much for their evening clothes.

Michael's final twist to the scene was the removal of all clothing except for some soiled and torn articles left in Ingrid's small travel bag. Ingrid got dressed first, distastefully pulling up a stiff pair of her stinky panties from the day before. She kept the only useable blouse left and zipped up her skirt. She took one dildo, half the prints, and her collar chain and nipple set as agreed. Without a word to Connie in the bathroom, she left suite to check into her room reserved at another hotel by the airlines. The only clothing in the suite was the remnants of the bra found in the window, and Ingrid's spare stewardess uniform, a skirt and the blouse torn by Michael.

Connie was now on her own in Michael's luxury suite. The skirt was too tight to zip up all the way but it did cover her up. The blouse was tied across her belly as there were no buttons left on it. Shortly, the humiliated blonde crept down the resort's stairs, barefoot and carrying her purse stuffed with the remaining evidence of her sexual deviance.

--L--A--T--E--R--

By now, the airplane was nearly back to Miami. Michael continued his review of the events, "I have two beautiful, mature fuck bunnies, whether or not they willingly cooperate is of little consequence, and two unprincipled college sluts. All four rated PPP on my reserve 'A' list." He continued thinking about the two part-time whore / part-time college students. The three had fucked, sucked, squirmed, and exhausted themselves on the king-size bed of the room they retired to after abandoning the Sir Frances Drake suite to the two drugged, double-dildo stuffed thirty-something women.

--L--A--T--E--R--

As the older women abandoned their luxury suite and Michael rested on his flight, the two college honeys were soaking in the second hotel room's Jacuzzi, sipping on cold, fresh-squeezed orange juice and staring with greed at the vanity mirror. Michael had artfully arranged thirty $100 bills in an arch across the mirror facing the tub. All three conspirators were well satisfied by the intensive twelve-hour ploy they had set up to entrap Connie and Ingrid. Rochelle and Sophia were also financially sated from the adventure; although lust for more money remained based upon the way they stared at the thirty bills on the mirror.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Aaron worked feverishly over the next weeks to finalize preparations in the warehouse. It was to be the critical node in all his upcoming operations and in keeping emergency contingencies viable. Only Aaron could perform this work. He welded, cut, and ground steel for days. Then he did interior plumbing, electric, and carpeting inside the containers. Next, he installed all the fancy, but strong steel doors and gates he had laboriously constructed. Electronic gadgets were strategically located throughout the three containers and the warehouse itself. Lastly, he moved furniture into the containers and made any final arrangements. Aaron was close to going operational.

Late one Thursday night several weeks after returning from the British Virgin Islands, Aaron Clarke drove out of his darkened warehouse through the roll-up doors. He clicked his remote and the doors silently slid down behind him. Steve had phoned the night before to say that things were getting worse between him and Doctor Patricia Kay. She was distant and cool during their last conversation.

"I tried to arrange a meeting Thursday night anywhere in Miami. Aaron, she refused because of some medical charity thing she's committed to for that evening. Then she claimed to be busy for the next few weeks. She vaguely offered to come out here to Los Angeles in about three weeks. I think something might be going down soon."

Steve sounded unusually tense. Aaron replied, "Well, I'm almost fully prepared to start taking acquisitions. We are better off now than during that last recon. I'll do it tomorrow night and get back with you."

As promised, Aaron was driving north toward the fancy North Miami address where Doctor Kay lived. It was a gated community (Indian Key Village), but Aaron had an 'in'. Doctor Kay was a greedy woman. She was wealthy by any standards. In addition to the extremely profitable free-lance work she did for Steve and his associates, Doctor Kay made a lucrative income from her practice as a well-known plastic and reconstructive surgeon. Her customers were thrilled with Doctor Kay's work; she was a truly gifted surgeon.

Doctor Kay's greed had nearly been her downfall a year and a half ago. Despite her own millions, she consistently bilked the patient's insurance companies of millions of dollars a year. On the insurance forms, the lovely doctor requested reimbursement for work never accomplished; all the claims were for reimbursable treatments under the policies. A medical insurance fraud investigator, Marie Mathis had investigated her practice and doggedly pursued the dirty doctor.

A little over a year ago, Doctor Kay contacted Steve to take care of the problem. To facilitate delivery of the captive investigator, she thoughtfully provided keys to her office and home as well as passcards and alarm information. Thus, Steve was able to bring the unwilling Miss Mathis to the doctor's clinic and later to her home.

Despite the gated community's purported security, there was a convenient by-pass lane for vehicles with pass cards. Steve told him the video coverage only focused on vehicles that passed through the guard station for access to the estates. The stuck-up homeowners objected to too much surveillance of their own activities and wanted privacy for any special visitors.

Patricia Kay's home sat up on a hill. Aaron, now in his identity as Robert Morgan, arrived at the estate's entry gates about 30 minutes after dark. The access card opened up her gates and he headed up the landscaped drive. Robert reflected on the irony of the opening gate allowing him to decide if Doctor Kay's fancy life might have to be tragic ended, depending upon what he discovered. He thought, "I don't think this bitch is willing to protect anyone if she is in trouble. She may find that there is nothing worse than to piss of someone like Steve."

Up at the main house, Robert parked off the main driveway, pulling behind the garage and kennels located behind the home. He hoped that if she came home unexpectedly, she would be looking toward her home without noticing the faint car tracks in her lawn.

From the concrete block kennel building, Robert walked under a covered walkway up to the main house. Again, the proper keys and access codes made quick work of the rear door and the alarm panel. Robert paused long enough at the panel box to disconnect the alarm's remote feed that would alert the fire department or police of a problem with the house. He also moved a telephone/answering machine from the kitchen to the alarm cabinet. After he cut all the feeder lines to the remainder of the phones on the estate, he plugged the phone feed for the alarm into the single remaining phone. "That takes care of the alarm in case I gotta come back and only one phone will work until then," he mused.

Robert crept up the dark stairwell to the upstairs where he knew the office was located. The good doctor's files were organized and detailed. She obviously kept her true books here at home rather than at the office. He found extensive correspondence from major insurance companies complaining of her obvious, and repeated, over billing and consistent claims for work not performed. The correspondence also highlighted that much of her work was clearly not medically necessary.

Another set of folders in her antique roll-top desk contained correspondence with her attorney. He had forwarded letters from the Florida State Medical Review Board that highlighted the insurance company's complaints against Doctor Kay. "Patricia, Patricia, Patricia, … Steve got you out of this jam once. You must be a real greedy, self-centered bitch to keep going, especially with your high-end medical practice."

Further in the thick folder was a letter where her attorney clearly states he 'cannot stave off any further the efforts of the State Attorney General to formally investigate your practice, Doctor Kay.'

"Bingo, Set, Point, and Match. You are so screwed bitch!" Robert continued to read the other letters and notes. It was clear to Robert that Patricia was only days away from a series of subpoenas and search warrants. Her medical license, her practice, and her freedom itself were at risk. Her lawyers implied that she would also do jail time on top of losing everything.

Robert pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Steve. "Hey, buddy it's me," he said. After the expected pleasantries, Robert went on to say, "Remember you asked me to look in on your sister; well, it's just like you thought. She is getting ready to have some big-time problems, like right now. She's out of control and her husband will file for divorce any day. You know how many people she has messed with. I think she will bring out a lot of dirty family laundry during divorce proceedings."

When Robert paused, Steve responded with, "Damn. I hate to see things fall apart so bad for her. You know she doesn't have anyone else out there to help her with this."

"Yeah, true" Robert responded. "But, your sister has a lot of records that document her hobby. You may not know, but she and her husband obviously have an open marriage. Lots of their friends and acquaintances will be exposed to public scrutiny in a messy divorce. Can I help you and your sister out here in Miami?"

Steve easily followed the cryptic conversation. It protected both of them in the eventuality that they were investigated, or that authorities were using some sort of word screening program to randomly analyze conversations. "I think you ought to help her get quietly and safely out of state and let her lawyers process the divorce. Sorry that my sister has to lose so much, but she can't win in this fight. It's simply gone too far and from what you say, it'll be too dirty."

"OK, I can help her pack up and move without her husband even knowing. The lawyers should be fired though. Then this will be a closed chapter in her life." Despite his cool demeanor, Robert was starting to sweat. He wasn't ready for this yet.

Steve sadly agreed, "OK Bud, fire the attorneys as well. Just clean things up the best you can. Try to be thorough, and be nice to sis. Whatever you spend, we can even up on latter."

Robert agreed to the plan; although, he didn't enjoy the clear directive to recover rather than destroy the doctor.

Steve finished the conversation with an admonition and a stipulation, "Just be sure to keep this low-key, and do all the work yourself – beginning now."

Robert responded with an, "affirmative," and hung up.

Robert wryly thought that at least he no longer had to keep anyone from noticing that a prowler had been in the home. The backup plan, laughingly named Plan B, called for removing Patricia from the home and destroying everything. Robert carefully and efficiently started packing all of her files into duffel bags he had brought in the van in case he needed to gather evidence. He threw Patricia's computer on the floor with all his considerable strength and then rummaged through the debris for the hard drive. Even though it was only 8:00 by now, he kept alert for any headlights coming up the drive. Robert needed a few minutes preparation to greet the errant doctor.

Next, he moved from the upstairs office down the hall to the master bedroom suite. Doctor Kay had some personal pictures displayed on her dresser. They depicted a slender blonde with maybe a C-cup size. "Nice package," Aaron observed. "She's blonde, blue-eyed, and has everything packed into a nice slender, athletic frame." He turned his attention to her clothes drawers.

"Hmm, nice and soft." He was now rummaging through her lingerie drawers. "She sure has a lot of wispy silk panties. But these cushioned bras would have to go." Designed for comfort, the bras he was examining were at least 3/8 inch thick throughout the entire cup. "Hmmm, maybe she's only an A+ cup size. Wonder why a plastic surgeon uses padded bras?" Leaving that mystery to be solved later, Robert continued his search. There was no hidden evidence. Ending his search at the dresser, he quickly filled a duffel bag with the best of her undergarments, stockings, and sleepwear.

Patricia's closet was packed with beautiful suits, dresses, gowns, everything a woman dreamed of. Robert decided to pack what he could to help the good doctor get ready for her 'escape'. At the rear of the closet, Robert found a fireproof safe well-secured in the wall behind a row of long, designer gowns. "Oh, boy," he muttered. "If I had missed this, we would be so screwed. I can't handle this myself. Gotta get the nice lady doctor to help out." Fortunately Robert had sufficient time before the doctor arrived to decide how to handle this unforeseen problem.

Robert then threw Patricia's jewelry and valuables into his last duffle bag. All together, Robert moved 15 of the heavy bags, filled with the doctor's files and possessions, downstairs to his van.

On return trips from the van, Robert lugged in the rest of Plan B. He brought in 10 five-gallon jugs full of gasoline and 10 incendiary charges with timers. They were placed four in the basement and three each on the ground level and the second floor. As each was set down in a somewhat concealed position, he carefully added 30 hours to the current time. That set all 10 of the devices to go off at 3:00 on Saturday morning.

Everything was finished in the house by 10:00. Since the doctor was still out enjoying her evening, Robert felt he had time to search the kennel for Doctor Kay's pet. "Instead of confronting her in the entry, I will stun her as she gets out of her car," Robert decided.

He quickly moved toward the garage and kennel. His target building was identifiable by the series of woven wire runs behind it. This door was locked; but, Robert had no keys that fit as the structure had been built after Steve delivered Marie Mathis to the doctor.

Author: Desert Dog ****** E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com