I'm looking for recommendations for stories that contain scenes very much like these:
>>SCENE 1:
"You want to know the best part? It's when foreign white bitches like you realise that your chains aren't coming off."
The two black guards, Noah and Yannick, shoved me roughly through the doorway and pushed me forward into the centre of the barn, forcing me onto my knees in front of the anvil.
"I took away your expensive jewellery but I have some new ornaments for you." Amira had followed us and told me sarcastically as she fitted a manacle around my right wrist, "Ones that are more suited to your new life."
"No.... I won't.... you can't..." I struggled, protesting, even as four dark hands pinned me in place.
"Silence, you stupid bitch. You will be chained whether you want to or not."
"No... I... aaarrgghhhhhhh!" I shrieked in pain as she slashed the riding crop she carried across my bare bottom, leaving a pink stripe decorating one of my buttocks.
"You will obey, whore."
"Arrrrgghhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I shrieked again as a second blow landed on my soft flesh sending a searing wave of agony through me.
"DO.... YOU.... UNDERSTAND?" her words were firm and measured.
"Y... y... yes... m.... m... mistress." Sobbing quietly, I replied feeling the tears on my cheeks.
Despite the two strokes from the crop, I was still continuing in my efforts to squirm away when I saw the blacksmith enter through the external double doors. Approaching the forge, the massive Arab pulled a pair of long handled pincers with a glowing steel peg held in its jaws out of the hot coals.
Twisting and wriggling was futile, but I still attempted to get away, the two huge men easily holding me in position as the grinning smithy hammered the rivet into place locking my new bracelet on my wrist. With it securely fastened my hand was plunged into a bucket of cold water creating a small cloud of steam and a loud hiss as the metal rapidly cooled.
Tears stung my eyes and rolled freely down my cheeks as, with pitiless efficiency, the blacksmith quickly fixed further manacles around my other wrist and both my ankles. Then to complete my humiliation, a short length of chain was attached to the shackles on my hands and feet restricting my movements.
Amira grinned at my despair and chuckled "You want to know the best part? It's when foreign white bitches like you realise that your chains aren't coming off."
I knew that was true. Nothing short of another blacksmith could remove my irons.
>>SCENE 2:
" he turned to Justine, for the first time recognizing her as a human being, a gorgeous naked longsuffering human being"
Finally, a group of civilians arrived. The first one, a slighly overweight middle aged man, spoke first. 'Why don't they cover my tits!'
Justine thought, (the paper gown had torn during one of the 'evidence inspections") As he spoke, his gaze strayed inevitably to her breasts.
"Ms.--Professor. I'm the registered locksmith. These irons, these
antique irons---- God, that old blacksmith knew his trade!-- can not really be unlocked without destroying them. I sympathize with your plight, but...."
A little self-important man stepped forward. Tight lips. tight narrow shoulders, encased in his dark suit, primly knotted tie. One glance told Justine all she needed to know: more trouble!
"I am Grover Brigham. The president's special envoy for antiquities; I decide what goes to the Smithsonian, and what goes on E bay instead. I intend to examine your restaints. Would you stand, please." Justine swung her chained ankles over the side of the gurney, reluntantly. As she stood, the sheet and towel fell away; she stood there, totally nude, bare assed again. She was now almost numb to further exposure and humiliation.
*
Brigham took almost no notice of her naked attributes. He was down on the floor with his magnifying glass, fondling and stroking the rough old iron surfaces; he seemed hardly to notice her abraded wrists, her hands now swollen from so many hours of constriction, the deep scratches on her neck from the collar or even the lurid healing welts on
her bottom from the caneing as he scrutinized the anklets, the collar, moving her pinioned wrists rudely, continuing his survey.
"Turn around, please; I need more light to examine these wonderful manacles." The crowd got even more excited when they saw the raised welts across her full buttocks; Brigham seened not to notice, but slid one hand under her right asscheek pretending to stabilize her as he peered at the cuffs. Justine barely winced as he squeezed. 'One more violation, one more indignity--what did it matter anymore? Just let this asshole hurry up and get all this rusty iron off me!' He checked the collar and the anklets again, with growing excitement. Finally he straightened and pronounced:
*
"Gentlemen,we have here an unique find! Unless I am mistaken----and I'm usually not---these artifacts date to 1843, Georgia. They may be the very slave irons tha† sparked the Nat Turner rebellion! I
don't know how a black garbage man from Oakland got hold of these, but that really makes no differance. They are priceless! I will not----cannot!---- allow you to detroy them. Let me be clear. No hacksaws, no cutting
torches. Surely we can make an appropriate key. Until then----"
>>SCENE 3:
Beth stepped off the subway and nervously made her way
through the station. She tried to ignore the smiles from
the men as she walked by in her high heels, and the looks
of disdain from the women who tried to ignore her. She
had never dressed so slutty in her life. Scott had taken
her to a cheap discount clothes store at lunch and picked
out the slinkiest clothes he could find.
"Better keep on walkin girl! This block is Lamar's block!
He's skin yeah alive you take any the tricks from his
street!" Cackled a slutty Black prostitute who was
smoking a hand rolled cigarette as she showed her legs to
the cars passing by.
Beth stood on the street impatiently stroking the mace
can in her purse as the cars approached one after another
to pick her up. She began pacing restlessly trying to
ignore them, hoping Scott would hurry up and get here.
"Hey girl! Come here!" Rasped a deep voice from a white
Cadillac with Blacked out windows that had just pulled up
beside her. Beth ignored the car a minute hoping it would
speed off too.
"Yo Bitch! get yo ass over here!" Crooned the deep voice
from inside the car. Beth turned in shock and stared at
the small slit in the window trying to see who it was.
"I'm not working right now!" Beth replied in her best
dumb voice. The car window rolled down and Beth saw the
man propositioning her. The face looking back at her was
coal Black, shaved bald, large, and mean looking.
"Who the hell you working for? I ain't never seen you on
this street before!" Growled the man from inside the car.
Beth looked down the street for Scott's car, hoping he
would hurry.
"He's not here yet." Beth said shallowly as she tried to
compose herself. She tightened her grip on the mace
container.
"Nobody works this street without talkin to me first! Now
get in this car while we wait for yo pimp! I gonna just
make a deal with him before you start doin tricks!"
Growled the muscular Black man from inside the car. Beth
saw the door pop open for her to climb in. She stepped
back and took hold of the mace can, readying her flight.
"No! I cant!" Beth said with a rapidly trembling tone.
She started to step back when she saw a pair of headlight
shine into her face.
"Scott!" She cried softly to herself as she ran to his
car. She reached to the door and found it locked. He
rolled the window down for her to talk to him.
>>SCENE 4:
"Sarah, I want to pick you up." I blurted out as quickly as possible to overcome my nervousness.
"What do you mean?" She replied. By her look, I knew she understood full well what I meant but wanted me to describe it to her.
"I want to drive up to you on the street corner and pick you up like that man picked up that girl." I explained.
"Chris, we can't do that. What if someone sees me like this that knows us?" She asked. But, knowing her as I did, I knew she really wanted to be convinced it was okay.
"It will go quickly. No one will see us. I'll drop you off on the side street and you can walk to the corner and I will be there when you get there." I spat out quickly.
Sarah never responded and just leaned back into the seat back and stared straight ahead. I turned off the main street sharply and took several side streets to get into a position where Sarah had only to walk about fifty yards to reach a street corner that was currently deserted.
Without saying a word she opened the door and stepped out. I watched her incredible ass in the tiny mini move down the sidewalk towards the corner before doing a U-turn and taking the street I knew would lead me down the street where she would be standing. I wanted to pull-up so that she could lean in the passenger window while we negotiated like the young woman we watched had done.
I watched her walk towards the corner and when she was in good light I started the car and began moving towards the road to pick her up. Several turns later I was sitting on a narrow and dark side street where a right turn and about one hundred yards separated me from my wife. I was about to make the turn when I noticed that there was already a car pulling up next to her on the corner. It was like flies to honey. The horny men, looking for women on the street, must have been able to sense her beauty and freshness from the others and moved quickly to the opportunity.
For some reason that I can't explain, I decided to watch her for a while. I knew I would pay dearly for this later but there was something so erotic about watching her as the focus of other men's desire that I couldn't help myself. It wasn't like she didn't attract attention in real life. But, in those cases which were frequent, she was treated with the respect and dignity.
The car that had pulled up stayed there for a minute with her maintaining ten foot separation before it finally moved away. I noticed her looking up and down the street searching for signs of our car but another car quickly pulled over. This car eventually moved on as well and I saw this same scene play out multiple times as I watched for fifteen minutes.
I saw two hookers walking down the street from the other direction. Rather than risk any kind of confrontation, I decided that it was time to collect Sarah and take her to the motel. I moved out onto the larger street and reached Sarah at the same time the two hookers arrived.
Sarah had seen me approaching and was near the curb when I pulled up. Despite my lateness and the hookers now only several yards away, she stayed in character and we had a negotiation through the open passenger window. In the background, I could hear the hookers, one white blonde and one black, making scathing comments about Sarah.
"Who the fuck is this bitch?" One said. By the sound of her voice I sensed it was the black woman.
"She standing there with her pussy hanging out on our street." The other quickly replied.
Sarah was getting tense from the discussion but I purposely made her continue the negotiation before we finally settled on $200 for an hour. The hookers continued to talk as Sarah opened the door to get inside.
"Bitch, what the fuck are you doing here? You gonna get your ass kicked for selling that pussy on this street." The black woman yelled in a threatening manner.
Sarah slammed the door behind her and we drove the short way to the sleazy motel
>>SCENE 5:
"But Karen... I don't want to be a disappointment to her... you know," she felt completely ashamed of saying that, but it was somewhat true, and it was the only idea that she had to stop that craziness.
"Now I see your point, Lilly. Fortunately, I can help you"
"Thanks, Megan," said Lillian finally relieved, but to her surprise Megan said
"The point is that you and Karen had very different paths ahead, trying to be what she wants you to be will only lead you to failure. Listen, Karen didn't have the guts to enter the porno industry, at my begging she only did a little very conservative nude studio that she kept mostly for her. When the money got tighter I pressured her to go for an audition but somehow she blew it, I think she probably chickened out. Now she is happy while pursuing a business career, it looks like her true call. But you don't have to be as prude as her just to make her happy. I bet I can make her understand, but you have to stop looking at her as a role model because you are not her. You are not a career woman; you are a very slutty little girl with a great future in porn."
Lillian felt ditzy, these people thought that Karen was an unreachable role model for her.
"Listen, Lilly, I bet you had sex with more people just yesterday than Karen in all her life. I am a lot less prudish than Karen, You know I even worked for the porno industry for a while, but I never enjoyed a photo session as much as you enjoyed yours, and I never have sex with more than a couple of persons in a day."
Lillian was feeling worse by the minute, "Am I such a slut?" she thought bitterly.
"The only way for you to be happy is to break apart from that role model. You have to be yourself, and not a Karen wannabe. You are different, she is a nice prudish, businesslike person, and you are a nice slutty, sexy person," then after a couple of seconds pause she thought,
"I have an Idea, follow me to Karen's bedroom"
Peter and Lillian followed her, mostly out of curiosity than of anything else.
"We will model your new wardrobe after your role model's one. Find me Karen's littlest panties, her shortest short, and her sexiest shirt.
Lillian didn't like the idea but started looking through Karen's clothes and to her surprise she didn't have tongs, most of her underwear was just a bit sexier than grandma's panties, she finally found a bikini panty. She continued and found some denim shorts, whose legs were not more than a couple of inches long, nothing that a college girl wouldn't wear. Lillian started having hope, maybe her argument of bringing Karen to the conversation will finally result in a good thing, maybe Megan would let her tone down her slutty attires. She completed the outfit with a crop top. It wasn't that bad, she normally didn't like to show her navel, and she also used to hate blouses with thin straps because they made it hard to hide bra straps, but as she won't be wearing any bras, it wouldn't be that bad.
Megan made Lillian try each of the garments one by one. She brought a measuring tape and started making annotations in a little notebook, saying out loud what she was writing.
"OK. Panties let a little bit more than 2 inches of your buttocks on display, and on the waist, they end around 2 inches below your belly button."
"The shorts end up around 1.5 inches below your crotch, and a little bit higher than the panties waist, maybe 1 inch bellow your navel"
"The shirt straps are 0.5-inch width..."
"OK, she said, we are going to shop now. We will completely replace your current wardrobe with new clothes that will make a statement that you are pretty different than Karen, even if they are inspired by Karen's clothes. That way you will be somehow following her, but marching your path at the same time.
From the corner of her eye, she saw with apprehension Megan opening the trunk and her old and ragged suitcase. She began protesting thru the gag as Megan was pulling all of her clothes from the suitcase and putting them inside a trash bag.
"Listen Lilly. You need clothes that make a statement of who you are and what you are. Clothes that set you apart from your cousin, but are nonetheless inspired by her wardrobe. So these clothes have to go.
Let me tell you about your new dress code:
From now on, you are the girl of the eternal summer; you will only wear shorts or mini skirts, and sleeveless blouses. Of course, a slut like you doesn't need underwear; it only gets in the way, and you would most probably lose it. "
Lillian blushed at the implication of the last phrase, and Megan continued.
"Furthermore, the kind of clothes that you will wear don't go well with underwear, it would show."
Lillian was no so surprised by the "dress code," but why did Megan took her clothes away, after all, most of her clothes fit the code except for a few blouses and the skimmer jeans that she bought with the money that Karen's coworkers gave her.
"I know what you are thinking. Your clothes are near but not quite there for your new image; they are not inspired by Megan's wardrobe."
Lillian looked at Megan completely puzzled.
"Let me finish with the rules," Megan continued,
"Shorts: None of your shorts should be bigger than Karen's smallest panties."
Lillian palled. It was too much. She will be showing a good deal of buttocks, at least a couple of inches. And it was humiliating that she will be wearing on the street an attire that Karen would seldom dare to wear in her bedroom, or under her clothes.
Megan continued, enjoying Lillian's shocked face.
"Skirts: None of your skirts must be bigger than Karen's smallest short"
A skirt that short only would cover her ass and pussy if she stood up with her arms by her side. Any movement could easily make her display her charms, and without underwear, it would be quite a show.
Lillian was getting aroused by the idea, but she begged thru her gag, but Megan ignored the muffled sounds; she could guess what was she saying, but feigned that she didn't have a clue.
"And for blouses, they must show at least twice the abdomen skin of Karen's crop blouse, and the straps shouldn't be wider than the ones in Karen's blouse"
>>SCENE 6:
"No, really. We're University students. We were just trying the
dresses on as...sort of like costumes."
"Halloween costumes," Carol added, adding useless embellishment.
"And we have an interest in local history," Jordan tried to explain.
One of the men laughed at this, and Jordan was able to hear him
remark to one of his friends, "Ain't much difference between the
past and the present 'round here."
Before she could stop him, he yanked her forward almost ripping
the dress as he pulled the fabric away from her neck and chest
and peered down the opening. Immediately Jordan began to bring
her hands up to try to protect her modesty, then froze again as
the barrel of the shotgun shifted to press against the base of
her skull.
The officer holding her let out a wolf whistle at what he saw under
the dress. "And of course you just had to strip off butt naked and
try on the dress."
He looked over his shoulder to the others for their reaction, and,
without exception, the only ones not laughing were the dogs.
"You yankees think y'all so smart, lots smarter than us poor
hillbillies." He no longer sounded as amused. Long-held
resentment and bitterness was starting to bubble up in his voice.
"Look, we have ID. We can prove we are who we say we are," Jordan
tried to reason with him. "Just let us show you."
From beside her, she heard Carol whimper fearfully, "Please don't
hurt us." Her eyes were wide open and fixed on the second shotgun
aimed at her.
"I didn't see any ID," the deputy grinned as he let go of her
dress. "Just two mighty impressive knockers." Then his smirk
widened. "'Less ya got it 'tween yer legs. Ya want to show us
that ID?"
Jordan flushed with shame and anger at a second round of
sniggering. "Of course, I don't have it on me," she
snapped only barely avoiding adding "you moron."
she gestured toward the property house. "I can show
you where if you let us into...."
"Just let you steal some clothes," the deputy suggested. "And I'm
sure you will both be right back if we do." He shook his head.
"How dumb y'all figure we are?" He nodded to some of his men.
"Let's be having them bridled," the deputy barked. "I'm done
hearing her chatter."
"No, you have to let me explain," Jordan cried as more hands
reached for her and for Carol. "You're making a mistake.
No...please.... Don-."
The last was cut of as a sturdy wooden bit wrapped in leather that
tasted like it had been dropped in either sheep dip or old piss was
forced into her mouth.
The two girls were pushed down into the dirt. Jordan watched in
stunned disbelief as the one of the men dismounted and reached
into his saddle bag to retrieve two sets of antique handcuffs.
"Ya want we should call a wagon?" one of the other deputies asked
once Jordan and Carol were secured.
"I don't think we need a wagon," the officer said. As he spoke,
he ran his hands freely up and down Jordan's legs the same way a
man might test a pony he was thinking of buying.
"Its only 3-4 miles to the farm, these fine little fillies can run
behind our horses. Just a short trot."
>>SCENE 8:
Epilogue: One year later. Lynsey wearing little more than a bra and g-string cruised through the strip bar, looking for someone to buy a lap dance from her.
She was dressed in very little, teeteringly high spiked heels, a thong which revealed far more than it concealed, and a too short, too sheer tank top whose fabric revealed her heavy nipple rings and which didn't quite manage to cover the undersides of her breasts. Her breasts were slightly larger, after a few months, they had gotten bored and had them enlarged. They looked impressive now, but still not quite outrageous. There was a heavy matching ring in her navel, and another pair of labia rings not quite concealed by her thong. A discerning observer might have noticed that her lips had been artificially enhanced, though not to an outrageous degree, or they might notice a discrete but very clear branding scar on her ass. There was a line of chinese characters in heavy black across the small of her back, just above her tailbone, which translated as a series of instructions to excite and inflame anyone who might have been able to read them.
Apart from that, Lynsey had changed very little physically. She was much the same. Oh, she was definitely more toned and fit, more flexible and limber, her skin and hair shone from careful attention, after all, her masters were very attentive to their investment. But anyone from her old days would have recognized her in a second, and sometimes they did... with invariably interesting consequences.
She made eye contact with a customer, and slid smoothly over to sit on his lap, briefly working his knee against her pubic mound as she did so. Her nipples hardened automatically.
"How you doing, honey," she purred, smiling. She'd been taught to purr and smile, taught to always look sexy and inviting. It was second nature to her now. In fact, if she'd thought about it, she might not have been sure that she knew how, any longer, to turn it off.
She ran her fingertips through his hair, and then down the front of his shirt, and then down into his crotch where she probed at his cock. She felt it twitch under her fingers, felt him squirm a little.
"You want a little dance," she purred, "I'm very good. You won't be disappointed."
Her masters had taught her very well the consequences of any sort of disappointment. She had learned to do whatever she had to not to disappoint. She'd become very good at it. If Lynsey had not changed too much physically, the changes internally had been profound. She was now a very willing, very eager, very desperate fuck toy, it defined her, it was the sum total of her identity and of her imagination. She literally could not even conceive of being anything else, her horizons encompassed only cocks ringing her universe, penetrating her.
"Maybe later," the man said.
Lynsey assessed it. He'd just come in. Let him watch a few shows, get a few drinks in him... She leaned down, stroking his cock into half life.
"That's cool, remember me when you want a good time."
Lynsey drifted off looking for the next one. She had a quota to meet after all, the Masters expected a minimum from her every night. Over there?
This one was willing. Smiling, she lead him up to the private booths, past the bouncer, who nodded without looking at her. She had sucked his cock earlier, and now that he'd relieved himself of his load, he wasn't particularly interested in her or any of the girls..
The club liked her, she was their hardest worker. The other girls liked her a lot less, she kept to herself, she didn't chat with them much, she just worked and worked. There were rumours that she did more than she was supposed to. That was bad for their business.
The truth was that Lynsey did anything and everything. She didn't think about it much. Certainly, she worked at not thinking about her old life at all. This was her life, for better or worse.
On the stairs, her cell phone rang. It was Mike of course. The phone was dedicated, only her Masters could call in, and she could only call out to a single number.
"Hey bitch," he said, not bothering with pleasantries. "You're quitting early tonight, I'll pick you up at 11:00. I've lined up a dog show for you, german shepherd, guy wants a private video. Wear the black one piece, fishnets, and some goth makeup." He hung up. There was no question of her agreeing or disagreeing, no details to be worked out, no mutual respect. He gave orders and she obeyed, so nothing else was needed.
She nodded unconsciously, and put the phone away.
"Who was that," the client said, reaching up behind to feel her ass.
She smiled back at him, leaning her ass into his palm. "Just an appointment, nothing to worry about."
Lynsey was now an income producing property. She worked almost non-stop, her time divided between two strip clubs and a lucrative but erratic escort business. In fact, they were making quite a bit of money off of her. They made her understand that was now her duty, her mission, to make them money, to make them as much money as she could. If she made them money, she came, she came a lot. If she didn't.... She shivered at the thought. She preferred to come.
Her owners certainly never wondered or cared about her wishes, or whether she had deserved what they'd done. The justice of what they had done to Lynsey was established by the fact that they could do it to her. Their ability to do it meant simply that she had deserved it all. Somewhere along the line, while breaking her utterly, they'd ceased to think of her as human, but merely as an odd sort of property.
This didn't mean that they hated her. Indeed, they all felt a vague sort of fondness for her. After all, she was the one who had brought them together, had united them with purpose, had been the canvas on which they had perfected their techniques. They had other victims now, other income producing properties, but in a sense Lynsey was special because she was the first.
They had plans for her. With careful maintenance, adequate diet and sleep, and perhaps minimal cosmetics and surgery, and of course avoiding damage or scarring that would reduce her earning potential, she would go on to be a valuable income producing property well into her forties.
After that, of course, her looks and body would deteriorate quickly, her price would drop, it would be time for hard and intensive use, perhaps more dramatic cosmetic surgery, burning her out to produce another ten years of productive revenue. A cheaper fuck, a more desperate fuck, her reduced earning power being compensated by heavier and harder use, more fucks, more brutal fucks, more degenerate acts, cigarettes and whips and other cruelties whose scarring was now financially worth the damage it did to her already dropping market value. By the end, there wouldn't be much left to her.
At that point, she'd be offloaded to some desperate low end pimp willing to squeeze a few dollars out of her worn and used up carcass, she'd spend her days, if she lasted much longer, in some menial position, wiping the semen from peep show booths or cleaning the urinals in some filthy bar. If she lasted that long, if she lived that long.