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The Queen of Sorrow’s Falls
Part Twelve
Suri’s Last Dance
By Razor7826 (copyright 2008) -- The events portrayed in this story in no way represent the views of the author. It is for the entertainment purposes of adults only.
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Michelle and Suri lurked in the nighttime woods, waiting for the perfect moment to snatch an unsuspecting prize. Though each had their preferences, any of the dozen women partying in the lake cottage would be worthwhile. High school seniors on the verge of graduation, the prom goers were perfect in their presentation. Fluffy dresses, layers of makeup, and intricate hair were still the common fashion, nearly a decade after Michelle’s release.
“Do you really think we’ll get a chance?” asked Suri, turning away from the cottage to address her companion.
“Of course,” Michelle responded, her eyes continually glancing back at the cottage. “They’re young and drunk and have absolutely no reason to fear the darkness. Just wait for the balcony to thin out, lurk to the corner, and steal one into the night.”
Suri smiled. Michelle knew the plan was sound, even if it did hinge too heavily on luck. They were sufficiently armed and the environment was to their advantage—even if their prey managed to escape, or they were seen too early, they could just disappear into the forest, their black clothes and generic shoes guaranteed to not leave the slightest useful trace of their presence.
One more couple fled the balcony, the girl leading her date with a grin, followed by another, leaving but a single pair. The man had his girl leaned back against the railing in a gentle embrace, their mouths interlocked.
Something about the sight upset Michelle, but she quickly dismissed the thought. They might not get a second chance, and it was important that she pay attention. And, soon, that attentiveness paid off. The boyfriend retreated back inside, leaving his girlfriend alone, smoking on a cigarette.
“Now, this is it,” whispered Michelle. The stealthily moved closer to the cottage, just beyond the cone of light that emanated from the inside party. “Help me,” she said, her voice twisted in faked pain.
The prom girl turned her head towards the sound. “Huh?”
“Help, please,” said Michelle, doing her best to strain her voice.
The girl dropped her cigarette onto the wooden patio and descended the nearby stairs until twigs crunched under her feet. “Who’s out there?”
“I’m hurt, please…”
Suri and Michelle hid behind two trees, waiting for their prey to reach them. They pounced the moment the clueless girl wandered within grasp. She let out a brief scream before Michelle’s hand clapped over her mouth, silencing her protests before anyone of her classmates could hear the pained yelp.
Suri’s stun gun found a meaty spot just above the girl’s breast and triggered. A few more shocks ensured her silence by the time they reached the parked van. They tossed her in back, bound her wrists, and gagged her mouth; it was their most efficient capture yet, a satisfying sign of their developing expertise.
Few words passed between the lovers as they made the hour drive back to Serenity Falls. Suri drove, and Michelle spent the time shocking the helpless girl into repeated submission, her eyes staring at the girl’s face. It was one of youthful beauty, and Michelle could tell that even without the makeup the girl would be a stunner.
The other five slaves only stirred in their cells as lights came on in the basement dungeon, but they quickly returned to their slumbers, the screams and moans of a new prisoner no longer new or special enough to justify the loss of sleep.
“Ooooh, I just love that shade of pink!” exclaimed Suri as their new slave’s dress lit up in the basement lights. “Do we have anything that matches?” Together, they scoured the floor and bins for replacement material that better matched the fluffy pink dress. “Does this look good?” she asked as she held a set of fuzzy pink wrist cuffs, a pink dog collar, and pink ball gag.
The newest addition to the queen’s dungeon thrashed and screamed as Suri and Michelle forced her into the new bondage gear. Her arms bent painfully behind her back and pulled tightly by a chain linked to the ceiling. When everything was locked on place, she could only kneel on the basement floor, hunched over with her bottom fully exposed.
“Now, let’s see,” taunted Michelle as she rolled up the dress’s bottom. “A garter? Was that for your boyfriend?”
The girl did her best to turn around and meet Michelle’s eyes with her own before nodding.
“Well, I think I’ll be taking the honor.” Michelle slid it off of the slave’s right thigh and slid it up her own. It had been years since she had worn such a frivolity, and it felt strange to have any kind of restriction against her thighs. A brief flash of memory reminded her of those years spent as a slave, so thoroughly entwined in bondage that she could barely move an inch.
“And these stockings? Pretty cute, whatever your name is. Pink panties, even. You really like the color pink, don’t you?”
The girl nodded again.
Suri laughed and slapped the girl’s ass, eliciting a sharp yelp. “She has great taste.”
Michelle kneeled beside her friend and smiled in return. “Her taste doesn’t really matter much anymore,” she said as she ran her hand across the shiny pink fabric that comprised the prom dress. Though the bottom was wide and fluffy, the rest of the dress was simple. Shoulder less and strapless, it was completely defined by the curves of the girl’s body.
What was the slave’s name? Michelle didn’t know, but didn’t particularly care. “Now, let’s see what else she has.” She slid one hand beneath the right cup off the dress and popped her breast out of place. It was young and perky, barely held into place by the material. “Very nice.”
Suri Mehta and Michelle von Houten continued the rest of the girl’s induction to slavery without exchanging any words, their meanings and intent completely portrayed by the subtleties of their actions. They were completely in tune with each other; having attacked the unwilling flesh of their slaves in tandem hundreds of times in the past. It had been nearly three years since they had met each other; how many women had they disgraced and broken together? She began to recall their last three years together.
Jodie Klint, the red-headed high school reporter, was taken and dominated months before Suri had entered the picture, but the rest of the residents of Michelle’s basement dungeon were introduced by both mistresses.
Deputy Eliza Mishkin, an officer of the law that threatened to bust open the entire culture of slavery.
Julia Klint, the mother of Jodie, an incessant nag that had to be silenced.
Attorney Mary Gates, taken and destroyed so Michelle and her friends could tighten their grip on Serenity Falls.
Lucy and Amy Song, former allies that grew too careless.
Sister Mary Gambon, a woman of the cloth purchased at auction so Michelle could vent her unresolved anger.
Rachel DeSoto, a wealthy and pampered forty-year old millionaire that stumbled into the BDSM convention with her husband.
All of the women that entered the care of Michelle and Suri were destroyed, fast, efficiently, and cruelly. Through degradation, violence, and bondage, each of those women were forced into submission. Now none of them dare defy their Queen’s command. They were loyal subjects to their very core. It only took a single look at the newest captive for Michelle to know she would grow to be a loyal slave, just like her predecessors.
Michelle huddled close to the slave and grabbed both of her tits, kneading and toying them with practiced expertise. The girl squealed into her ball gag with the exact tone Michelle loved so very much.
From behind, Suri pierced the girl with a double-dildo strap-on. The pink panties stretched between her pink stockings, and her ass cheeks rippled with each forceful impact.
Michelle looked to Suri, who grinned with satisfaction as she deflowered both of the young girl’s holes. Then she turned to look at the captive. Tears formed in her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she stared forward at her fellow slaves, all lined up in their own cells.
Captivated by the slave’s expressions, Michelle pulled away and watched for hours. As Suri pierced her holes over and over with dildos of varying shapes and sizes, her face slowly lost its life. Her teeth unclenched against the ball gag, her tears stopped, and her eyes no longer darted from side to side.
She was breaking, and fast.
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Hours passed, and Michelle was long since exhausted. She reclined on the red leather couch and gazed at the ongoing defilement with pride. Another young slave added to the stables, stolen into the night without a trace. Everything was executed perfectly, as usual.
The pet hung limply by her wrists as Suri knelt behind her wearing a strap on dildo, ramming the girl’s ass. The new pet no longer cried, too shocked to display any real emotional response. The flesh of her bottom rippled with each slap of Suri’s thighs. The pink dog collar pulled tight against her neck as Suri pulled her closer for each thrust, the adjoining leash taught with tension.
Suri’s stamina never ceased to amaze Michelle. It was only one of the many reasons why she loved her. Her humor, cheerfulness, and gorgeous toned body had Michelle from that first tearful apology three years ago.
Neither of them understood how little time remained for their love.
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The sun was beginning to rise by the time Michelle and Suri let their slave have her first moments of rest. Even sleeping and sprawled on the floor, her arms and legs pulled close to her body in a position of defense, as if she were capable of fending off demands of her new owners.
Suri gathered her clothes, strewn across the floor from the previous night’s foreplay. “She’s bleeding pretty badly. We’ll need more medical supplies.”
Michelle looked at the slave again, and noticed the pool of lubricant and blood that spilled from her bottom. She grabbed Suri’s hand and pulled her closer. “A kiss for the road?” They embraced in a brief moment before Suri’s hand slipped away from her own. The Indian woman wandered up the stairs, leaving Michelle to pass out on the couch—a deserved rest after a job well done.
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Suri Mehta never returned from that simple errand. Just after noon on that mid-May Sunday, Toby spotted her light green coupe, pulled over onto the shoulder of a lonely forest route on the outskirts of town, nowhere near the store they normally bought supplies at. Her keys were still in the ignition and her purse rested unperturbed in the passenger’s seat. There were no signs of a struggle.
The searches turned up nothing-- not a shoeprint or broken twig to be found anywhere near her car, only a set of tire tracks in the mud just in front of her car. As the circumstances of Suri’s disappearance came in, Michelle’s stomach sunk with dread. It was exactly like the story of the countless women that disappear each year without a trace, plucked from their daily lives and consumed by the underground world of sexual slavery.
“No… it can’t be,” muttered Michelle as she clenched Suri’s favorite bathrobe against her chest, wishing for the warm embrace of her first true love. “No…”
Somewhere in the world, Suri Mehta was beginning a new life of suffering and servitude, an unfortunate fate for a woman so full of life and vigor. The mere thought of such horrors devastated Michelle
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