Border Patrol 4
Posted: Fri Dec 26, 2025 11:29 pm
Border Patrol 4
Maybe it would be better to stop with Chapter 3, which held open some hope that I would not be a slave for years or decades. An auction is so exciting. A lot of stories just end at the auction without discussing what happens to the new slave, women like me. But I cannot stop with the auction because my life went on.
My husband Michael talked to the Moroccan slave owner who goes by the name of Marcel O’Sullivan after O’Sullivan bought me. I briefly wondered if that meant I would get some sort of reprieve from going to a brothel in Marrakech for decades. Or maybe I would wake up and find that I had dosed off on the flight from Cancun to Dallas a week ago and the arrest and auction were just a bad dream.
No such luck. It was noon in some of sort of building with at least 43 floors. I had been sold by auctioneer Victor for the Border Patrol. The discussion between Marcel and Michael was about what I would be doing in the hours before I was taken to a plane for Morocco. You could guess.
Marcel and his people went up to me on the stage, affixed a lovely collar with a locket with gold and silver and some diamonds and other gems that doubled as a tracking device.
Marcel explained that I would be going to Marrakech by private jet late the next evening. I would be serving 10 customers before my deportation. My generous husband had spent $100, 000 to give each of his ten acquaintances an hour and a half with me now that I was a sex slave. I would be fucking for most of the next 30 hours.
“That is more per hour than I will charge for you in Morocco, but your husband said he wants to thank me and build a relationship for the future.” Marcel said.
Walking me to an elevator and to a bedroom on another floor, Marcel said with a heavy French accent that Michael had said he was going back to have sex with his new woman, but he wanted to give all his pals what they’d dreamed of while I was flaunting my stuff for years in Dallas. As though the asshole had not been screwing every cute twenty- something he could get to go to bed with him.
Marcel started, “Michael and Victor have told me much about you, I watched the movie and I am sure that you will treat all of these nice men with joy and complete obedience.
“I am certain that I will never have to cause you pain but remember that I can cause great pain to any woman who fails to treat customers with enthusiasm and obedience. Of course, I do not wish you harmed, and I have done everything possible to assure that no customer will harm you. All you have to do is obey avec elan et sans souci.”
Marcel said everything in a friendly, one might say paternal, tone of voice but the threat was clear. Put out with a smile or else.
Most of the ten guys had me pose in obscene pictures with my pussy open as I smiled inviting entry. Indeed, the ten guys seemed to be competing to prove how humiliating they could be while joking that I should put out as enthusiastically for them as I had for the prisoners who had had me a few days before for the video. I honestly always replied that I would not dream of giving them less than the complete passion I gave the prisoners. I did not tell them that my enthusiasm was driven in large part by my fear of what might happen if I displeased anyone Marcel rented me. But then they may have known that and not cared.
Volk went first, of course. He started by telling me that they should have hired me to be a company call girl in the first place. “Michael was both too good for you and not good enough. He was too good a brain and not good enough of a cock. What you needed was 33 cocks a week of men that had turned off their brains for an hour while you only used the part of your brain that produces and receives pleasure. Actually, I guess most of your brain was always focused on fucking.”
I smiled while thinking that my business school grades were better than those of most of the idiots Volk had hired, before taking Volk’s prick lovingly into my mouth. I knew Volk would not settle for blow jobs and I laid on the bed and helped him put his cock in my quim. He came fairly soon but I thrashed my pussy into him enough before he softened to have my second orgasm of the day.
Volk was pleased and managed to fuck me twice more during his time allotment. The worst part of it was listening to him lecture me between fucks. I kept his cock in my mouth as much as possible to not have to show enthusiasm about his summary of the great work he was doing and what a god he was.
The shower cleaning Volk’s stink off and out of my body happened while maids changed sheets. Following that pit stop, there were several politicians who had wives and public positions in favor of family values and fidelity. Yeah, so what? I enthusiastically put out for them all, giving them all at least two moments of ecstasy while getting as much out of being fucked by them as I could.
Michael’s golf buddies. Howie and George, who I always suspected were bisexual, said they wanted three hours together. They began by having me do cheerleader routines in the nude and to show them the belly dancer skills I had been learning before I went to Cancun.
Of course, all of this was filmed as well as a bunch of poses that only can be shown on the hardcore sites. The three-way that followed was fun I have to admit. This included another double penetration. I guessed already that this would become a regular occurrence in my life.
I suppose some would say that I should have been disgusted with myself having so many orgasms while men were working so hard to use, degrade and humiliate me. But what would have been the point of not pleasing everyone the best I could, including myself? To save some sort of dignity? No, that horse had left the barn long before. And yes, I was by nature promiscuous. What is the point of denying that?
I had six of the men that evening, lost track of my orgasms if someone is keeping score, an hour and a half of sex generally, then a shower. They took me to a clean bed to sleep from midnight to 7:00 after O’Sullivan’s nurse slave checked me for any problems.
Slept like one of the dead and the last four men had me the next day. Sex, revive, more sex, a shower and sheet changes, next round. After the last shower, I was given back the same clothing I had worn when seized. I was taken to some airport that accepted private jets. I mainly slept on the ride and in the plane uncomfortably numb.
But that was all three years ago.
My life could be worse. Marcel O’Sullivan and his employees have no reason to abuse me. They want me to be as happy as I can be while making them as much money as possible.
Some of the customers are unpleasant, but O’Sullivan weeds out the really bad men and makes sure that none of them are diseased or violent. They all get carefully cleaned before they enter the central courtyard of the brothel and we pretend to be meeting like normal couples in a normal riad. Israeli, Saudi, European customers of all ages and sizes have me. There are few Africans, Americans and Asians
Marcel has a particular costume designed to represent our culture, really fancy bathrobes, for each of us. African slaves are dressed like natives from a National Geographic while Middle Eastern women have robes designed to make them look like harem concubines. My robe, with frills, lace and puffy sleeves, makes me look like a nineteenth century madam.
Marcel generally uses Madam Delacoix in referring to me. He says that lends me an air of class.
If I give the customers exactly what they want, they generally are happy to give me what I want. If what I want in life is pleasing different men, sexual attention, spurting cocks, and orgasms, I get that all a few times every day. I am not unhappy as long as I don’t think.
The food in Marrakech is very good. The brothel is well disguised and most of it looks like a very classy riad.
I have to exercise every day not counting the sex. I get little time outside, mainly to have sex on the beaches near Essaouira. My belly dancing skills have become very good. Marcel likes all of his women to be able to belly dance well to entertain the customers and keep all our bodies in top shape. He tells me that I am his best dancer both vertically and horizontally, but I can see that some of his other women are at least as good as me as dancers.
I do not have much time to speak to the other women much and I cannot speak the languages they speak well. We have all learned some French to go along with whatever language we came with.
The times that I see other women much is when a customer or group of customers rent more than one of us. Yes, I have performed lesbian scenes for the amusement of customers many times. It was odd at first, but I learned how to do both the show and the enjoyment of putting on the show.
There are about two dozen of us here. The largest number are very beautiful ebony women brought across the Sahara as slaves from Timbuktu. An Afghan woman who had fled the Taliban and a Mexican woman who did not want to work for a drug cartel were enslaved and sold in the same place that I was.
A few here are eastern European women sold by their pimps and a few are from S.E. Asia, captured in various wars between gangs and government factions.
I gather that there are a few women here who volunteered to be slaves as the life was less hard than selling themselves on the street even if they lost all their freedom. They were enslaved by poverty and beautiful enough to change into a more comfortable form of slavery.
All of us are very attractive to men and Marcel tries to keep us all happy so that we can present happy bodies to the men who pay him and his partners to use us. Most of us have never been whipped and none of us more than once. He jokes that he is our slave, but everyone knows that that is a bunch of shit. He flies around the world and does as he pleases. We leave the brothel infrequently and under guard.
There is a trained nurse and occasional trips to doctors, dentists and every other kind of care that O’Sullivan and his partners use to keep their assets in top operating condition.
After I worked in the brothel for four months, O’Sullivan said that I am one of his very best slaves and he will always take care of me. You probably tell all of the women that, I thought but he went on, “Maybe in 20 years or so, if you continue to be obedient and please the customers, you might be set free.”
“But didn’t you promise never to let me back to the United States?”
“Yes, but I do not always keep my promises and in 2047, who will care?” O’Sullivan answered.
“Also, I have news for you. You are no longer missing and presumed dead. The video of you having sex with the three gang members surfaced and you were identified as the woman. I am pretty sure Mr. Johnson caused the video to get out.
“Michael who had had to wait to remarry until you were known to be dead, used the tape to prove that you had gone crazy in Mexico and had decided to become a member of a criminal gang that you served sexually. That was grounds for divorce. He is now remarried.”
I started to become angry but realized that it did not matter to me whether I was thought to be dead or alive given that I was not going to be leaving Morocco.
“I think he did you a favor,” Marcel said. “Now maybe in 25 years you might return to Texas as a citizen full of remorse that you had been a whore for a Mexican gang for 25 years. People might be disgusted with you, but they would have to take you back as you were born and raised in Texas by parents born in the U.S.”
“Couldn’t I say that I was kidnapped and forced to act enthusiastic about the sex on the video before I was sold into slavery?”
“You could say that, but who would believe you?”
I think Marcel is probably right and anyway it is clear that I will be a sex slave as long as it is profitable to sell my body. Marcel O’Sullivan, a man supposedly descended from a captured Irish girl, is not going to waste a profitable business asset.
It was irritating, though, when a customer from Europe told me that I had become somewhat famous as the wealthy ex-cheerleader who had decided to give up her marriage and life to become a whore for a Mexican gang. He thought it was funny and I thought so too after he showed me a presentation by an internet influencer about what my deciding to become a whore for a Mexican gang showed about modern women.
In a podcast, Dr. Igno R. Ance, Professor of Biblical Psychology and Family studies at Tom Smith University of Tulsa, stated, “the former Mrs. Karen Johnson’s actions, while perhaps more extreme than those that result from most cases of feminist derangement, are totally to be expected in today’s degenerate feminist-devastated society. The female body is designed by God to recognize its dependence on strong male direction and produce numerous children until menopause.
“Instead of beginning to have children at 18 or 19 as is biologically healthy, Karen wasted time going to college and even extended her infertile retardation to obtain a business degree. She did finally marry at age 25 to a mature male, but Mr. Johnson, himself misled by modern feminist theory, failed to take the actions necessary to remedy Karen’s delayed development as a woman. Birth control is, of course, extremely damaging to female hormonal balance and psychiatric health.
“The Johnsons’ failure to maintain the proper male and female roles in their marriage and the use of birth control devices to prevent normal female hormonal reactions and childbirth, plainly caused Mrs. Johnson to reach a point that can only be described as sex hormone frustration insanity.
“Only after having at least four children does the female mind mature sufficiently to prevent nymphomaniac impulses. Again, while admittedly Karen’s actions were atypical, other women who fail to have four children by age 29 are known to have experienced long bouts of depression, lesbianism, nymphomania, and suicidal urges often resulting in death. The former Mrs. Johnson is not to be hated but pitied as one of the billions of women victimized by the feminist fallacy that ignores the basic mental and reproductive needs of women.”
While I wanted to gag and straggle Professor Ance, there was nothing to do but say “Oh my God” and grab the customer’s penis and begin to move my tongue and lips in such a fashion as to cause some sort of terrible physical erection reaction that resulted ultimately in him stuffing he cock in my very wet pussy. This did yield temporary relief from my symptom.
I am broken and mainly don’t give anything but a fuck. I have to give many fucks. Most of the customers just want to have fun and don’t try to make me feel bad.
Still, I am not entirely beyond being humiliated and embarrassed by the occasional visits by a couple people I knew when I was Mrs. Johnson. They giggle about how I’ve found my place. They film my belly dances, my eager spread leg poses and some of my sexual activities, naturally concealing themselves from the cameras. Some of these films appear on the internet purportedly made by the Mexican gang to which I supposedly surrendered my body because I am a masochistic nymphomaniac.
Only a very few people trusted by my enslavers from Texas visit. The louse with whom I was married never visits. He inquires of Marcel about how I am doing and makes sure Marcel does not accidently advertise me in a way that will disclose that I’m a slave in Africa rather than a whore in Mexico.
I was horrified when about seven months after my arrest the nurse had me lay on a table, got a device out of a cabinet and inserted it into my vagina. Next she used another tool and reached in and removed my IUD. It was pretty obvious she’d done that many times before.
“No more safe sex for you,” she said. “Marcel says that there are rich men who want to have sex with you knowing you could get pregnant. Given the type of IUD I just pulled out, you probably won’t get pregnant for a while, but it will happen unless there’s something wrong with you.
There is nothing wrong with my reproductive organs. I have had one child and I think I may be pregnant again. They pumped milk from me for months and sent the milk to whoever took the child. Several Texas visitors had a blast filming me as my nipples sprayed milk a foot as I had an orgasm six weeks after the birth.
O’Sullivan says he will probably breed me every two or three years as long as he can. As well as very rich men who just want to have children to feed their egos, there are gay couples who want a child, and others who want to use my eggs and or my womb. The men always want to plant their sperm in me the traditional way.
Now 32, I could have five or six more children. Marcel says that my light complexion makes me much in demand as a breeder. Sort of ironic that my tan from the Cancun beaches caused my arrest by the Border Patrol and my light skin from being indoors having sex most of the time has made me prime breeding material.
I hope if I have any daughters that they don’t get tans like me or they stay out of the sun.
Professor Ance will be pleased with my cure if it happens after I have four children and if he learns of it. For now, I still love to fuck. That may be my salvation.
I have been reduced to what many men think women are good for. I entertain men by displaying my body, I suck, I fuck, I produce babies, I give milk. I do all of these things very well because practice makes perfect and because I am scarcely allowed to do anything else. I don’t think about much more about anything other than what positions to suggest and when to move the man’s cock into my pussy.
Thanks to the Border Patrol, I am a slave
Maybe it would be better to stop with Chapter 3, which held open some hope that I would not be a slave for years or decades. An auction is so exciting. A lot of stories just end at the auction without discussing what happens to the new slave, women like me. But I cannot stop with the auction because my life went on.
My husband Michael talked to the Moroccan slave owner who goes by the name of Marcel O’Sullivan after O’Sullivan bought me. I briefly wondered if that meant I would get some sort of reprieve from going to a brothel in Marrakech for decades. Or maybe I would wake up and find that I had dosed off on the flight from Cancun to Dallas a week ago and the arrest and auction were just a bad dream.
No such luck. It was noon in some of sort of building with at least 43 floors. I had been sold by auctioneer Victor for the Border Patrol. The discussion between Marcel and Michael was about what I would be doing in the hours before I was taken to a plane for Morocco. You could guess.
Marcel and his people went up to me on the stage, affixed a lovely collar with a locket with gold and silver and some diamonds and other gems that doubled as a tracking device.
Marcel explained that I would be going to Marrakech by private jet late the next evening. I would be serving 10 customers before my deportation. My generous husband had spent $100, 000 to give each of his ten acquaintances an hour and a half with me now that I was a sex slave. I would be fucking for most of the next 30 hours.
“That is more per hour than I will charge for you in Morocco, but your husband said he wants to thank me and build a relationship for the future.” Marcel said.
Walking me to an elevator and to a bedroom on another floor, Marcel said with a heavy French accent that Michael had said he was going back to have sex with his new woman, but he wanted to give all his pals what they’d dreamed of while I was flaunting my stuff for years in Dallas. As though the asshole had not been screwing every cute twenty- something he could get to go to bed with him.
Marcel started, “Michael and Victor have told me much about you, I watched the movie and I am sure that you will treat all of these nice men with joy and complete obedience.
“I am certain that I will never have to cause you pain but remember that I can cause great pain to any woman who fails to treat customers with enthusiasm and obedience. Of course, I do not wish you harmed, and I have done everything possible to assure that no customer will harm you. All you have to do is obey avec elan et sans souci.”
Marcel said everything in a friendly, one might say paternal, tone of voice but the threat was clear. Put out with a smile or else.
Most of the ten guys had me pose in obscene pictures with my pussy open as I smiled inviting entry. Indeed, the ten guys seemed to be competing to prove how humiliating they could be while joking that I should put out as enthusiastically for them as I had for the prisoners who had had me a few days before for the video. I honestly always replied that I would not dream of giving them less than the complete passion I gave the prisoners. I did not tell them that my enthusiasm was driven in large part by my fear of what might happen if I displeased anyone Marcel rented me. But then they may have known that and not cared.
Volk went first, of course. He started by telling me that they should have hired me to be a company call girl in the first place. “Michael was both too good for you and not good enough. He was too good a brain and not good enough of a cock. What you needed was 33 cocks a week of men that had turned off their brains for an hour while you only used the part of your brain that produces and receives pleasure. Actually, I guess most of your brain was always focused on fucking.”
I smiled while thinking that my business school grades were better than those of most of the idiots Volk had hired, before taking Volk’s prick lovingly into my mouth. I knew Volk would not settle for blow jobs and I laid on the bed and helped him put his cock in my quim. He came fairly soon but I thrashed my pussy into him enough before he softened to have my second orgasm of the day.
Volk was pleased and managed to fuck me twice more during his time allotment. The worst part of it was listening to him lecture me between fucks. I kept his cock in my mouth as much as possible to not have to show enthusiasm about his summary of the great work he was doing and what a god he was.
The shower cleaning Volk’s stink off and out of my body happened while maids changed sheets. Following that pit stop, there were several politicians who had wives and public positions in favor of family values and fidelity. Yeah, so what? I enthusiastically put out for them all, giving them all at least two moments of ecstasy while getting as much out of being fucked by them as I could.
Michael’s golf buddies. Howie and George, who I always suspected were bisexual, said they wanted three hours together. They began by having me do cheerleader routines in the nude and to show them the belly dancer skills I had been learning before I went to Cancun.
Of course, all of this was filmed as well as a bunch of poses that only can be shown on the hardcore sites. The three-way that followed was fun I have to admit. This included another double penetration. I guessed already that this would become a regular occurrence in my life.
I suppose some would say that I should have been disgusted with myself having so many orgasms while men were working so hard to use, degrade and humiliate me. But what would have been the point of not pleasing everyone the best I could, including myself? To save some sort of dignity? No, that horse had left the barn long before. And yes, I was by nature promiscuous. What is the point of denying that?
I had six of the men that evening, lost track of my orgasms if someone is keeping score, an hour and a half of sex generally, then a shower. They took me to a clean bed to sleep from midnight to 7:00 after O’Sullivan’s nurse slave checked me for any problems.
Slept like one of the dead and the last four men had me the next day. Sex, revive, more sex, a shower and sheet changes, next round. After the last shower, I was given back the same clothing I had worn when seized. I was taken to some airport that accepted private jets. I mainly slept on the ride and in the plane uncomfortably numb.
But that was all three years ago.
My life could be worse. Marcel O’Sullivan and his employees have no reason to abuse me. They want me to be as happy as I can be while making them as much money as possible.
Some of the customers are unpleasant, but O’Sullivan weeds out the really bad men and makes sure that none of them are diseased or violent. They all get carefully cleaned before they enter the central courtyard of the brothel and we pretend to be meeting like normal couples in a normal riad. Israeli, Saudi, European customers of all ages and sizes have me. There are few Africans, Americans and Asians
Marcel has a particular costume designed to represent our culture, really fancy bathrobes, for each of us. African slaves are dressed like natives from a National Geographic while Middle Eastern women have robes designed to make them look like harem concubines. My robe, with frills, lace and puffy sleeves, makes me look like a nineteenth century madam.
Marcel generally uses Madam Delacoix in referring to me. He says that lends me an air of class.
If I give the customers exactly what they want, they generally are happy to give me what I want. If what I want in life is pleasing different men, sexual attention, spurting cocks, and orgasms, I get that all a few times every day. I am not unhappy as long as I don’t think.
The food in Marrakech is very good. The brothel is well disguised and most of it looks like a very classy riad.
I have to exercise every day not counting the sex. I get little time outside, mainly to have sex on the beaches near Essaouira. My belly dancing skills have become very good. Marcel likes all of his women to be able to belly dance well to entertain the customers and keep all our bodies in top shape. He tells me that I am his best dancer both vertically and horizontally, but I can see that some of his other women are at least as good as me as dancers.
I do not have much time to speak to the other women much and I cannot speak the languages they speak well. We have all learned some French to go along with whatever language we came with.
The times that I see other women much is when a customer or group of customers rent more than one of us. Yes, I have performed lesbian scenes for the amusement of customers many times. It was odd at first, but I learned how to do both the show and the enjoyment of putting on the show.
There are about two dozen of us here. The largest number are very beautiful ebony women brought across the Sahara as slaves from Timbuktu. An Afghan woman who had fled the Taliban and a Mexican woman who did not want to work for a drug cartel were enslaved and sold in the same place that I was.
A few here are eastern European women sold by their pimps and a few are from S.E. Asia, captured in various wars between gangs and government factions.
I gather that there are a few women here who volunteered to be slaves as the life was less hard than selling themselves on the street even if they lost all their freedom. They were enslaved by poverty and beautiful enough to change into a more comfortable form of slavery.
All of us are very attractive to men and Marcel tries to keep us all happy so that we can present happy bodies to the men who pay him and his partners to use us. Most of us have never been whipped and none of us more than once. He jokes that he is our slave, but everyone knows that that is a bunch of shit. He flies around the world and does as he pleases. We leave the brothel infrequently and under guard.
There is a trained nurse and occasional trips to doctors, dentists and every other kind of care that O’Sullivan and his partners use to keep their assets in top operating condition.
After I worked in the brothel for four months, O’Sullivan said that I am one of his very best slaves and he will always take care of me. You probably tell all of the women that, I thought but he went on, “Maybe in 20 years or so, if you continue to be obedient and please the customers, you might be set free.”
“But didn’t you promise never to let me back to the United States?”
“Yes, but I do not always keep my promises and in 2047, who will care?” O’Sullivan answered.
“Also, I have news for you. You are no longer missing and presumed dead. The video of you having sex with the three gang members surfaced and you were identified as the woman. I am pretty sure Mr. Johnson caused the video to get out.
“Michael who had had to wait to remarry until you were known to be dead, used the tape to prove that you had gone crazy in Mexico and had decided to become a member of a criminal gang that you served sexually. That was grounds for divorce. He is now remarried.”
I started to become angry but realized that it did not matter to me whether I was thought to be dead or alive given that I was not going to be leaving Morocco.
“I think he did you a favor,” Marcel said. “Now maybe in 25 years you might return to Texas as a citizen full of remorse that you had been a whore for a Mexican gang for 25 years. People might be disgusted with you, but they would have to take you back as you were born and raised in Texas by parents born in the U.S.”
“Couldn’t I say that I was kidnapped and forced to act enthusiastic about the sex on the video before I was sold into slavery?”
“You could say that, but who would believe you?”
I think Marcel is probably right and anyway it is clear that I will be a sex slave as long as it is profitable to sell my body. Marcel O’Sullivan, a man supposedly descended from a captured Irish girl, is not going to waste a profitable business asset.
It was irritating, though, when a customer from Europe told me that I had become somewhat famous as the wealthy ex-cheerleader who had decided to give up her marriage and life to become a whore for a Mexican gang. He thought it was funny and I thought so too after he showed me a presentation by an internet influencer about what my deciding to become a whore for a Mexican gang showed about modern women.
In a podcast, Dr. Igno R. Ance, Professor of Biblical Psychology and Family studies at Tom Smith University of Tulsa, stated, “the former Mrs. Karen Johnson’s actions, while perhaps more extreme than those that result from most cases of feminist derangement, are totally to be expected in today’s degenerate feminist-devastated society. The female body is designed by God to recognize its dependence on strong male direction and produce numerous children until menopause.
“Instead of beginning to have children at 18 or 19 as is biologically healthy, Karen wasted time going to college and even extended her infertile retardation to obtain a business degree. She did finally marry at age 25 to a mature male, but Mr. Johnson, himself misled by modern feminist theory, failed to take the actions necessary to remedy Karen’s delayed development as a woman. Birth control is, of course, extremely damaging to female hormonal balance and psychiatric health.
“The Johnsons’ failure to maintain the proper male and female roles in their marriage and the use of birth control devices to prevent normal female hormonal reactions and childbirth, plainly caused Mrs. Johnson to reach a point that can only be described as sex hormone frustration insanity.
“Only after having at least four children does the female mind mature sufficiently to prevent nymphomaniac impulses. Again, while admittedly Karen’s actions were atypical, other women who fail to have four children by age 29 are known to have experienced long bouts of depression, lesbianism, nymphomania, and suicidal urges often resulting in death. The former Mrs. Johnson is not to be hated but pitied as one of the billions of women victimized by the feminist fallacy that ignores the basic mental and reproductive needs of women.”
While I wanted to gag and straggle Professor Ance, there was nothing to do but say “Oh my God” and grab the customer’s penis and begin to move my tongue and lips in such a fashion as to cause some sort of terrible physical erection reaction that resulted ultimately in him stuffing he cock in my very wet pussy. This did yield temporary relief from my symptom.
I am broken and mainly don’t give anything but a fuck. I have to give many fucks. Most of the customers just want to have fun and don’t try to make me feel bad.
Still, I am not entirely beyond being humiliated and embarrassed by the occasional visits by a couple people I knew when I was Mrs. Johnson. They giggle about how I’ve found my place. They film my belly dances, my eager spread leg poses and some of my sexual activities, naturally concealing themselves from the cameras. Some of these films appear on the internet purportedly made by the Mexican gang to which I supposedly surrendered my body because I am a masochistic nymphomaniac.
Only a very few people trusted by my enslavers from Texas visit. The louse with whom I was married never visits. He inquires of Marcel about how I am doing and makes sure Marcel does not accidently advertise me in a way that will disclose that I’m a slave in Africa rather than a whore in Mexico.
I was horrified when about seven months after my arrest the nurse had me lay on a table, got a device out of a cabinet and inserted it into my vagina. Next she used another tool and reached in and removed my IUD. It was pretty obvious she’d done that many times before.
“No more safe sex for you,” she said. “Marcel says that there are rich men who want to have sex with you knowing you could get pregnant. Given the type of IUD I just pulled out, you probably won’t get pregnant for a while, but it will happen unless there’s something wrong with you.
There is nothing wrong with my reproductive organs. I have had one child and I think I may be pregnant again. They pumped milk from me for months and sent the milk to whoever took the child. Several Texas visitors had a blast filming me as my nipples sprayed milk a foot as I had an orgasm six weeks after the birth.
O’Sullivan says he will probably breed me every two or three years as long as he can. As well as very rich men who just want to have children to feed their egos, there are gay couples who want a child, and others who want to use my eggs and or my womb. The men always want to plant their sperm in me the traditional way.
Now 32, I could have five or six more children. Marcel says that my light complexion makes me much in demand as a breeder. Sort of ironic that my tan from the Cancun beaches caused my arrest by the Border Patrol and my light skin from being indoors having sex most of the time has made me prime breeding material.
I hope if I have any daughters that they don’t get tans like me or they stay out of the sun.
Professor Ance will be pleased with my cure if it happens after I have four children and if he learns of it. For now, I still love to fuck. That may be my salvation.
I have been reduced to what many men think women are good for. I entertain men by displaying my body, I suck, I fuck, I produce babies, I give milk. I do all of these things very well because practice makes perfect and because I am scarcely allowed to do anything else. I don’t think about much more about anything other than what positions to suggest and when to move the man’s cock into my pussy.
Thanks to the Border Patrol, I am a slave