Afterword

This story is, thankfully, a work of fiction.  If there were any resemblance between the events of this story and real events, it would be disturbing to say the least.

Unfortunately, such things as child abuse and sexual slavery do exists in the real world, and they are truly vile, despicable enterprises.  This story is no more an accurate depiction of real sexual slavery than the popular videogame "Doom" is an accurate depiction of real combat.  In fact, this story isn't even an accurate depiction of the nominal "master/slave" relationships that exist within the BDSM subculture.  It is pure fiction; no more and no less.

I am forced to write this story under a pseudonym because, for some reason I simply cannot fathom, large, politically powerful segments of society seem to strongly disapprove of both the writing and the reading of this type of erotic literature.  Part of this stems from a belief that depicting sexual abuse in fiction somehow constitutes an endorsement of it in reality, particularly if the reader is meant to enjoy the depiction.  This, of course, is nonsense.  Do we accuse the writers of the Wizard of Oz of promoting witchcraft?  Is Warner Brothers guilty of encouraging people to push one-another off cliffs, or blow things up with dynamite?  Do we condemn Catch Me If You Can for encouraging people to write bad checks?

Of course not.  As a society we tolerate, and even encourage, favorable depictions of such things as violence (Independence Day), fraud (The Sting),  child abuse (Married With Children), burglary (Ocean's Eleven), and professional misconduct (Boston Legal), because we trust people's ability to distinguish fantasy from reality.  Nevertheless, for some reason we assume that adults lack that ability when it comes to fiction that depicts, in a manner designed to elicit sexual pleasure, events that would be despicable if they were to take place in real life.

I do not think anyone seriously believes that reading a story such as this one will (for example) cause someone to sell his daughter into sexual slavery.  I think the true objection lies with the idea that someone might get sexual pleasure from the idea of someone selling his daughter into sexual slavery.   It's okay, in other words, for people to enjoy watching Rambo shoot people, but if Rambo shooting people were depicted in a way that sexually aroused the audience, there would be a moral outcry.

Somewhere along the line, someone decided that there was something immoral about the normal human sex drive, and that giving other people sexual pleasure was a sin.  To say that the normal human sex drive is a sin is like saying that it is a sin to urinate or to sweat.  It imposes an unrealistic expectation on people, and makes them feel ashamed of themselves and their own normal, biological urges.   People who feel ashamed of themselves are easy to manipulate and control.   People with a sense of pride, on the other hand, are harder to control.  If you want to control people, convince them to be ashamed of their own bodily functions.

If you think that I am limiting my critique to the "religious right," think again.  There are people identified with the political "left" who are guilty of the same thing.  I speak of a cadre of puritans who call themselves "feminists" -- the Susan Brownmillers and the Catharine MacKinnons of the world -- who condemn "pornography" on the grounds that it "degrades women."  I say that they "call themselves 'feminists'" because it seems to me that trying to make people ashamed of their own sexuality is at odds with any conception of "feminism" I know.  The word "feminism" means many things to many people, but to me it refers to the idea that women, like men, ought to be treated with respect and dignity.  The fact of the matter is that some women enjoy fantasizing about themselves (or other women) in a submissive role.  Those women deserve just as much respect and dignity as those with "orthodox" sexual preferences.   To be a true "feminist," one must be willing to accommodate -- not judge -- every woman's sexual preference.  And, while we're at it, I can see no reason why the same courtesy should not extended to men.

Like most men, I like sex.  I do not believe any man should be ashamed of himself (or woman ashamed of herself) for likening sex.  Many people, both good and bad, enjoy giving and receiving sexual pleasure.  The difference is that good people use sex to make people happy, while bad people use sex to hurt people.  I hope this story has made many people happy, for that is its purpose. 

This story is dedicated to those people who spend their lives and make their livings toiling in the name of using sex to make people happy.  I speak of such people pornography models, erotic fiction writers, prostitutes, professional dominants, phone sex operators, and the like.  Other segments of society may shun you, but I never will.  Yours is truly a noble calling.

DOP

Chapter 1

Amanda Summers came home from school foolishly thinking that it would be a normal day -- just like any other.  And, up to the point when she entered through the front door of her home, it had been.  She had gotten up early that morning, gotten dressed in her school uniform, eaten breakfast, and boarded the bus to school.  She had then gone about the routine of being a student without a second thought -- remaining politely silent at class, save for the occasional passing of a note to a classmate; eating in the lunchroom with her small circle of friends; and, of course, pretending not to notice that the boys in her class were mentally undressing her and imagining themselves doing unspeakable things to her body.  Amanda was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the boys her age tended to think of her as a sex object first and a human being second, if at all.

The uniform, thought Amanda, didn't help at all.  It wasn't that there was anything specifically "wrong" with it; it was just that Amanda was modest by nature, and the uniform was just a bit too revealing for her tastes.  The skirt was cut slightly too high above the knee, and it was a tad too easy to see her bra through the white cotton blouse. As Amanda walked in through her front door, she looked forward to changing into something a bit more conservative.

"Hi Mom, I'm home," she announced reflexively as she closed the door behind her.  She cantered upstairs and into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.  She had dropped her backpack on the floor next to her door, and had her blouse halfway unbuttoned, before realization suddenly hit her.

Her room had been cleared out.  All of her possessions had been removed.  The bed was noting more than a bare mattress with no sheets, blankets, or pillows.  Her clothes were gone from her closet, and her dresser was empty.  It was as if she had moved out -- as if she no longer existed.

Just as it occurred to Amanda that something was dreadfully wrong, the bedroom door suddenly opened and her mother walked in.  She approached Amanda in such a stern, forceful manner that Amanda backed away from her, and into the wall opposite the bedroom door.

"We gave your things to the Salvation Army," she declared in the tone of a judge passing sentence.  "They came and picked them up this morning.  You won't be needing them anymore."

"B-b-but I don't understand," replied Amanda nervously.

At that moment Amanda's dad walked in, right behind his wife.  He said, "I'm taking you to the FemBoutique.  I've decided to trade you in."

"The FemBoutique!?" replied Amanda, "But why?  I haven't done anything wrong.  I've been doing good in school, and I did the dishes last night, and I've been keeping my room clean, and . . ."

" . . . and your father's decision is final," snapped her mother.  "Now, off with your clothes girl, and no argument."

"Dad!" protested Amanda, "I'm your daughter!  I love you Daddy!  Please don't do this to me."

"Quiet!" said the mother sternly.  She swiftly grabbed Amanda by her wrists and wrestled her onto the mattress, where she sat on top of her daughter.  With his wife holding her down, it was easy for Amanda's father to use his pocket knife to cut off Amanda's blouse, and then her skirt.  The bra and the panties were even easier, and the shoes and socks could be removed in the normal manner.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Amanda's father produced a length of rope and handed it to his wife.  She wrapped it around Amanda's left wrist twice, then her right wrist twice, then her left wrist twice , then her right again.  By the time she knotted the rope, Amanda's wrists were tied tightly together behind her back in a manner that gave her no hope of escape. She then used another length of rope to tie her ankles together in the same manner, but she left the rope between her ankles loose enough to enable Amanda to walk, slowly and awkwardly.  

She then wrapped a bandana around Amanda's eyes, blindfolding her.  As Amanda tried to scream for somebody -- anybody -- to come to her aid, she felt another piece of cloth being stuffed into her mouth, and a rope being around the back of her head to hold the cloth in as a makeshift gag.  Having be so quickly deprived of her eyes, her voice, and her mobility, she was now completely helpless and at the mercy of her parents.  Two sets of rough hands lifted her up from the mattress and practically dragged her out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and out the front door, where for the first time in her life she felt the wind blow against her totally naked body.  One set of hands grabbed her shoulders, and the other her ankles, and together they threw her into the back seat of a car as if she were a heavy piece of cargo rather than a person.  Amanda curled up into a fetal position and shivered in fear as the car drove off.

 

Chapter 2

Many hours earlier, on the morning of what would be Amanda's last day of freedom, Keith Summers sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and browsing though the morning newspaper.  He couldn't help but notice the FemBoutique's advertising insert -- a glossy full-color catalog with full of pictures of nude women, and below them detailed measurements descriptions of each of their skills.  As he perused that particular advertisement, his wife Nora stood at the stove cooking breakfast.  She was a petite fair-skinned woman with long black hair, smooth, unblemished skin, and an incredibly attractive figure.  She was, in short, the type of woman who, in another era, might have been referred to as a "wet dream," or, perhaps, "eye candy."  Keith glanced up at his wife and admired her body, reflecting that he really was lucky to have married her.  Of course, if Keith were completely honest with himself he would have had to admit that he valued Nora as a sexual partner more than anything else.  And if Nora were completely honest with herself, she would have had to admit that this suited her.

As Nora placed eggs and bacon on Keith's plate in front of him, their daughter Amanda rushed down the stairs and into the kitchen, wearing her school uniform and carrying her backpack on one shoulder.  She dropped her backpack on the floor next to the table, trotted up to Keith, and kissed him on the cheek.  "Morning dad," she said, as she sat down.  "Morning Mom" she added to Nora, seemingly as an afterthought.

Keith glanced up at Amanda and saw a younger version of Nora, with every bit as much sex appeal.  Of course, Keith had never actually had sex with his daughter, but he did sometimes reflect on how proud he was to have produced a girl who would, someday soon, make some man as happy as Nora made him.  Nora glanced at Amanda too, but her thoughts were far less affable.  She suspected, with some accuracy, that Keith lusted for Amanda, and that when he fucked Nora he was really fucking Amanda by proxy.  She, in short, had the same feelings as the Evil Queen of Snow White, who had one day looked at herself in the mirror, asked "who's the fairest of them all," and found that her daughter had cruelly snatched that honor away from her.

Amanda, of course, knew nothing of these matters.  All she knew was that lately her mother had been treating her increasingly coldly for no apparent reason.

Nora placed Amanda's ration on a plate in front of her, and Amanda wolfed it down quickly before springing up, grabbing her backpack, and trotting out the front door.  Nora rolled her eyes.  She sat at the kitchen table to begin eating her own breakfast after her daughter had left, and remarked to her husband, "I don't know what we're going to do with that girl."

"What do you mean, honey?" replied Keith.

"Well doesn't help out with any of the housework, barely keeps her grades up, and that attitude of hers . . ."

"What's wrong with her attitude?" interrupted Keith defensively.  Based on his tone, his wife might have been criticizing him instead of their daughter.

"Take this morning," said Nora.  "She didn't help at all with breakfast, she spent maybe two minutes at the table with us, barely acknowledged either one of us, and to top it all off she left her dirty dishes right there on the table." 

"She's just at that age," said Keith.  "She'd rather spend time with her friends than with her parents.  It's perfectly natural." 

"That may be, but it's no excuse for her behavior.  I shouldn't have to do all the housework around here just because 'she's at that age.'"

"All right, honey," said Keith, sighing.  "I'll talk to her this afternoon."

"I don't think talking to her will work," said Nora, "'she's at that age.'"

"What would you have me do then?" asked Keith.  "Hire a maid?"

"Why hire one when you can buy one?" said Nora, pointing to the FemBoutique advertisement.

"Look, you know perfectly well that we can't afford buy a woman from the FemBoutique.  We'd have to turn one in to get the discount," said Keith.

"Turn Amanda in.  She's old enough," said Nora.

"She's our daughter Nora!" exclaimed Keith.  "We can't turn our own daughter in to one of these places."

"Honey, I know that's how you think of her, but just look at that catalog," said Nora.

"What are you talking about?" asked Keith.

Nora stood up and walked around the table, so that she was standing immediately behind her husband.  She bent over, grabbed the insert, opened it, and pointed at a picture of a particularly attractive redhead.  She leaned forward and whispered ever so softly into Keith's ear, "Imagine, if this cute little redhead were here cooking breakfast and washing the dishes.  You'd sit there with your paper, looking over it at her tight little ass as cooked and cleaned, while I took care of your . . . " Nora's hands, which had been on Keith's shoulders, traveled down the front of his chest, ". . .  other needs."

"You'd be able to concentrate on the important things," Nora was now sensually stroking Keith's chest," and so would I."  Nora bent down and gave her husband a long, passionate open-mouth kiss on the lips.  Keith abruptly turned around in his chair, which suited Nora well, as it gave her access to some of the more important portions of her husband's body.

Nora sat on her husband's lap, facing him, with her thighs spread apart and encircling his waist.  Of course, this meant that the long cotton dress she was wearing had to be pulled up, exposing the white, silk panties she was wearing underneath.  Of course, Nora's panties weren't the only thing that was exposed.  By now, Keith's hard-on had made his cock clearly visible through his trousers. Nora responded to her husband's arousal by hips, her panties rubbing up and down against his cock through his trousers.  

"So, what do you think?" asked Nora, now that she had gotten her husband's full, undivided attention.  In a single, fluid motion she pulled her dress off over her head and threw it away.  "Doesn't that sound like a better life to you?  Get rid of that troublesome brat Amanda and replace her with a sexy slave while I," Nora unbuttoned Keith's shirt, "take care of you." 

Nora suddenly stopped her thrusting, stroking and teasing and looked deep into her husband's eyes, awaiting an answer.

Keith grinned.  "Let's do it," he said enthusiastically.

Nora smiled back, and slipped off her husband's lap.  She kneeled down, spread Keith's legs, and undid his trousers.  She then proceeded to stimulate her husband, first with her tongue only, licking the tiny bit of pre-cum off the crown of his cock, then running her tongue up and down his rock-hard shaft.  She then wrapped her lips around his cock, and used every bit of her skill to stipulate her husband, and to satisfy him.  In other words, she did that which was made popular by Gerard Damiano's 1972 classic "Deep Throat," and made infamous by  Former President Clinton's oval office escapades in the mid 1990s.  And she did it well.

Nora knew that even with reasonable and compassionate men like Keith, all bets were off once he had a hard cock.  If one wanted to persuade a man to make a decision motivated by lust and cruel animal instinct, like selling his own daughter into sexual slavery, then one must appeal not to his mind but to his cock. A hard cock has no conscience.

Chapter 3

Amanda lie naked in the back of the car, blindfolded, gagged, and bound, alone with her thoughts and fears.  She knew that she wasn't "alone" in the strict, technical sense, as her parents were in the front seat, but she could just as well have been a bag of groceries as a girl.  She could not fight because she was bound, and she could not protest because she was gagged.  She could only lie there, whimpering, in a fetal position, shivering in response to both the cold and the fear.

What bothered her as much as anything else was that her parents would not tell her why she was being turned in.  It wasn't that it was uncommon for a man to turn in his daughter; it had happened to several of Amanda's friends.  Amanda, however, had always assumed that it had been motivated by some horrible misdeed on the girl's part.  Failing grades, sneaking out of the house, smoking a joint -- these were the things that in Amanda's mind justified turning a girl in.  Amanda may not have exactly been at the top of her class, but she did all right.  And she would never dream of sneaking out of the house or doing drugs.  Occasionally, her mom would complain about some triviality like playing music too loud or forgetting to do the dishes, but never anything big.  What could she have done to make her deserve to be turned in?

Amanda wanted desperately to ask what she did that she was being punished for.  She wanted to beg for forgiveness -- to express a willingness to do whatever was needed to redeem herself.  But the gag denied her that opportunity, and deep inside she knew that by the time it was taken off, it would be far too late for any reprieve.

The car stopped and the door opened.  Keith and Nora each grabbed one of Amanda's arms and dragged her out of the car.  She cried and whimpered, but did not otherwise resist.  With her wrists tied together behind her back and with her ankles restrained as they were, she knew that escape was quite impossible.  So, she simply allowed herself to be led, naked, through a the parking lot of the store to which she was about to be sold.  Though she was blindfolded, she imagined that hundreds of eyes must be staring at her nude body as it was being half led and half dragged toward its doom.  In fact, her imagination reflected reality only in part -- her body was easily attractive enough to draw attention from passers by, but the sight of a bound, naked female being dragged through this particular parking lot was not the least bit unusual.

Keith and Nora were met at the door by a rather muscular man in his mid thirties, dressed smartly in a suit and tie and wearing an affable expression on his face. "Welcome to the FemBoutique," he said as Keith and Nora walked in, dragging Amanda behind.  "My name is Bradley and I will be helping you today.  And this," he pointed to Amanda, "looks like something you're turning in."

"We'd like to trade her in on a house slave," replied Nora.

"Indeed," said Bradley, "why don't you bring her up to the counter and we can take her in for processing."  As he said this, his eyes spent more than the customary amount of time surveying every inch of Nora, from her face to her feet, and every point in between.  This might have made Nora uncomfortable, but she did not comment.  After all, a woman with the kind of natural beauty that Nora had was used to that kind of attention from men.

Keith and Nora dragged Amanda up to the sales counter, and Bradley followed.  The counter was located at a corner of the showroom not far from the door, and immediately behind it was an opaque wall with a large sign bearing the FemBoutique logo, which extended up to the ceiling.  Three clerks, all male, each stood at a computer terminal behind the counter.  To the left of the counter was an opening, about two meters wide, through which a person standing behind the counter might walk onto the sales floor.  Behind that opening was a corridor, which extended behind the wall and made a sharp turn to the right, apparently leading to the area behind the FemBoutique sign.  A thick yellow line had been painted on the sales floor extending across the opening.  Bradley led Keith, Nora, and Amanda to the yellow line, but they stopped before crossing it.  Bradley then addressed Keith.

"First of all," said Bradley, "I can tell you right now that this girl of yours is going to fetch a really good price.  We'd need to to a complete work-up on her to give you a solid cash price, but I can guarantee you enough store credit for at least a 50% discount on any girl in this place.  Cash price will be at least three thousand -- maybe more once we've examined her."

"I suppose that's all right," said Keith, "at least as far as the store credit goes, but three thousand sounds kind of low for a cash price.  Some of these girls go for twenty thousand."

"That's just for guys who don't turn one in," said Bradley.  "I mean, after all, we've got to keep our stock up, and it's kind of hard getting girls to volunteer.  And in any case, the three thousand's just a minimum.  Once you've turned her in and we've examined her, the price almost always goes up."

"Fine, lets do it," said Keith.  He made to hand Amanda's wrist to Bradley.

"Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," said Bradley.  "Right now, she's a free woman, and I can't legally enslave a free woman."

"But you just agreed to buy her," protested Keith.

"So I did," said Bradley, "but title cannot pass until she looses her status as a free woman, either by her own voluntary act or by being turned in, and I can't be the one to turn her in."

"But I'm turning her in," said Keith.

"You haven't yet.  But if you would like to, then I think it would be appropriate to first remove that blindfold.  This is a truly momentous occasion in a girl's life, and she needs to see everything."

Keith shrugged, and untied the blindfold.  Amanda was at first blinded by the sudden intrusion of bright light into her world of darkness, but after a few seconds, she came to and saw the sign that was hanging above the opening in the counter.  As she read silently, Bradley read it out loud.

NOTICE
ALL FEMALES WHO
CROSS THIS YELLOW LINE
WILL BECOME THE
PROPERTY OF
THE FEMBOUTIQUE

"Until she crosses that line, she is a free woman.  She may be tied up, gagged, and scared out of her wits, but she's still technically free.  But one toe across this line," Bradley indicated the line with his foot, "and we can do business."

It was then that it dawned on Amanda that there was one faint glimmer of hope.  She was still a free woman -- all she had to do was keep her parents from making her cross the yellow line.  The grip on her wrists had loosened as her parents were both paying attention to Bradley, so with a sudden burst of more strength that she ever knew she had, she was able to break free.  She ran for it. 

Unfortunately, even with great determination and adrenaline-induced strength, running is not very practical for a girl whose ankles are bound.  Amanda tripped almost as soon as she ran.  Even more unfortunately, she fell in the the wrong direction, and found herself lying flat on her stomach, with half her body on the other side of the yellow line.  Two of the clerks behind the counter grabbed her, and dragged her into the corridor, and behind the wall.  Keith and Nora never saw their daughter again.

"Good," said Bradley, nodding with approval.  "Now that that's settled, would you like to browse our merchandise while we examine and appraise our newest acquisition?"

Chapter 4

The FemBoutique certainly did have a wide variety of merchandise, which Keith and Nora, examined with great interest.  Near the counter was the "equipment" section, which contained, not human merchandise, but those items that might be necessary for the proper care of a female slave.  Punishment devices such as whips, crops, and paddles intermingled with dildos and vibrators.   All kinds of cages were also available from small puppy-cages to kits for the construction of full-sized prison cells, and restraining devices such as ropes, shackles, and handcuffs.  Medieval torture instruments that appeared to belong to the Spanish Inquisition could be found along with such modern devices GPS tracking implants and electronic perimeters that would shock any person who crossed them.  

A pharmaceutical section was also available, with various concoctions that were designed -- not to improve the health of a slave -- but to modify her in some way.  Drugs designed to either increase or decrease the libido of a slave could be found, along with a drug that was supposed to increase a woman's breast size, another that would stimulate a woman's nerve endings to make them more sensitive to either pain or pleasure, and yet another that would act as a sort of chemical "gag" by temporarily sedating a woman's vocal cords.  Of course, none of these drugs were approved by the FDA for use on people, but the rules were much more lax when it came to slaves.

More interesting than the "equipment," however, was the human merchandise.  Women of all types, tall, short, dark, fair, blonde, brunette, and redhead, could be found on display throughout the store.  They seemed to have very little in common, save that they were all completely nude, they were restrained in some manner or another, and they were all completely hairless from the neck down.  Each of the females on display had a barcode tattooed on her left buttock, which, Keith guessed, was used for tracking.

Along one wall were rows upon rows of wire cages, each with one girl inside.  The cages were far too small for a girl to stand or lie down in, and even sitting wasn't entirely comfortable.  Some girls curled up into a fetal ball, while others squatted, with their heads between their knees.  Still others sat either on their ankles with their knees in front of them, or with their legs crossed in front of them, Indian style.  

Past the wire cages in a corner were transparent glass cylinders -- each with a naked woman standing inside.  Each of the glass tubes was no more than two centimeters wider than the woman who occupied it, leaving no room for any of the women to sit, squat, lie down, or even move her arms away from her body.   Most of the women either stood still, or leaned against the glass -- which was apparently strong enough to support them.  

They stopped in front of a young, black woman who appeared to be only slightly older than Amanda.  Keith looked her up and down, examining her breasts, thighs, and pussy, and then walking around to the back to inspect her ass.  Every part of her excited him.  Nora, who was standing in front of the woman, looked down.

"Hey look at these buttons on the floor," said Nora.

Keith walked around and looked down, and saw that at the bottom of the cylinder were three buttons: one red, one blue, and one green.  "I wonder what they do," said Nora, more to herself than to anyone else.

She tried the red one, and they could see the woman starting to pant, and sweat profusely.  Keith touched the glass, and could feel that it was quite warm.  "Looks like you turned up the heat on her," said Keith.

"Let's cool her down then," replied Nora, who pressed the blue button.

The blue button had the opposite effect.  The woman, who had been drenched with sweat from the heat, was now covered in goosebumps, shivering uncontrollably.  After a few moments of this, she stopped shivering and relaxed.  Apparently, the cold, like the heat, lasted only a few minutes -- a special feature that had been added to the display cases to amuse the customers.

Keith couldn't help but try the green button.  Its effect seemed to be to send a mild electric shock to the woman inside the case.  Keith and Nora were both greatly amused by this, and they went from case to case torturing the occupants with the red, blue, and green buttons.  

From the women in the glass tubes they traveled to the women tied to tables in four-point restraints, then to the women shackled to walls.  They poked, prodded, fondled, and in some cases spanked the merchandise.  Occasionally, they would encounter a woman who was bound with her thighs spread apart, and they would find a dildo chained to the display case, which Keith would use on the woman's pussy, or her mouth.

The entire experience of touring the FemBoutique looking for a replacement for Amanda gave Keith the most intense hard-on that he had ever had in his life.  He would express this to his wife in various different ways throughout the tour.  He would approach her unexpectedly and kiss her, open mouthed, on the lips.  He would give her ass a surprise squeeze, or wrap his arm around her waist and pull her toward him, where his hands would travel the full length of her torso, front and back.  It seemed that even though they were in public, he considered no part of his wife's body off limits, and he displayed much more physical affection than was customary outside the privacy of the bedroom.  The thought that he might be taking excessive liberties with his wife didn't occur to Keith, who, after all, was now immersed in an environment where excessive liberties were the norm.

Keith was standing behind Nora with his arms around her, one hand cupping each breast, when Bradley found them.  Keith abruptly released Nora, and Bradley approached Keith with some papers.

"We've evaluated the girl you've brought, and I think you'll be happy with the results," said Bradley.

"That's great," said Keith, "but right now I've got something else on my mind.  Is there some place around here where my wife and I can be alone."

Bradley, who had seen Keith fondling Nora as they made their way through the showroom, understood the situation completely.  "I think I can accommodate you," said Bradley.  "Occasionally, we allow our customers to sample our merchandise before making a purchase, and we are glad to provide private quarters for that purpose.  You can bring Nora into one of our Testing rooms, and take as long as you need.  Then, when you are done, you can make your selection from our stock.  If you would come with me please."

Bradley walked, and Keith followed, leading Nora by the hand.  Nora, who was not used to Keith being so forward with her, was starting to feel a bit uneasy, but she cooperated.  In the first place, it had been a long time since her husband had been so passionate with her, and she intended to enjoy every minute of his intensity.  In fact, she found his new aggressiveness quite a turn on.  Secondly, she knew that she would need to get her husband off before they would be able to select a maid and go home, where together they could enjoy their new acquisition.  That thought also made her hot.

Bradley showed Keith and Nora into a small room, which was well equipped for virtually any sexual activity one might imagine, and shut the door behind him.  In the center of the room was a four-poster bed, with various types of restraints both anchored to the posts and suspended from the ceiling above.  There was also a dresser containing, not clothes, but lengths of rope, KY jelly, dildos, vibrators, and various other implements, some of which Keith did not recognize.  Or, that is to say, some of which he would not have recognized if he had opened the drawer to the dresser.  He did no such thing though, as at that moment he was too single-minded to bother with exploring his surroundings.  Instead, the moment the door closed, he went straight for Nora.

Nora had come to the FemBoutique with Keith wearing the same cotton dress that she had on that morning.  Keith grabbed the top of the dress, just above the breasts, and ripped it down the front with a single, powerful motion.  The front of the dress fell away, exposing Nora's panties and bra, which Keith ripped off in turn.  Nora let the tattered remains of the dress fall off her, leaving her completely naked save for her shoes.  As they were sandals, it was a simple matter to slip them off.  Although Nora's clothing was now damaged beyond any hope of repair, she supposed it was all right.  It would simply mean that she would be one of two naked women who would be walking out of the FemBoutique this afternoon with Keith.  A common sight, thought Nora.

The problem is that if she walked out of the store naked, then until she got home she would be no different from the slave who would be walking with her, save for the fact that she had hair around her pussy and no barcode tattooed on her ass.  Thinking about herself in that manner, comparing herself with a slave, in this room alone with a highly aroused Keith made her extremely horny.  Right now, she wanted to be fucked.  Not "cuddled," not "made love to," and not even "pleasured," but fucked.  Banged.   Pounded.  Nailed.

Fortunately, Keith seemed to have the same thing in mind.  He quickly undressed himself, and then he swept Nora off her feet, and placed her on her back on the four-poster bed.  He tied her ankles each to a bottom post, and he tied each wrist to a top post, so that Nora was restrained in a vulnerable spread-eagle position.  He then climbed on top of her and rammed his cock into her wet pussy, and Nora could only moan -- too lost in her erotic thoughts to even consider protesting being tied up, as if she were a piece of merchandise being "tried out."

Ohh, that thought made her hot.  Keith was really pounding hard now, bringing Nora right to the edge.  Just when Nora thought she was about to pop, Keith pulled out, his cock now wet with Nora's pussy juce.

Keith then turned around and mounted Nora again -- this time from the other end.  Instead of fucking her pussy missionary style, now he was fucking her mouth.  Nora, restrained as she was, had no choice but to concentrate on sucking as he thrust his cock in and out of her mouth.  Down her throat, and then back out again.  She tasted her own pussy juice, and then she soon tasted his cum, exploding into her mouth and down her throat.  She swallowed, as she had hundreds of times before, but this time she did so with much greater relish.

Keith got up and approached the dresser, making as if to get dressed again Nora whimpered.  "Pleeeease!" cried Nora.

"Please what?" inquired Keith, glancing over as his naked, still-restrained wife.

"Please," panted Nora, "get me off.  I'm soooo close.  I wanna cum.  Pleeease!"

Keith grinned, and chucked to himself.  He grabbed a vibrator off the dresser, approached Nora's pussy with it, and turned it on.  He used the device on Nora, gradually working it up to its highest setting, and soon thereafter he saw Nora react to waves of pleasure running through her.  

Keith got dressed and left the room, inexplicitly leaving Nora tied to the bed.  He came back a moment later with Bradley.

"Here she is," said Keith, gesturing toward Nora.  "I'm done with her.  She's all yours."

"You know you've got to be the one to push her across the line," reminded Bradley.

"Of course," said Keith, who grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the dresser.

"What's going on?" demanded Nora.  "What are you doing?"

"I've decided to turn you in," said Keith.  "Bradley tells me that the two of you together will get me enough store credit for a free sex slave, with a 65% discount on a second girl.  It's too good a deal to pass up."

"But I'm your mmmmmt."  Nora's words were muffled by the gag that was suddenly shoved into her mouth.

Keith led Nora across the sales floor to the yellow line, and Nora did not offer even token resistance as he pushed her over.  She knew it would be futile.  She just hoped that some day she would be bought by another man like Keith; a man hoping to trade up.