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LOANING LUCY
PART FOUR
It was a private party for about 40 guests, held at the spacious home of one of the Wonderland Club’s wealthiest patrons. Lucy and several of the invited slaves were serving trays of canapes and refilling drinks. Their Owners were all standing around socialising or sitting in groups discussing everything from the state of the economy to New Year resolutions. A few slaves were kneeling at the feet of their Masters and Mistresses, either listening silently or diligently performing a task.
One middle-aged female slave was on all fours between the boots of a long-haired, leather clad, rock musician. She was topless, dressed only in a pair of PVC hot pants, fishnet stockings and high heels. Her pendulous breasts were hanging down like udders. His zip was undone and she was bouncing her head up and down in his lap.
He was totally ignoring her efforts, chatting away to the portly man that Lucy had earlier noticed the woman arriving with.
Lucy held a tray of smoked salmon blinis out to both men.
The musician took one, his coal black eyes staring at her. She knew he was the lead guitarist in a successful band and was only in his mid twenties. His jaw was unshaven and acne-ridden. She blushed as his gaze lingered on her tattooed forehead.
“So, you’re a slut, huh ?” His accent was cockney.
She curtseyed, as Alice had taught her. “Yes, Sir.”
The other, older man smiled like a reptile, taking a canape. His fleshy red face was shiny with perspiration. He looked about 60, with one of those patrician faces that might once have been handsome, before decades of indulgence and excess.
“You belong to Alice, right ?”
Again, she bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, Sir.”
He reached out and pensively gauged the heavy hoops dangling from the rings in her nipples. She winced as he gave them a gentle tug.
“And you’re lesbian ?”
“Yes … well, bisexual, Sir.”
“But you prefer women ?”
Both men were staring at her; the blue eyes of the older man twinkled with amusement, the black eyes of the musician were narrowed, his breath quickening. She could tell he was finally responding to the woman’s blowjob, building to an orgasm.
“Yes, Sir. I prefer women.”
“But Alice loans you out to men ?”
Lucy couldn’t meet his gaze. She lowered her eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
“How delightful. Look at me !”
She jerked her head up. He surveyed her coldly. At that moment, the musician grunted and threw his head back against the sofa.
The older man turned his head, whilst still studying Lucy out of the corner of his eye. He tilted his chin at the topless female slave who was guzzling the musician’s load.
“My wife.” He said, turning back to Lucy. “My fat pig slave wife.”
He lifted his foot and poked his toe into the tyre of flesh bubbling over the rim of the woman’s overly tight PVC pants.
Lucy watched his wife slowly raise her head. Her cheeks were flushed and she tentatively wiped the back of her hand against her lips. Her eyes met Lucy’s and she flashed the shared recognition of one slave to another.
Around them, nobody else paid the moment the slightest attention. Clusters of people talked, laughed, like at any normal social event. Alice was nowhere to be seen. She’d disappeared off into another room.
“What do you think of my wife ?” the man enquired.
Lucy blushed. The woman was maybe late forties. Like him, she’d seen better days. She had auburn hair with flecks of grey, worn in a loose tousled bun, and too much makeup. Her lipstick was smudged. Her skin was pale and slack under her arms and across her bare stomach. All in all, she looked more ridiculous than sexy in her hot pants and stockings.
“She’s … lovely, Sir.”
Both men burst into hoots of laughter, causing a third man to turn round and join their group. He was black, tall and striking. He grinned and raised an eyebrow at Lucy.
“Lovely ?” the husband smirked. “She’s a fat cow only good for giving blowjobs. Aren’t you my dear ?”
The woman’s pale blue eyes never left Lucy’s. She nodded.
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper.
“So my wife prefers me to fuck younger, hotter women than her.”
Again, the woman nodded. Her eyes blinked with humiliation.
“How old are you, slut ?”
“Twenty two, Sir.”
“Hear that ?” He taunted his wife. “I bet her cunt is tight as a fucking glove.”
“Oh, it is !” the black man interrupted.
Lucy gasped. The man’s voice was deep like Barry White’s, amused. His eyes twinkled and he held out his hand to her. She transferred the tray to her left hand and took his in her right. His grip was gentle but firm.
“Pleased to meet you Lucy, face to face at last.”
He turned to the others in explanation. “The last time I saw Lucy, her bottom was sticking up out of Alice’s floor. I took her virginity, so I’m told.”
Lucy dry-swallowed, feeling a heat rash mottling her neck and cheeks. She remembered the moment. She’d been forced to watch the film of her own deflowering but the man’s face had been kept out of sight throughout.
“And I can thoroughly recommend her dyke cunt.” He continued, turning from Lucy to the other men. “Although I’d get in there early, if I were you, as Alice has been loaning her out pretty frequently since then, I’ve heard.”
“And I’ve barely started !”
Alice’s voice startled Lucy, as her Mistress joined the huddle from behind.
Lucy stared at her in shock. She was holding a leash. On the floor at her feet trailed a naked boy. He was olive-skinned, Latin-looking, early-20s at the most. She winked mischievously.
“Look at Giorgio. My beautiful new boy slave.”
Dumm !
The distant, muffled chimes of Big Ben over the radio signalled midnight.
Lucy was on her knees in one of the private bedrooms, although the door was open and she could hear the raucous party sounds down the corridor. She was aware of people wandering into the room occasionally, coming and going freely.
She was kissing Alice’s boots, smacking her lips against the red leather in time with the sounds of Big Ben. Above her, Alice was lying back on the bed next to Giorgio, kissing to each chime, like two lovers.
After the twelfth peal, a huge cheer went up in the main room and Lucy heard party poppers and the skirl of bagpipes from somewhere.
Suddenly Alice’s fingers slid over Lucy’s bald head. She twisted her earlobe sharply, directing Lucy’s head towards the door.
“Happy New Year, darling.”
Lucy blinked. The podgy-faced older man from earlier was standing in the doorway. He held out his hand and beckoned her with his crooked little finger.
“Go and see in 2009 properly.” Alice said.
He locked the door of the bedroom suite.
Lucy saw his wife sitting in a chair by the window. The woman’s cheeks were bulging, stuffed with some kind of gag and silver masking tape over her lips. Lucy noticed her arms were behind her back. They’d presumably been tied or cuffed there. Wet splodges glistened in the lamplight on the woman’s forehead, cheeks and breasts.
“Go and stand in front of her.” He said.
Lucy took a few paces and stood facing the woman. Close up, she could see her mascara and lipstick were smudged and there were damp patches in her tousled bun of hair.
Lucy felt his hands curling around her waist as he stood behind her, panting obscenely in her ear.
“Slap her face.” He murmured.
Lucy inhaled. No. She couldn’t do that.
“Nmm.” She shook her head.
“Do it.” He snarled. “Slap the fat cunt’s face.”
Lucy stared into the woman’s upturned, bulging eyes.
“Do it now ! Or I’ll go fetch Alice.”
Lucy shut her eyes, grinding her teeth. Slowly, she raised her arm and opened her palm. Then she cracked it across the woman’s swollen cheek.
The shrill snap echoed round the bedroom.
She heard him breathing excitedly as his hands moved to her breasts, tweaking the heavy nipple hoops.
“Tell her again how old you are.”
“I’m twenty two.”
“Young enough to be my wife’s daughter.”
Lucy didn’t speak. She shut her eyes again to avoid the woman’s blush.
“Open your legs.”
She edged her feet apart, feeling his sausage-like fingers lifting her mini skirt. Lucy was wearing no underwear. His fingertips probed and teased her labia open. In spite of her disgust, she felt her body moistening.
“Step forwards.”
Lucy inched her feet toward the woman.
“Now bend down until your forehead touches hers.”
She smelt semen on her skin as they came together.
“Tell her what’s happening.”
Lucy whimpered as the man’s heavy stomach rubbed against her buttocks. His pubic hair tickled her shaved parts and his fingers guided his crown inside her.
“Aahm.” She gulped. “You’re … in … side … me.”
She felt him thrust, while his left hand sought out her clitoris.
“Ugh.” Her own breath exploded into the woman’s gagged face.
“Your cunt is sooo tight. Tell the bitch how good that feels.”
Lucy grimaced. “It … f … feels good.”
He pulled back and slammed into her.
She grunted and pushed back against him.
He laughed. “That’s my girl. Spit into her face !”
OMG. Lucy recoiled, pulling back until she could see the woman’s blurred face. She groaned as his length sliced through her again.
“Do it !”
Lucy half heartedly spat a few drips of saliva.
“Aaaouch.” She wailed as the hoops in her nipples were tugged roughly.
“Hawk up a really g … good mouthful of g … gob.” He grunted.
Lucy snorted and sucked up a ball of phlegm. The woman was facing her only inches away. Their eyes met in distorted acceptance. Lucy spewed the thick mucus into her eyes.
She felt him pull out.
“Now get on the bed. Quick !”
She hurriedly clambered across the bed cover. He guided her so that her head hung, face up, off the end of the bed nearest the window. She blinked and had an upside down view of his wife watching them.
He climbed above Lucy and lowered his mouth to hers. His thick tongue stabbed between Lucy’s lips as he kissed her. Then he broke off and she saw him looking up coldly into his wife’s eyes.
“Put me inside you.”
She reached underneath his paunch and guided his shaft into her.
“Oh yessss.” He hissed. She tasted garlic on his breath. “Fuck me.”
She began jerking against him, squeezing her thighs, seeking his kisses.
After around one final minute of humping, his moans got louder and then he uttered several staccato ‘yes’ sounds. She felt the warm wetness invading her as his weight collapsed onto her chest.
“Don’t you even think about having an orgasm.” He muttered to her eventually, pushing his body up on one elbow. She stared up into his piggy eyes.
He slowly turned his head and looked over at his wife.
Lucy detected an immediate change in the atmosphere. She saw him wink kindly at her and blow a kiss.
Evidently, their game was over.
*** *** ***
Alice smiled in the darkness.
The three of them were riding home in a cab; herself, Giorgio and Lucy.
It was past 3 o’clock in the morning. Lucy was quiet and tense.
“Did you have a good time at the party ?”
Lucy’s head turned slowly, before giving a non-committal nod.
Alice slid her hand between Lucy’s knees under the coat she’d worn to travel in. She eased her fingers up her slut’s soft skin until she reached the sodden folds of Lucy’s cunt. She pulled her hand out and held her fishy fingers under Giorgio’s nostrils.
“It sure stinks as if she had a good time.”
He sniffed appreciatively. Lamplight flickered through the window of the taxi as they turned a corner. He really was the most beautiful boy. Under the black winter cloak he was wearing, he was naked. Her new toy.
Quite what she’d do with him over the next few weeks she wasn’t sure yet.
But what to do with Giorgio was not her primary concern.
Lucy was.
NINE MONTHS LATER
Somewhere in Asia - she wasn’t sure which country - Lucy was dripping with sweat. It covered her forehead, dripped off her chin, ran down her spine and lay damp in the cleft of her bottom. The factory gauge said it was over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit yet again today, with more than 95% humidity. The contrast with the freezing temperatures she’d left behind last January couldn’t be more stark.
She was a single cog in a production line producing beaded apparel for fashion chains in America and Europe. Lines of concentrating, perspiring women worked on the garments for 12 hours a day.
But at least they were paid.
At least they could return to their homes and families after work.
The hum of the machinery made conversation impossible, even if she were able to speak their language. But the sons of the factory owner who supervised the workforce frowned on chatter anyway. Anything that distracted attention from peak productivity was not allowed. Even her co-workers had to raise a hand to request permission for toilet breaks. The production line never slowed, never paused for any reason. Absences had to be compensated for by the remaining labourers redoubling their efforts.
Lucy’s fingers were coarse, blistered, her nails split. Her hands were large and cumbersome compared with the delicate fingers of the locals. She had to work desperately to keep pace with the production line, threading beads and semiprecious stones into the silk fabric.
Her mouth tasted foul from the spices in the slop they served on the sticky rice. Her guts churned from the cloudy water and rusty dripping tap where the drinking pot was filled. Several times she had contracted diarrhoea, but had simply been given potent antibiotics and forced to continue working. She remembered how she’d happily browsed mounds of clothes in fashion shops in London, enjoying their low prices, never realising the poverty and mistreatment suffered by those at the bottom of the pile.
Alice had simply gone out one morning. It was January 4th. Shopping in the New Year Sales. With Giorgio. She never even said goodbye to Lucy. Just left a note instructing her to go with the two burly men who arrived at midday.
A few weeks later, there was one final postcard.
Three sentences in Alice’s scrawl. Here was a chance for Lucy to live out the irreversible fantasy she wanted, to everybody’s benefit. Alice had sold her as an indentured labourer. When she saw her own price, Lucy wept.
The factory owner who purchased her was a short, rotund man with an even shorter, skinny wife. They both had black hair, slanted eyes, brown teeth and pockmarked skin. Business seemed their only interest in life.
Or that’s the way it had seemed to Lucy at first.
The two of them lived alone in a wooden house built on stilts within the factory compound. There was a trap door leading to an under floor hut below the stilts. She gathered from their grinning gestures that it had originally been the family toilet. However, since their children had grown up and a sewage system had now reached the village, they used a new plumbed bathroom at the back of the house instead.
Lucy slept on the hard floor of the old privy. It was a 5ft x 5ft square of packed earth, except for two wooden footprints and a circular hole over which the family had obviously once squatted. The dark void of the hole was extremely deep. She was often forced to use the hole and she could barely hear the sound her own ablutions hitting the bottom of the pit.
The walls and low ceiling were made of wood and dried mud as solid as concrete. There were no windows, just a single slit-vent in the roof through which a thin ray of daylight sometimes shone, illuminating the hole.
Insects and flies were a constant menace. Mosquitoes, mice and occasional bats would sometimes wake her out of her uneasy, uncomfortable sleep, making her scream, slap and sob, often all three at once.
The owner, whose name sounded to Lucy like Gway-fun, spoke almost no English or any other Western language. She’d tried her poor French on him and even the couple of Spanish words she knew. He simply grinned and gestured.
Then, out of the blue sky, one hot evening, she heard him say “fuck.”
It was after her first week and she was an exhausted, weak, mosquito-ravaged wreck. They had given her one single grimy, second-hand cotton top and wrap skirt to wear. Both were too small for her western body. Those two garments and used toothbrush with splayed tufts were now her only possessions.
She shook her head and replied “no” as firmly as she dared.
Ten minutes later, two young men arrived in the house. Lucy was sweeping the wooden floor. The men turned out to be Gway-fun’s adult sons. It was clear he would not be taking no for an answer.
It was equally evident she had to learn a lesson first.
The younger son, in his late teens, spoke some English, with a curious accent, part Hollywood-film and part-BBC radio. He was flat featured and cold eyed like his father and brother.
“We show you Missy.”
They strung her up by her wrists to the central wooden beam of the hut. Gway-fun pulled on the hemp rope until her arms were almost out of their sockets and she pleaded for mercy.
Then they used a broom handle to form a leg-spreader and tied her ankles cruelly wide open, straining her thighs and calves.
Her cotton top and skirt were sliced off her and shredded as if she had a wardrobe of clothes to fall back on.
Back then, Lucy still only had a little stubble on her head where her hair had started growing back. The men were fascinated by her large, pale breasts and nipple rings. In contrasts, the local women were all dusky toned and flat-chested.
“I am a srut.” The younger son used his stubby finger to trace out the red letters above Lucy’s forehead. He translated for the others.
“Fuck me hard.” He pointed at her vaginal mound. That tattoo didn’t need decoding. They all laughed and nodded.
Lucy groaned as the owner’s wife appeared with a tray of beer and nuts. Her final hope had been that the woman might save her. Some chance !
It appeared that it was a party and Lucy was the live entertainment.
*** *** ***
Alice sat, gently grinding her hips, enjoying the feel of the hot, wet tongue up her bottom. She’d always loved rimjobs.
A voice answered.
“Hi there.”
She’d dialled her friend Jodi on the cell she was holding to her right ear. They still called each other frequently.
“Mmm.”
Jodi’s chuckle was audible. “That good, huh ? As good as Lucy was ?”
“Lucy ?”
“Duh ! You remember. Last year.”
Alice shut her eyes, distracted a moment by the rippling sensation in her bottom. She adjusted her angle slightly, increasing her weight.
“What was that, sorry ? Lucy ?”
“Yeah. Cute thing. Around the time of Beck and before that Italian boy I think. Honestly I don’t know why I’m expected to remember your subs.”
“You’re not dear. Be like me. Just forget them.”
Actually, Alice did recall Lucy now. Mind you, the pittance the girl fetched had long been used up. Alice had spent most of the Summer 2009 Season cruising round the Med on wonderful Bdsm boat orgies. Her leather domme-wear and floaty beaded dresses didn’t come cheap. The luxury fashion brands all seemed to be putting their damned prices up.
“You still there ?” Jodi’s voice was faraway.
“Of course. I’m hardly going anywhere right now, am I !”
“So, is this one then ? As good as Lucy was ?”
Alice frowned, glancing down. She really had no idea. After a while, they were all the same. Lucy ? An image drifted into view. A biggish girl, well endowed, quite pretty, a bit of puppy fat. She’d had some tattoo work done.
“I think this one’s better.”
“Mmm, really ? Then I can’t wait to meet her.”
Alice lashed the crop she was holding in her left hand across the new girl’s inner thighs. She was spluttering annoyingly as if she couldn’t breathe.
“Stop making a fuss.”
“Did you ever get any news of Lucy, by the way ?” Jodi asked after a pause.
“What’s it with Lucy ? Lucy this ? Lucy that ? Anybody would think it was you who’d been her fucking Mistress !”
“Calm down. I just enjoy knowing about our alumni.”
“Alumni. Whoo. Where’d you learn a fancy word like that ?”
“My new Yankee doodle.”
As usual, both women chit-chatted to and fro. Lucy was forgotten. A brief part of their conversation. A fading memory. Barely even a name now.
*** *** ***
The bamboo switches made Lucy’s grubby flesh ripple. Her tits jumped and her buttocks bounced as the boys double-teamed her. One stood behind her back and the other faced her, taking turns to swing the canes.
Her howls were lost in the oriental night. Even had they been remotely interested, the nearest police were in a town 20 miles away. The factory was on the edge of a village and even Lucy’s loudest shrieks were quickly swallowed up in the soupy jungle air. Besides, corporal discipline was a common occurrence in households and huts in this region of the world.
Not satisfied by turning her western globes into striped spheres, they swung the bamboo up between her open thighs from both directions. It was only once she was silently wheezing, head slumped forward, that the beating ceased.
They left her hanging there while they ate garlic chicken broth with spicy noodles and beansprouts, washed down by rice wine. Gradually Lucy regained full consciousness, hearing their unintelligible chatter and laughter, the background of crickets and bullfrogs in the tropical night.
She put up no defence when they raped her for the first time. She lay there on the rollout mattress while first Gway-fun, then his two sons, each climbed aboard her smarting body and rutted away like pigs. All the while she glimpsed their wife and mother over their shoulders, in the background, watching studiously, apparently mesmerised.
“You un-stand fuck now Missy ?”
She nodded, covering her naked breasts with her arms after they’d finished.
“Work day, fuck night. Yeah ?”
She slowly moved her head up and down like a wooden puppet.
They threw her into her ‘bedroom’ that night without any food.
That had been many months ago. Seven ? Eight ? Nine ? At first, she had believed that it was all just a test. And one day, Alice would arrive at the factory to rescue her, like a knight in beaded armour.
But like the drip, drip of sweat from her brow, she slowly but surely realised that nobody was coming for her.
Her fate was in her own hands.
END OF PART FOUR
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