East Coast Slavers Organization

East Coast Slavers Organization – I: A Caribbean Adventure

Chapter 12 – New Stock (or The Slutbunnies Get Some Companions)

Ingrid Gaviard collapsed in shock onto a kitchen chair in her apartment. At thirty-six, she was too in control of her career and personal life to be in her current situation. Since she had met Michael Moore on that flight just a few weeks ago, her life had tumbled out of control. She had been sexually assaulted by a passenger, acted like a wanton whore with another woman, and been forced to prostitute herself. She burst into tears and wondered what to do about the message on her answering machine.

Across town, the more worldly-wise Sandy sat down and grinned evilly in response to her phone message. Her friend, and recent sexual partner, Michael, just offered her another chance to humiliate his slut girlfriend, Ingrid. The twenty-six year-old bartender looked forward to humiliating the older stewardess again. She loved the depravity of her first encounter with the beautiful woman.

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

Sandy had been working the bar the night Ingrid walked in the nightclub. So few patrons were there on an early weeknight that she noticed the black-haired woman come in and meet a man sitting quietly at a table. The event was memorable because the man ordered a Pacifico Beer and two of the giant signature Margaritas the bar featured. The woman was gorgeous. She had on an expensive sheer black cocktail sheath. Sandy thought she saw a momentary silhouette of a naked body underneath as she walked past the more brightly lit bar area; but she was probably mistaken. The two only sat for a few minutes while the female gulped down the first giant Margarita. She saw how he picked up their drinks and took the woman back to sit in a darkened, less noticeable corner. Moments later, she was sitting primly at the bar alone and unwilling to order a drink; she looked a little confused.

A nondescript man at the end of the bar signaled her over to where he sat at one of the only dark spots at the otherwise well-lit bar area. He ordered the woman a double Long-Island Iced Tea. The woman moved over to sit beside the man and Sandy was distracted for a few minutes with her bar duties. It could not have been five minutes later that she noticed the two had drifted out onto the completely empty dance floor. The song playing was way too fast for their slow dance. Sandy saw the couple's hands blatantly groping each other. She remembered thinking, "Fast work slut." Next thing Sandy noticed, the woman was back at the bar with her small black clutch purse held tightly in front of her. She was drinking the Long Island Iced Tea. Sandy could tell she had just had sex and idly wondered where the man was. When the distant ladies' room door opened, the much-disheveled man that stumbled out answered the unanswered question. He left the club and Sandy laughed.

Sandy asked the just-fucked girl about her boyfriend, meaning the man she just fucked. Instead, the naive woman, flushed from her vigorous sex and the effects of three double-strength drinks, told her that Michael was her boyfriend and was forcing her to perform some tasks at the club. Intrigued, the stacked blonde bartender had pulled her tight top over her big tits and strutted over with another Pacifico for the man. Sandy asked him about the whore. He told her that woman was a professional flight attendant, a submissive slut-bunny, and that she was into humiliation. What followed had been delicious. At twenty-six, the big-titted blonde had gone wild in the big city and with her somewhat mild experiences, thought she was worldly wise.

With some detailed coaching, she accosted the woman at the bar with, "Well Piggy, did you decide to go for slut or whore?" Of course, there was no answer from the flabbergasted woman. She remembered forcing Ingrid to strip in the dingy manager's office. Sandy then pasted her cunt on top of the prone woman's face and forced her to service her dripping cunt. She left Ingrid naked in the office and she and a bouncer spent the rest of the night collecting money from the dozens of men that subsequently fucked her. Altogether, she and the bartender split $800 from their pimping of the reluctant woman. Michael kept an additional two thousand dollars and Ingrid got a ruined black clutch purse jammed full of more than sixty condoms, many leaking cum onto the silk lining.

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

That same night, after breaking in Katria and Wanda, a Saturday, Sandy waited for Michael at the bus stop near her apartment complex. She idly wondered if she and Michael had ever exchanged last names. Her body was as primed for sex as it had been that night at the nightclub. This would be a lot of fun. As before, Michael promised to give her a detailed scenario to humiliate the submissive stewardess. His beige van pulled up to the curb, and she was off on a second adventure with Michael.

Meanwhile, Ingrid was just emerging from her mandatory bath. Michael had been very explicit. She sat on a towel at the edge of the tub and stared at a small pair of scissors, a zip lock bag, a can of shaving gel, and a razor. Trying hard not to break into tears again, she took the scissors and carefully began to cut off her pubic hair and place the cuttings into the bag. When her lush, black forest of hair was reduced to a short stubble, she smeared some of the slippery gel on her pubic mound and around her pussy. She started with the relatively easy pubic mound to shave. It was far more humiliating to scoot forward and shave between her legs. She actually had to stand, legs widely spread to shave the small area between her pussy and asshole. She shivered and barely held back the tears. "What else can I do?" she asked herself for what seemed like the hundredth time since she heard the horrible recorded message.

"How did he know that I kept those awful pictures and bondage items from that night with Connie?" she wondered. It was terrible that he knew because they were featured in tonight's game. Finished shaving, she picked up another last minute purchase needed to satisfy Michael's demands; a tube of fruit flavored sex lube. Just before her bath she had laid back on the bathroom floor and pumped two prepackaged plastic douche bottles of scented fluid into her ass (exactly as Michael demanded). She then jammed a small butt plug into her asshole and staggered to the toilet. There she used the second box of two douche bottles to clean out her pussy. With a grimace of disgust, she pulled out the plug and her ass sprayed diluted shit over everything. The unpleasant chore was not finished until she completed another stomach-cramping round of douche up her ass. That's when she showered and then soaked in a tub with scented bath beads. A package of black, lace-top, thigh-high hose was on the vanity. The hose was another of Michael's specific demands for the night.

Now she had to deal with the sex lube. She carefully lubricated each end of her souvenir from her night with Connie. It was a soft, double-ended jelly cock, brightly colored neon orange. The monster was twenty-four inches long.

In the living room, she hesitated at her front door. Naked, goose bumps covered her shivering form. The door was unlocked and unlatched. Earlier she shifted an overstuffed chair so the cushiony back was near the entry vestibule. She walked up around the chair and pressed her hairless cunt mount against the chair's back. Awkwardly, she reached down to tie her spread ankles securely to a stubby chair leg. Next, she folded the twenty-four inch cock in half and jammed an end into her ass and pussy. She grunted with the effort and pain. It was hard going; but she fully buried both at the same time. Except for the two or three inches left exposed between her painfully extended asshole and pussy, her action deeply seated ten inches of cock into each of her aching holes.

Ingrid gathered her hair behind her head into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic band. Nearly finished now, she glared at the remaining items on the chair seat in front of her. It was quite a pile. The pile included a black blindfold, a set of nipple clamps, and a brilliant red ballgag, all from that awful night with Connie. There were also two sets of just purchased handcuffs. She took a deep breath and continued with her self-bondage; she was soon committed with no way out.

Sandy and Michael were kissing furiously in the van outside Ingrid's apartment. Sandy begged Michael to dump a load of spunk into her pussy for Ingrid to slurp out. She pouted when he refused, citing the need for condoms. Her mood improved when he suggested she change clothes in the van prior to greeting Ingrid.

Minutes later, she hesitantly followed Michael up the walk to Ingrid's ground level apartment. He strode confidently along, carrying a small duffle bag and he waited near the entry as Sandy lagged behind. The reason for her uncertainty was her obscene and sluttish costume that Michael ordered her to wear. She still had her black high heels on; but otherwise had to strip naked in the van. Her costume consisted of an odd, black leather 'G' string and a leather bra with large cutouts for her nipples. Michael draped a man's oversize raincoat on her shoulders, handed her a small six-pack cooler and walked away. She somewhat fearfully and hesitantly scurried after Michael. He waited in Ingrid's brightly lit entry alcove.

Michael quickly drew Sandy inside and locked the door. He heard a rather loud, "Hmmfff," of protest from Ingrid as she fearfully wondered what was going to happen. Michael backed Sandy's virtually naked ass against Ingrid's up thrust rump and kissed her deeply. With a finger on his lips, his hand pulled a strange L-shaped double cock from his bag. Still admonishing silence, he knelt between Sandy's legs and pulled the glistening dildo from its protective zip-lock bag. He eased the shorter, and already lubricated, end through an opening in Sandy's crotch strap in the 'G' string. It clicked into place and Sandy now had a ten-inch monster cock jutting up from her pubic mount. The device tightly screwed the small end, a seven-inch dildo, into her own cunt. Michael reached up to her hips and almost brutally tightened the leather straps on the panties.

Ever thorough, Michael pulled on black leather gloves and set a carefully typed set of guidelines for Sandy to follow in the chair's arm. He left Sandy to begin to ravage the bound beauty. The scene behind Michael as he walked quickly into Ingrid's bedroom was of little interest to him. It was merely an opening act to conceal the true purpose of the evening.

Michael knew the layout of Ingrid's apartment from an earlier scouting trip while she was flying. Despite Ingrid's trepidation, she keep Michael informed of her travel plans, mostly the keep from meeting him. Moving quickly, he pulled several folded duffle bags out of his carry bag and started carefully packing Ingrid to set the stage for her disappearance. Every scrap of lingerie, her incriminating photos with Connie, all her jewelry, and half of her cosmetics and toiletries were destined for a duffle bag. He selected Ingrid's best outfits; each yanked off hangers and stuffed into another bag. The vigorously removed clothes scattered hangers wildly around the closet. Michael carefully searched the room to determine if he had missed anything. Finished with the master suite, he laid a 100-gram bag of cocaine on the vanity in the bathroom and carefully slit it open with a new razorblade. He carefully scattered some of the powdery cocaine onto the vanity top, dropped the cocaine-covered razorblade on the floor, and carefully swept the open bag of cocaine off the counter to spill onto the floor beside the toilet. He hoped it would look as though the scared and hurried woman knocked the drugs off her counter while hastily packing to flee.

Michael left the master suite and went through the combination guest bedroom and office. He took all her bank statements, credit card statements, checkbooks, copies of prior tax returns, etc. Finished upstairs, he hurried downstairs with the packed duffle bags and set them in the entry area. Michael Moore watched in wonder as Sandy's hips fucked into Ingrid's cunt in a blurring fashion. "Women are such talented fucking machines," he observed to himself. Ingrid was snorting and moaning into her ballgag as she desperately fucked back against her unknown assailant. As she could only wheeze through her nose, snot and sweat dripped down onto the soft cushion below. Cunt lube and sex lube already stained the back of the couch. Sandy's pubic hairs were matted with the mingled juices of both women. Sandy ignored his presence and continued her mindless drilling of Ingrid's cunt. Both women were fucking and getting fucked; each in a sexual fog.

Michael carefully double-checked Ingrid's purse to ensure that it held her passport and airline identification. It did. He threw it into his last duffle bag and headed into the kitchen. There he removed the telephone and answering machine and replaced them with a similar model he had purchased at a garage sale; still with the generic factory greeting on it. He also removed any drinks in the refrigerator and threw them into the duffle bag.

In the entry area again, Michael reached into his pocket and carefully removed a three-inch square section of mirror from a baggie immersed in cocaine. He brought the mirror up to Ingrid's nose and watched as she unwittingly snorted cocaine and air together into her nose. Now, snot mixed with cocaine flew out of her nose with each expelling breath. Michael then placed another set of lines of cocaine on the glass and brought it up to Sandy's face. She enthusiastically snorted three fat lines, threw her head back, and howled in glee. Her instantly runny nose dribbled onto the mirrored surface, mingling in with Ingrid's.

Michael pressed Ingrid's virtually lifeless fingers around the piece of mirror and the baggy, now containing about fifty grams of cocaine. He let the mirror fall to the floor. Next, he carefully scattered a few small pinches of the drug across the soiled chair cushion. The remainder of the cocaine, along with Ingrid's fingerprints, went into her freezer. Michael then took his half-full box of zip-lock bags and set it on her counter. From a nearby kitchen drawer he removed her box of storage bags and threw that into his duffle bag. A small weighing scale was then set on the counter beside the box of zip-lock bags.

Back in the entry, Sandy was now enthusiastically pumping the ten-inch portion of the monster dildo deep into Ingrid's puckered ass. Michael winched as he saw the abusive log relentlessly fucking in and out. Sandy had been pumping on full throttle for almost forty-five minutes. "Time to finish this," Aaron muttered. With that, he pulled another tightly closed zip-lock bag from a coat pocket and mashed the soaking wet, chloroform impregnated rag forcefully against the huffing and puffing bartender. Too winded from her marathon fuck match, Sandy couldn't fight much and sucked in the fumes. As she slumped down to the floor, Michael saw why Doctor Kay had prompted him to use her drug cocktail instead of the chloroform. Sandy's face was already red and raw looking from the burn her skin received from the harsh chemical. "Little, thing, not to worry. It only lasts a day or so."

Michael quickly handcuffed Sandy's wrists and ankles. He used his signature hogtie by loosely joining her wrists and ankles together with a third set of cuffs. A blindfold and ballgag completed her conversion to merchandise. In a last touch of drama, Michael pulled a pinch of Sandy's pubic hair from her cunt and mixed it with a similar amount from the fresh bag of pubic hair Ingrid left on her sofa, as directed. The mixture of pubic hair was carefully scattered on the sofa back, the seat, and on the floor where Ingrid's rape took place. He also scattered some of Sandy's long blonde hairs around the chair. The scene would appear to have been the site of some very kinky sex.

Moments later, Michael drove away with a new set of merchandise and bags full of mostly useless stuff. He left the apartment unlocked, every light left on, and small pile of white clothesline still on the floor from Ingrid's self-bondage. It would be a strange crime scene to figure out. One last hurdle for Michael was to set a fire at Sandy's much dingier apartment. Her neighbors, all single men, were never home at night. From Sandy's own description, she had nothing in the apartment worth stealing.

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