The Apartment - Part 9

[Carl Bradford]

This is all for now; back with more chapters starting on Monday!

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Jane set aside her laptop (a battered old PC with a band sticker - Scrunchy Poison - on the lid) and took a long stretch.

After she’d said goodbye to Cassie, Jane had started for home, basically on autopilot while she wrestled with all the things crowding her mind. Sitting at a traffic light, she said to herself: First order of business is to take this more seriously, so I need to start a case file - Domino’s adventures always start with a case file.

Jane sighed. Actually, she thought, the first thing I’ve gotta have is somewhere quiet to think - so she turned and drove toward the abandoned apartment instead, and now here she was: seated on the ratty couch, tired eyes turning red from staring at the computer screen.

She’d spent a while dumping everything she knew about Audree Ellen Hall into a document, adding links and images, doing some more online research - essentially building a dossier on the missing woman - and adding the events that had occurred since Jane became interested in the case.

But she had to be honest with herself: despite her efforts, it didn’t add up to much.

All she really knew was that Audree had leased this apartment for six months, and actually lived in it for at least a month (probably a bit longer) and constructed a slave training room in it before disappearing, breaking the lease and leaving behind a pile of household goods but nothing of consequence.

She was most likely a slave now, at least according to the state’s website. Other than that, her name was nowhere to be found on any official sites that she could access, or any commercial databases–

“SHIT,” Jane said, slapping her forehead, then immediately followed it with a much quieter, “sorry.”

If her name doesn’t show up in official records, Jane thought, it’s because it’s not her real name.

Grabbing the laptop again, she went through the case file again. Not a lot of textual clues, but photos? They’re another story. Jane took one of the group photos she’d found and performed a reverse lookup using a facial recognition app she’d found when she was checking out the boys from her high school class. I wasn’t stalking anyone, she thought for the 1000th time.

Bingo. There she was: not on any major social media sites - no doubt those had been thoroughly scrubbed - but on some smaller sites, aggregators, the kind that scrape public photos and use them to fool search engines into thinking they’re legitimate. Not a lot of information, but she found a name: Aidan.

What was it Mike the cop had said? Goes by Audie, something like that. Jane had assumed he just mispronounced Audree. But what if… She searched Groogler for “Aidan common nicknames” and one of the first that came up was: Adie. No reason it couldn’t be pronounced “Audie” like “Audree” - in fact, Jane thought, if you’re going to assume a false name, one that’s close to your real name would be easier to learn and remember, so you’re less likely to be caught out.

Still, there were an awful lot of Aidans out there, so she needed to narrow it down somehow and come up with a surname. Jane looked through the photos the search had turned up. Most of the group photos included another young white woman, about the same height as Adie but with chestnut hair (another thing Jane discovered: Aidan’s normal hair color is blonde), who was usually in close proximity to Adie if not in fact putting an arm around her or even hugging her while grinning or (Jane rolled her eyes) making duck lips.

Jane searched on her face, and came up with a lot more photos, and a private Zuckbook account which nonetheless displayed a name: Courtney Lombardi.

“Courtney Lombardi” +Aidan in Groogler led Jane to a rush listing for a sorority at the University of Texas. In the middle of the alphabetical list was Courtney Lombardi, and right below her was… Aidan Mercier.

And here we go: plenty of information available on Aidan Liliana Mercier. Private school education, recent college graduate in business with a pre-law concentration, address in Woodlake that appears to be her parent’s home, good credit, no health problems, no arrest record, no record of having been slave graded either. Again, no social media except for a scrubbed and closed Zuckbook account.

Conclusion: Audree Hall is Aidan Mercier. 
Question: Why did she need to change her identity?

Conclusion: Aidan is clearly wealthy, or more accurately comes from a wealthy family. Woodlake address, expensive school that she afforded without loans, planned to go to business school.
Question: So what the hell was she doing in a crappy place like this?

Conclusion: Mike the cop at least figured out her alias, if for no other reason than that he was here and he was clearly looking for “Audie”/Adie.
Question: Why does Aidan have the police looking for her?

Now that Jane had found some peace and quiet, she was able to organize her thoughts, and her investigation had gone from cold to room temperature. Lots of promising avenues of investigation were opening up, but for now? She was tired.

It was a shame to leave the apartment, but she needed to head home. Jane went to close the laptop and glanced at the time; it was after midnight! Holy crap, she thought, how long have I been working?

Jane glanced around the apartment, and made a decision. Pulling out her phone, she texted her sisters: “Out late with Wanda, staying at her place, home in am”. This was not the first time she’d slept on Wanda’s couch, especially after a late Öber shift, so the replies were “ok” and an inscrutable anime emoticon, respectively.

She shut off her phone and put away the laptop in her old school bag, then stood up and groaned; she was stiff from all the sitting, and her neck hurt a bit.

Be honest with yourself already, she thought. You know this is what you wanted to do from the moment you arrived.

Jane took her computer back out and walked to the training room. Retrieving the clanking duffel bag, she pulled out the leather “training” collar. Facing the mirror, she took off her clothes, one item at a time, folding them neatly and placing them in a stack on the floor. Once she was completely nude, she looked at herself in the mirror: white skin, black hair, big breasts, nice perky nipples, big hips, tight, firm bottom, curvy legs, a cute face with pink cheeks and full lips - she was at least a Select, right? Maybe even Choice, with the right training. And if she could convince one of her sisters to get graded with her…

Why did she even care what her grade might be? It was strange to be sure: her whole life she’d been raised to believe that slavery, and the sexual licentiousness that goes along with it, was a mortal sin. But now that she’s close to it? Now that she’s seen how men react to the possibility of her as a slave (e.g. Sal Sandoval, Mike the Cop, Handler Will at HCI)? It was much more interesting.

Arousing, too; Jane buckled the thick leather collar around her neck, then ran her hands down her sides to rest on her hips, and started swaying in an impromptu belly dance. She cupped a tit in each hand and offered it to the mirror, bending forward slightly as if she were a waitress looking to add milk to your coffee.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Jane thought she looked hella hot; she leaned forward a bit more, she could feel her stomach start to quiver, and the moisture in her vagina–

No, not vagina - pussy. Slaves have pussies, or even, um, c-words; only free women have vaginas. And at this moment, inside her head, naked and collared and swaying her hips to music only she could hear, Jane was a slave.

She brought her hands up behind her head and raised up onto her toes, leaning forward even more - if she were a slave waiter, like that cute boy Christian at HCI, she’d be offering her customer a blowjob, on the house of course—

After the crash, Jane sat up and looked around, wincing in pain. She shook her head, which hurt even more, then reached up and touched her forehead; felt like a bump was forming. Looking behind her, she saw that the mirror was okay, but she was definitely getting a goose egg if she didn’t do something quick-ish.

Jane let out a long sigh, climbed to her feet, and went into the kitchen for some ice. She could imagine Domino shaking her head right now.

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A very relaxed Jane walked into the kitchen at home and dropped her bag on the kitchen table. She’d had a pretty good night’s sleep, naked and chained by the neck to Audree/Adie’s bed, then showering in her bath while using one of the missing woman’s vibrators on herself. Still a little stiff, Jane decided that it was time to learn slave yoga - doing some naked stretches in front of the mirror just weren’t quite the same, and besides: she clearly needed to work on her balance.

Teresa was there, eating a bowl of cereal while watching something on her laptop with headphones plugged in; when Jane sat down she didn’t even look up. She did, however, use one finger to push Audree’s laptop over in front of her sister.

There was, in fact, a post-it note on the cover with a password written on it.

“Holy crap, Terry,” Jane said, knowing that name would get a rise out of her sister, who visibly winced. “You got it? Amazing. I’m impressed, seriously.”

“Oh yeah, it was tricky at first but I went to the hardware lab at school and between me and Westley we got it pretty fast,” Teresa said, a little loud since she was still wearing her headphones.

Westley? Jane thought, raising her eyebrows. Westley? Oh ho! And who, pray tell, is—

“He’s my LAB PARTNER,” Teresa said, knowing instinctively where Jane’s mind was going and heading her off at the pass. “Also, we both belong to the Computer Science club. So just shut up and take your password.”

“Oooooh?” Jane said, oozing false sweetness. “Well tell West-ley I said thank you.”

Jane suppressed a smile; Teresa hadn’t dated in high school, or really shown any interest in boys at all (unless they were Japanese and two-dimensional) so this was interesting news. Despite the adorable blush that was spreading across Teresa’s face and neck, she decided not to tease her sister about it any more.

For now, she added.

Jane opened the laptop, powered it on, and entered the password; the desktop appeared.

“Yes!” Jane whispered.

But then she started looking around. No emails, not even a client app. Browser had no bookmarks, and its history was empty. No files anywhere on the hard drive, no sign of a cloud drive… in short, no nothing.

“Crap!” Jane said out loud.

Teresa looked up and pushed her headphones around her neck. “What troubles you, crap screamer?”

“There’s nothing on here. No photos, no emails, no documents, nothing,” Jane said. “Almost like it was wiped.”

“Keep in mind this is a Chromium Book,” Teresa said. “It’s designed to be used with a Groogler account, so everything is stored on the cloud - not surprising there’s nothing on the hard drive. What were you looking for?”

Jane sighed. “Oh, anything that would tell me about the owner, like what websites she was looking at, who she was communicating with, her social media accounts, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, most of that stuff is going to be next to impossible to retrieve. But maybe…” Teresa grabbed the laptop and pulled it back around to face her. She tapped on the keyboard as Jane stood up and walked around the table to look over her shoulder.

“Here’s something,” Teresa said, pointing at the screen. “Log files. This version of the OS is real hit-or-miss when it comes to deleting them on a wipe. They’ll at least give you some IP addresses you can tie back to email providers and websites and such.”

Jane kissed her on the top of the head. “Thanks, kiddo.”

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Most of the addresses resolved to sites that were not surprising - the state Department of Agriculture, HCI’s website, email providers, stuff like that. But one was unusual: sugarfan.services, which resolved to the website of Sugarland Fantasy Services Inc. It was hard to tell exactly what services Sugarland Fantasy provided; to Jane it looked like one of those “boudoir photography” studios that catered to middle-aged women looking to spice up their marriages. But Aiden had visited the site several times, and Jane could see that there was a “Members Only” section that required an account to access, so there was something going on there.

Jane called the number on the website, and told the man who answered that she was interested in booking a session (that seemed like a safe thing to say when you have no idea what the company does exactly). He set her up for an appointment at 11am, enough time to get changed and drive over.

Groogler maps street view showed a nondescript office in a suburban office park, and now Jane was sitting in her car in the parking lot looking at it. She had driven around to the back and noted both a rolling warehouse door and a surveillance camera - not unusual, but not really something a photo studio should need.

Walking up to the front door, Jane saw herself in the mirrored windows of the offices: she had opted for a more feminine, professional look, so she was wearing a “nice” dress with one of her sister Irene’s jackets over it, and a small but “nicer” purse she’d scored at Goodwill last spring to go with the “sorta-kinda” nice heels she’d gotten on clearance at Marshall’s. Add a little makeup and Jane thought she looked like a normal woman.

Not bad, she thought. No one’s going to think I’m bougie enough to be a typical boudoir customer, but at least they won’t think I’m here to unclog the toilet.

Just before she touched the doorbell, the door clicked opened. Camera on the front too, Jane thought.

Jane pushed the door open and entered into an office that was, well, nondescript: a couch with a coffee table, a desk with a couple of chairs, a potted Rubber tree and some framed prints of unremarkable landscape paintings. Jane felt like she was here to buy insurance.

She did notice that this room was much smaller than the total office space, and there was a normal interior door set in the back wall.

A young woman rose from behind the desk and held out her hand to Jane. “Welcome to Sugarland Fantasy Services,” she said, “I’m Iris. Are you here to see someone?”

Jane appraised her: a little on the tall side, slender but not skinny, lightly tanned white skin, long curly brown hair gathered in a clip and reaching almost to her waist, a number of silvery earrings in various places on her ears, sharp features but still quite pretty; she wore tight-fitting khaki pants with a white blouse and a thin silver wristwatch.

“I spoke to someone on the phone - a man - about your services,” Jane said, still keeping things vague.

“That would be Doug,” Iris said. “Won’t you have a seat?” She sat back behind the desk and turned her attention to an open laptop.

“You must be Emily,” she said, then frowned. “Doug didn’t list a referral for you. Do you have one?”

“Do I need one?” Jane asked.

“We tend to operate on a referral-only basis. Who told you about us?”

Jane thought a moment, then said, “Courtney - Courtney Lombardi.”

“Oh,” Iris said - she caught her eyebrows before they went up very far, but Jane could see her irises widen; Interesting, she thought.

“How is Courtney?” Iris asked, regaining her composure. “We haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Honestly I haven’t either,” Jane said. “It’s been at least three or four weeks since we last spoke.” Jane smiled. “I’m only just now getting around to contacting you all.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Iris said. “So about contacting us, what sort of service did you have in mind?”

“Well,” Jane said, “I only know a little bit about what you all do - can you give me some idea?”

“Let me rephrase that,” Iris replied, her initial pleasant expression now frozen on her face. “What is it exactly that you need?”

She’s defensive, gotta be more careful - I wish I knew where I screwed up with her, Jane thought.

The back door opened, and in walked a tall, lean white man with graying sandy hair, dressed sort of like a cowboy: snap-front shirt, tight Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, the whole thing minus the hat. When he saw Jane, his tanned face broke into a broad smile.

“Howdy!” he said. “I’m Doug, I think we spoke on the phone.” Doug walked over and stuck out one large hand; when she took it, Jane found her own hand almost completely enveloped.

“Sorry to interrupt, Iris, I just needed some help with the afternoon appointment, but they can wait.” Doug sat on the edge of the desk and looked Jane over. “So what brings you here, Miss Ratajkowski?”

In her peripheral vision, Jane saw Iris roll her eyes. Okay, that was a problem, Jane thought, I need to be more creative with my aliases.

“Please, call me Em,” Jane said to him. “I’m interested in using your services for my- that is, for a close friend of mine. She’s even more shy than I am, so I’m scouting it out for her.”

“That makes sense - I can’t see you being the shy type, Em,” Doug grinned, “I was surely surprised to see such a young, attractive woman like yourself here for an appointment - nearly all of our clients are older than you. I’m guessing you know what your friend wants, but not what we offer, is that fair to say?”

“Yes sir, it is,” Jane smiled, glancing at Iris, who seemed positively annoyed.

“Iris, can you give me one of the price sheets?” Doug said.

“We’re out,” Iris stated flatly.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to email you one, Em,” Doug smoothed, still smiling. “In a nutshell, we help women realize their deepest fantasies - fairly dangerous fantasies - but safely. Those fantasies take a lot of forms, but they mostly involve slavery. We have the contacts and the expertise to allow women to dip into that world and back out again, safely, without exposure or worse.”

“Okay, I figured as much,” Jane lied. “When you say ‘dip into and back out again,’ you mean for very short periods of time, right?”

“Yes, anywhere from a few hours to a long weekend. We’ve found that any longer is too risky, though we have done it a time or two. Tell me, Em, is there something special your friend had in mind? A particular fantasy, or is there an event coming up, like-”

“Anniversary,” Jane said, quickly.

“Oh,” Doug said, eyebrows raised, then laughed. “I meant some event coming up that she wants to be a part of. But we’ve had wives do things for their husbands - we can video record anything you like. You’re not married, are you, Em?”

“No, sir, I’m not,” Jane replied, a nagging suspicion starting to creep up in the back of her mind. “What did you mean by ‘an event she wants to be part of’?”

“That’s a really common request; honestly it might be easier to show you what I mean. Care for a tour?” He stood and opened the back door.

Jane stood and walked through the door; she heard Iris hiss something at Doug, then heard him say, “Later, Iris. But why don’t you come too, I still need a hand.”

“You know, Em, I have a good feeling about you,” Doug enthused as they walked down the short hallway. “I think you’ll appreciate what we have to offer.”

The short hallway opened into a large space with high ceilings, much like a warehouse. To Jane’s right was a small area set up like a workshop - metal tables, pegboards hung with tools, electrical cords dangling from reels, some oxy-acetylene tanks - and to her left was an area that looked more like a combination of a beauty salon and a nurse’s office: reclining chair, mirrors, a couple of sinks, glass-fronted cabinets containing both beauty and medical supplies. A curtain hung across the walkway that separated the two areas.

Doug gestured at the two areas. “We’re well-equipped to deal with nearly anything a woman might need to successfully carry out her fantasy. I’m a professional welder and fabricator, my wife is a licensed cosmetologist, and Iris here is a trained body ornamentation specialist among other things - she’s also a talented seamstress.”

Doug parted the curtain and gestured for Jane and the sullen Iris to enter. Jane saw another little workspace that was clearly intended for tailoring - sewing machine, dressmakers dummy, bolts of fabric, a rack hung with different types of clothing, full-length mirrors - and on the opposite side something more in line with what she was expecting: a full-on sex shop full of bondage gear. Restraints, racks of leather, vinyl, and rubber clothing, shelves with even more exotic stuff that Jane couldn’t identify, and a padded platform facing a mirror.

“We like to think that we’re prepared for nearly any idea that a client can throw at us.” Doug said, still smiling. “We’ve been at this a while, with many satisfied customers. Personally, Em, I think you’d look amazing in latex. You sure have the body for it!”

Before she could reply, Jane heard something move on the other side of the tailor shop. She looked at Doug, who grinned even wider. “That’s the clientele I mentioned earlier,” Doug said, gesturing for Jane to follow him. “It’s safe to have a look.”

The next area was a larger space, probably the remainder of the office. Sure enough, the rolling door was off to Jane’s left, and a small enclosed room next to it was probably where they kept the security camera monitors. To the right was an area with wooden plank flooring and a long mirror running across the wall -  it reminded Jane of a ballet studio - and to the left was a row of cages - kennels, she corrected herself - exactly like the one in the apartment.

Three of them were occupied.

Doug walked over to the kennels, followed by Jane and Iris. Jane bent down slightly to look inside the cages: three white women, slightly chubby with generous behinds, on their hands and knees, facing the doors on the narrow end of each cage, completely naked except for a thick pink leather slave collar and a pink latex hood that covered the woman’s entire head leaving holes for her eyes and her mouth.

What really made the hoods remarkable, though, was that they were designed to look like pigs. Floppy ears stood up from the top of their heads, and a short but otherwise anatomically correct snout covered the wearer’ nose. Jane noticed that the eye holes had large fake eyelashes attached to them.

“I like the hoods,” Jane said. “And especially the eyelashes - nice attention to detail. They clearly evoke pigs, while retaining the essential elements of being a woman. Well done.”

“Thanks,” Iris murmured.

“Yep, that theater arts degree came in mighty handy, didn’t it?” Doug chuckled, looking at Iris, who refused to acknowledge him.

“These three are our clients,” Doug continued. “They’re destined for an oil drilling company’s barbecue picnic. Not to be eaten, I promise,” Doug said, holding up a hand, clearly enjoying his little joke. Jane chuckled politely.

“The company hired slaves to provide entertainment for the employees, and they’re going to wear hoods like these for the party. We’ll slip these three in with the slaves before they leave the corral, and no one will be the wiser!” Doug grinned, patting the top of the nearest kennel.

“So,” Jane started, confused: “I have questions. First, what exactly is their fantasy?”

“These three are married to company employees - management discouraged wives from attending, so it’s going to be just free men and slaves,” Iris said, her arms crossed. “The fantasy is to be sex objects for their husbands - and their husband’s friends, and co-workers, and subordinates, and managers - without the husbands knowing it. Basically playing ‘Slave for a Day’ and getting some payback for their partners ditching them in favor of rented slaves.”

“And boy howdy, are they gonna get it,” Doug added. “There’s gonna be more than a hundred guests at the barbecue, and only a dozen slaves, so each of our clients here will service at least eight hard cocks. Probably more, when the younger ones come back for seconds and thirds. No holes barred, of course, so it’ll be a looong day. But,” he slipped a hand into a cage and caressed the head of one of the pig-women, who leaned into his touch, “I think our girls here are up to the challenge.”

“Mm,” Jane said. “How do you plan to ‘slip them in’ unnoticed? And won’t they stand out as the only three wearing hoods?”

“We’ll bring them to the rental center and turn them over just like they were the real thing,” Iris said, “And it won’t need to go unnoticed - we’ve already arranged everything with the rental company, they’re working with us.”

“Wow,” Jane said. “How much did that cost?”

“Not as much as you might think,” Doug said, openly eyeing the naked women in the cages. “We cut a deal with them.”

“A deal?” Jane asked, raising one eyebrow.

“All of the slaves, not just our three clients here, will be wearing these hoods because we provided them, along with the other parts of the costumes,” Iris continued, opening a cardboard box on top of the kennels. She pulled out a boot, a long one made out of pink latex like the masks.

“We designed these ourselves, and I had a company here in the office park fabricate them for us,” Iris said, holding it up so Jane could see it. “Integrated knee pad, attachment points for ankle restraints, and the foot looks like a pig’s hoof. We also have gloves,” she pulled one out of the box, it was pink latex like the rest, “that resembles a trotter but is actually comfortable for the wearer, so she can spend long periods on all fours without injury. Finally-”

“We have these!” Doug interrupted, pulling out a curly pig’s tail attached to a, well, a butt plug. “Can’t wait to insert them and see how they look.” He looked down at the women in the kennels. “Don’t worry ladies, we’ll use plenty of lube.”

Iris sighed, taking another one out of the box. “I have them weighted with a reciprocating mechanism that allows the wearer to wiggle the tail very easily, and the tail will keep wiggling on its own for a while.” She tapped it with a fingertip and indeed, the tail continued longer than Jane expected.

And then it lit up.

“That, is, amazing,” Jane said, as she accepted the tail from Iris. “So you designed and manufactured all this, and the slave rental place gets it for free?”

“Sort of,” Iris said. “They get to use them for this barbecue event, but we retain ownership. They think this will gain them some attention-"

“They want to send their social media manager to the party,” Doug interjected. “She may be the only fully-clothed woman in attendance. I hope she brings her pepper spray!”

“- and the owner is already talking about making a cow version,” Iris continued, unperturbed. "Which we’ll rent to them in exchange for money or future favors.”

“Speaking of the barbecue,” Doug said, chuckling. “It’s time to finish dressing our stars. Isn’t that right, sweetie?” he said, reaching through the bars and tickling one of the women under her chin.

The woman responded with a very realistic Oink.

“What in the–” Jane said, surprised.

“Voice canceling collars,” Iris explained. “Standard for pony girls, we just recorded the pig sounds over the horse whinnies.”

“A nice touch,” Jane said, nodding. “And it also disguises their voices. No way anyone’s going to recognize them now. Again, great attention to detail. You all have thought of everything, I can see why these ladies hired you.”

A trio of happy-sounding oinks answered Jane, and she glimpsed a little smile creeping across Iris’ face.

Doug opened one of the cage doors, grasped the pig-woman by the ring on her collar, and led her on all fours to a low platform. She crawled up onto it, her hips swaying, and Doug gestured for Iris to bring him the cardboard box with the costume parts.

“Em, you’re welcome to stay and watch,” Doug said, giving Jane a bit of a leer. Doug rubbed his free hand across the naked, fleshy rump of the pig-woman, sliding his fingers into the crack between her cheeks - Jane could see the woman start to tremble with excitement - then he spanked her hard on one ass cheek, and the woman squealed like, well, a pig.

“Really looking forward to this, aren’t ya?” Doug said - whether to the pig-woman, or to himself, or to Jane was unclear. “You missed the enemas, we did those first,” he said, looking up at Jane, “Because these girls are definitely going to be taking it up the chute. Lots of strong, virile young oil field workers will be there, and when the LEDs on them tails go off that’s gonna be all they’ll think about. So we need plenty of lube, both for the tail insertion AND for tail removal, if you know what I mean.” Doug leered a bit more at Jane, pumping clear liquid from a bottle onto his fingertips.

“Aren’t they afraid it’ll hurt?” Jane asked. “And if it does, can they stop it?”

Doug laughed. “They will hurt at least a little, and they will be really, really sore for a few days after spending all day and most of the night getting reamed out by hard cocks. But it’s too late to back out now. Isn’t that right, little piggy?” The woman visibly shuddered but then nodded and oinked.

“That’s right, they’re gonna serve you all up like the main course - mouth, pussy and ass, and you can’t wait for it,” Doug murmured, caressing the woman’s butt cheek with his un-lubricated hand. As Jane watched, he slowly, gently inserted a finger into the woman’s rectum; she let out a very human groan and dropped her head. “That’s the thing about slaves, isn’t it, they can’t say no," Doug told Jane. "And that’s part of the thrill for these ladies, and for the others we’ve helped: that anything could happen and they’re powerless to stop it.” He gave the woman another hard slap on her cheek, leaving a rosy red handprint on her smooth white skin. “Yeah, after the party they might decide to round you all up and take you out to one of the offshore rigs where you can service every man on every shift for the next month. You’d like that, wouldn’t you piggy?”

Jane saw the woman’s head bob a little, and she moaned again. One of the other pig-women closed her eyes and shook her body, causing her large breasts to wobble.

Doug slid his finger in and out of the woman’s asshole, then added another drop of lubricant before inserting a second finger. The woman’s head lifted back up, higher this time, and her groan was much louder. Jane watched, wide-eyed, as the woman began pushing back against the man’s hand, silently encouraging him to use her.

“That’s a good little slut-sow,” Doug said in a low voice. He took the loose tail in his free hand and started to dip the large bulbous end into a jar of lubricant, but stopped himself. “Better not,” he said to Jane, winking. “Too much and it’ll fall out before it can be yanked out.”

Doug removed his fingers from the woman’s rectum and positioned the bulb directly against her anus, which was now staying slightly open on its own. He looked over at Jane. “Would you care to do the honors?”

Jane’s voice caught in her throat, and she noticed that it had become very warm in here - a bead of sweat rolled lazily down her spine to the small of her back. If it wasn’t for this jacket, she thought, everyone would see my nipples sticking out like gumdrops.

Without answering him, Jane grasped the tail. Doug placed his hand over hers to help guide it. Jane touched the conical bulb against the woman’s sphincter and heard her gasp as the cool metal touched a very sensitive place.

“Push it in nice and easy, stop about a third of the way in and let her get used to it,” Doug instructed. Jane did so, and the woman let out a small grunt. A moment later Doug said, “Alright, go on.”

Jane pressed on the tail, and while it did enter the woman’s rectum the going was more difficult this time - there was more resistance. The woman moaned and Jane thought, Right there with you, sister. In her mind’s eye she was on all fours on a small table, surrounded by big, strong, horny young men with raging hard-ons bulging against their denim jeans. She wore a pig hood and collar and a tail, but nothing else, and all the men were freely groping her body, slapping her bottom, pulling on her engorged nipples, and running their fingers through her soaking wet vagina. One man, wearing a chef’s hat and apron (“Kiss the Cook” printed on it, of course, with “Cook” crossed out and the word “Cock” written underneath) pulled on her collar ring so that she was raised up on the tips of her fingers when he poured a bottle of barbecue sauce on her naked back! He took his time brushing it all over her body with a basting mop while the onlookers hooted and hollered; the physical sensation was indescribable but the sheer humiliation was… Finally he finished brushing, looked up and shouted, “Come and get it!” The men pushed in around her, putting their fingers and lips and tongues all over her sticky-sweet body. The cook, who she realized now looked like Doug, pulled his apron to one side revealing an enormous, veiny, rock-hard cock. He brushed some sauce on the head, grinning, and told her, “Open wide, little piggy, time for your spit-roasting!”

“Whoa! You still with us, Em?” she heard Doug say as he gently shook her shoulder.

“Oh!” Jane exclaimed, quickly regaining her senses. “Oh, yes, I was just lost in thought for a moment. How’d I do?”

“Perfect,” Doug chuckled. “Just perfect. See how tight it is up against her bung hole? We’ll make you a pro in no time.”

Jane stared at the woman’s body, her anus, and the curled tail sticking out of it, still partly mesmerized by the experience.

Doug gave Jane a significant look and in a lowered voice said,“You know, you can try on a costume if you like." He moved his hand from her shoulder down to her hip. “The enema equipment is still hooked up, we’ve got extra tails and there’s room for a fourth sow in the trailer–”

“Em, come with me into the office and we’ll talk about exactly what your friend is looking for, and how we can help,” Iris interrupted. “You can keep going without us, right, boss?”

“Oh yeah, Number One Daughter,” Doug laughed, “I sure as hell can. Ain’t that right, sweetie?” Doug spanked the woman on her other cheek, and she responded with a delighted squeal. “We still have a little time, Em, so let me know if you change your mind!”

————————————————————————

“For the record, Doug is my stepdad,” Iris said once they’d settled back into the chairs at the front room desk. “He’s actually not a bad guy, he just gets a little gross when he gets excited.”

“No problem,” Jane said, smiling. “I imagine at a job like this, it’s pretty hard for him to not get excited. How does your mom deal with it?”

“She’s beyond fine with it,” Iris said, accompanied by her now-familiar eyeroll. “I didn’t realize what a sex fiend she was until she married Doug, and especially once they started this business - her sex drive took off like a rocket.” Iris shrugged. “Honestly? I’m surprised she’s not in the fourth kennel right now wearing a hood. But she’s happy, and that’s what really matters. So, is there anything else your ‘friend’ is curious about?”

Well, Jane thought, shifting in her seat and crossing her legs - she could feel the moisture built up in her panties, other than wether that invitation to join the herd going to the barbecue was serious? Being disguised like an undercover operative, while also spending the day being fucked over and over by great big callous-handed oilfield roughnecks would be an… interesting experience. But-

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Jane said. “How do those women know that you won’t just sell them to the rental company, or to someone at the party?”

“They don’t. Simple as that,” Iris said. “Like Doug said, that’s part of the appeal. The danger. No matter what we have them sign, because of the one-party law in Texas it’s always going to be a risk. But the truth, of course, is that we get almost all of our business from repeat customers, referrals, and word-of-mouth, so if we started selling our clients we’d be out of business in no time. Not to mention the civil suits.”

“What is a one-party law?” Jane asked.

“State law, called that because only one of the three parties to a slave sale - typically the buyer - needs to believe the sale is offered in good faith for the sale to be legal. Lots of back-and-forth in the Lege about that, it’s caused some problems, but I don’t see it changing any time soon. Now, why don’t you tell me what your ‘friend’” Iris continued, gesturing air-quotes at the word friend, “wants to experience.”

“You don’t believe me,” Jane stated, matter-of-factly.

“No one ever comes in here asking for a friend. And I’m sorry, but I have to ask,” Iris replied. “Do you actually know Courtney?”

“Friend-of-a-friend,” Jane said, then thought Here we go: “She set something up for a sorority sister, and I’d like to do something similar.”

Iris sat back in her chair and looked at Jane for a long, long moment before speaking.

“Like to, or need to?”

“Need to,” Jane said with a tight-lipped smile.

Iris regarded Jane for another long moment. Jane could see her eyeballs twitching ever so slightly, indicating deep thought - at least according to the body language YourTube course she’d watched.

Finally Iris stood up. “I don’t think we can help you, Ms. Ratajkowski.”

[Belinda]

Wonderful segment. I am sure as I am you have all your readers on pins and needles as to what happens next. You are a true talent.

[gentlemanmariner]

Thank you so much, Belinda, that means a lot to me.