 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 19 - Some Fresh Meat Goes into the Grinder
It was the last day of school and lovely Kyla was upset. She stood at the office, waiting for her appointment with the principal. Kyla hadn't done very well in the last semester. She did superbly with male teachers, but unfortunately had received all female teachers for the last semester. Her marks had plummeted. She had repeatedly requested a change of teacher and each time got even worse female ones. She suspected that Candance, the school secretary, had something to do with that.
She was right. Her rival Charlene had maliciously bribed Candance into making sure that Kyla's schedule contained only female teachers. When Kyla wanted a schedule change, Candance asked Charlene about it and rich bitch Charlene was happy to slip her a few more bucks to make sure that Kyla was assigned someone like Miss McGinty, a heavyset ex-marine drill sergeant, keeping her firmly with an unsympathetic all-female teaching regime.
Kyla stared at Candance who stared back at her with bland innocence.
"Hey, Candy! I hear that you have a lot to do with deciding a student's schedule."
Stifling a fear that she had been found out, twenty-four year old Candance coolly studied the insolent eighteen year old with her green eyes.
"My name is Candance and the computer decides the schedule."
Kyla was breezily insolent.
"Whatever, Candy. My computer nerd friends say that computers only do what people tell them to. You tell it what to do, so coming up with only female teachers is your fault."
Kyla actually wasn't too sure of this technical stuff, but she watched Candance carefully to see how she reacted to the accusation. Candance's green eyes shifted guiltily as she replied.
"I repeat, the computer decides based on its programming. I don't program it. I just feed it your course requests."
Candance decided that the best defence was a good offence.
"What's wrong with female teachers? Aren't you smart enough to understand what they're saying?"
Abandoning any pretence of tact, Kyla released her inner bitch.
"Bad things can happen to smart-asses, Candy. Somebody might sprinkle itching powder into the spare bra and panties that you probably carry in that gym bag. They could drop some sharp tacks into your boots on the mat there for an ouch-y surprise when you take off those high heels and pull on your boots to go home. They could squirt water on the back of your dress, aiming exactly for where you can't see it. When you walk down the hallway everybody will think you've peed your panties. Better yet, someone could squirt some pig's blood down the back of your dress so it looks like you're having a really bad period and are too stupid to stopper it up properly."
Candance scowled.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're an unpleasant child?"
Kyla wasn't done.
"And you're a short little runt. How tall are you? Five foot four? Just barely tall enough to stare me in the tits."
She eyed Candance's bosom and laughed derisively.
"36C is my guess if they're real and not padded. Well, I'm a D cup myself and not a piddling 36 either. And that hair! Fashion tip, Candy: if you're going to dye your hair, blond beats brunette."
The principal opened his office door and poked his head out. Instantly, Kyla favoured him with a radiant smile of cloying sweetness. She adopted a sugary little-girl voice.
"Mr. Houseman, sir? I think that there's been a serious error with my marks."
Mr. Houseman looked at the young beauty indulgently.
"These stupid computers are always making mistakes. It's the curse of the age! I know that you're a good student, Kyla. Come in to my office and let's see what we can do to straighten it out."
Behind his back, Kyla shot Candance a self-satisfied smirk and surreptitiously flipped her the bird. She sauntered confidently into the principal's office to wrap Mr. Houseman around her little finger. Candance was glad that it was the last day of school and that she would be moving to a much more interesting and very well-paying summer job. Putting up with snotty teen queens like Kyla was getting a bit wearing and all those threats were vaguely worrisome.
She moved her gym bag and boots to behind the counter where she could keep a better eye on them and felt the back of her dress for dampness. To her relief, it was dry. She picked up her gleaming patent leather high-heeled boots, looked inside, turned them upside down and shook them. No tacks fell out. Relieved, Candance felt that her problems with Kyla were over.
She was, of course, sadly mistaken.
* * * * * * * * * *
The next day was the beginning of summer vacation. On board Sheik Rashid's private jet, Ilsa primly pulled down the woman's slacks and panties just enough to bare her bum. Then she set to work.
Her bound victim moaned through her ring gag as Ilsa picked up a thick hardwood paddle and positioned herself carefully. The ring gag was an O made of stainless steel, held in place inside her mouth behind her teeth, selected for maximum size to open her jaws achingly wide. A thick leather strap attached to either side of the O bit into the sides of her mouth and buckled behind her head, holding the gag in position. The ring gag discouraged backchat while facilitating the emission of crystal clear screams and, as occasion required, projectile vomiting. It also forced a victim to drool continuously. This was no problem. Ilsa had no objection to a victim looking and feeling like a helpless dribbling idiot.
The woman's beautifully rounded, lily-white butt cheeks twitched and tightened, dimpling nicely with each loud smacking kiss of the hardwood paddle. The hardwood paddle was narrow. That, combined with the convex curve of its surface, concentrated the force of its blows perfectly and painfully on quivering, perfectly rounded ass globes. Hands bound over her head; the bare bummed beauty was stretched out and strapped firmly in place facedown on a narrow, studded leather spanking table. She grunted with each stroke. Her jerking bare butt cheeks turned a deeper shade of red with each crisp slap of the paddle on her shapely derriere.
The paddling was skilfully done. The angle and placement of the strokes on her bouncing, clenching ass globes was varied constantly, shellacking the three muscles of her naked buttocks with a brutal equality. As the paddling progressed and the deep bruising began, the woman began to jerk violently, arching up against the restraining straps with each stroke, screaming shrilly out of the ring gag. Sweat stains appeared on her silk blouse around each armpit and over the small of her back as she strained mightily against the creaking leather straps with each flaming kiss of the hardwood paddle.
When her victim's ass globes were burning a deep dark red all over, Ilsa stopped. She rested her palm on her victim's backside. The smoothly rounded, unbroken skin was swollen and feverishly hot to the touch.
Delicately, she pulled the woman's elegant white silk panties back up, so that her burning bum was covered. She pulled the woman's form-fitting tailor made slacks back up to her waist so that she was decent once more.
Ilsa grabbed a fistful of the woman's chestnut hair and pulled her carefully made up, albeit tearstained, face from the table.
"That was lesson number one. Lesson number two begins immediately."
Ilsa took a red rubber feeding tube from the adjacent table and rammed it into the woman's nostril, pushing more and more of the feeding tube into her nose. The woman gagged when the tube touched the back of her throat. Ilsa withdrew the tube slightly and then forced it in again, making her victim retch violently. The woman in the expensive navy blue business suit hadn't eaten in a while. Nevertheless, a small quantity of bitter green vomit burned up her throat, sprayed from the ring gag and dribbled down her chin.
Against her every desire, the frantically resisting woman felt the rubber tube slide past the back of her tongue and down her throat, and knew it was in her esophagus. Ilsa poured a huge quantity of warm strong coffee down the feeding tube. The woman felt her stomach expand queasily until it was unpleasantly full.
"Lesson number two is an exercise in bladder control."
Sheik Rashid had been watching the woman's contorted, wild-eyed face intently, studying her reactions with interest, savouring every gasp and whimper. He laughed and applauded.
"Excellent work, Ilsa! I know how hard it is to be a Master. The Dominant One has to do the lion's share of the work thinking up things to amuse and entertain. There's a lot of pressure to always be coming up with new tricks. The victim has the easy part. All she has to do is react! I can tell from the look in her eyes that this insolent TV reporter knows that no matter how hard she resists, you have engineered it so that she will soon be peeing in her panties while everybody watches and the cameras record her humiliation for posterity."
Gratified at this recognition of her expertise and effort, Ilsa thoughtfully made sure that one camera was focussed on her victim's pink sweating face and that another could get a good crotch shot between her victim's slightly spread legs.
Elsewhere, Laura roared up to her house in a soon-to-be-repossessed red sports car, squealing to a stop and raising a cloud of dust. She pounded the padded steering wheel in frustration, upset at having missed the limo. Laura could have sworn that the other drivers had been deliberately blocking her small sports car from getting back in time by forcing her to miss her exit from the freeway. As a result, she had to go far out of her way, hence her lateness. It was almost like it was a plot to separate her from Kyla.
She went to the kitchen and read Kyla's note telling her tardy mom not to have a cow, but that the limo had left already. It had picked up Kyla who had left a snarky little message advising her 'venerable ancestor' that another limo would be sent for her when she finally condescended to show up, leaving her a telephone number to phone for a pickup.
Identical in many ways, Laura and Kyla had been brought up in the catty, mean-spirited world of the beauty contest. Both mother and daughter were totally comfortable with mealy-mouthed hypocrisy. In their hands it was a lethal weapon. Intensely competitive, Laura hated the idea of her young daughter stealing a march on her with the Sheik. God knows she desperately needed to impress him. To start off by being late wasn't helping. She swallowed her frustration as Ilsa greeted her at the airport.
Ilsa ushered Laura aboard the gigantic luxury jet.
"The Sheik really likes Kyla's looks which she and Cheryl obviously got from you. He's talking with young Kyla right now."
She put a small, subtle emphasis on the 'young'. This touched a rather sensitive nerve in Laura who in addition to her recent humiliations, had retired from modelling because she felt that her full-figured good looks could no longer compete with the skinny 16-year-olds that were the fashion ideal. Ilsa noted her brief flash of discomfiture with satisfaction. The detective's report had been dead right. The stunning beauty was more than a bit touchy about getting older.
"After I give you a tour of the Sheik's jumbo jet, I'll take you to them."
Laura cleared her throat impatiently.
"Um, maybe you could take me to the Sheik right now to make my apologies for being late."
Ilsa was firm.
"It's important for you to know your way around the plane. The Sheik gets irritated if people bother him with what he regards as foolish questions that he thinks they should already know the answers to, like where the woman's restroom is."
Seeing that Laura was about to argue further, Ilsa hastened to provide a small modicum of reassurance.
"It's a long flight to the Middle East. You'll have plenty of time to make the Sheik's acquaintance."
Ilsa winked slyly and dangled a carrot.
"I can tell you a few things about your host that will be extremely helpful for you to know before you meet him, things that Kyla with her youthful inexperience hasn't a clue about."
Fascinated with this useful possibility, Laura acquiesced.
They buckled up briefly while the plane took off and then Ilsa showed Laura some of the many wonders of the huge jumbo jet, where everything was and how to get around. Well, almost everything. If pretty Laura had been a bit better with the mental imaging, she would have realised that a few soundproofed rooms were missing from Ilsa's overview. For example, a room in which an insolent TV reporter was learning lesson number three from Gretchen while strapped firmly in a barber's chair.
There are two things that all people who appear regularly in front of the TV cameras always possess: pride and dignity. Lesson number three was about a losing struggle to maintain dignity in front of the cameras filming her. It was extremely difficult for the insolent reporter to retain any semblance of either pride or dignity while sitting in a sweat-stained blouse on a deeply bruised bum with a huge pee stain at the crotch of her slacks and drooling out of her ring gag. Not that lesson one, being publicly spanked on her bare bum, or lesson two, peeing in her panties while everyone watched, had done much for her self-esteem.
Television personalities are often picked for their photogenic good looks so there was a certain peacock pride in her personal appearance to be dealt with. Using a small wet sponge, Gretchen scrubbed vigorously to remove every trace of the reporter's make-up, robbing her pale face of every iota of colour as she wiped away mascara, blush and lipstick. She mimicked a fashion consultant.
"We're trying for the total billiard ball look."
Saying which, Gretchen picked up an electric shaver and sheared her victim
like a sheep. Chestnut hair fell in huge clumps as it was shaved from her head.
The insolent TV reporter's eyes were drawn automatically to the TV monitor
where she could only stare in shocked horror at the stubble that was all that
remained of her once glorious chestnut mane.
Gretchen lathered up her scalp, working the lather into her stubble with her fingers. She held the straight razor on front of the insolent TV reporter's despairing eyes.
"Hold very still. The blade is extremely sharp. I wouldn't want to cut your jugular by mistake!"
The reporter froze in her seat. She took deep breaths, not uttering a peep as Gretchen painstakingly razored every hair from her head. It was a close shave that made her scalp burn. Gretchen lathered up each eyebrow and smoothly sliced it off.
"What beautiful long eyelashes you have!"
Gretchen picked up a pair of tweezers.
"Hold still again. You wouldn't want to lose an eye."
Gripping the eyelashes in small clumps, she jerked them out with the joy of a child sadistically pulling the wings from a fly.
Some challenges are definitely uphill work. The TV reporter took a horrified look at the bald pasty-faced clown staring back at her from the monitor and burst into tears, bawling like a baby.
Ilsa was open, friendly and enthusiastic as she showed Laura the many facilities and features of the plane: the greenhouse, the fountains, some delicious samples of the superb cuisine and the party room. Laura was amazed.
Ilsa inspected Laura's prim form-fitting tailor-made outfit and gave her a sly look.
"That outfit is good enough for the street, but I think you should know. Young Kyla changed once she got on the plane and is dressed rather daringly. You remember that see-through outfit that she purchased at the store? The naughty little minx is wearing it as we speak."
Ilsa saw Laura's eyes narrow in a competitive way that warmed the cockles of her crotch. She adopted a confidential, conspiratorial air.
"You know what the Sheik really likes? It takes a woman of experience and poise to bring it off."
Ilsa was gratified to see that she had captured Laura's attention completely.
"He likes the Bondage Babe look. You know those outfits that are all leather straps? Wear one of those with spike-heeled ankle boots. He likes experienced, knowledgeable women who are very naughty indeed."
Ilsa winked slyly at her.
"It's no coincidence that I have one¡ if you're interested. It's all straps so it's adjustable to any figure. Wearing that, I'm sure that you can beat out a teenager no matter how much she bats her eyes, jiggles her tits and flashes him a bit of nipple. Want to show up your young daughter and show the Sheik what a real woman is like, a woman of experience and sexual sophistication, the sort of woman he craves?"
Ilsa nudged her coyly.
"If you're willing to wear this little outfit, I think that I can get your daughter out of the way so you can have some one-on-one time with the Sheik. How about it?"
Laura was very interested indeed.
In the meantime, Sheik Rashid chatted amiably with young Kyla, who was doing her very best to seem a woman of the world who hobnobbed with men of wealth on a daily basis.
He had brought up a topic all teenagers can relate to. Eighteen-year-old Kyla vigorously trashed all her teachers at high school with catty viciousness.
While Kyla dumped on all her teachers, Sheik Rashid eyed her semi-transparent clinging dress appreciatively. It definitely revealed more than it concealed. Going bra-less gave her lots of jiggle and showed off her large nipples. Especially when backlit, her tight cuntlips and aureolae were clearly visible, pressing firmly against the fine body-hugging material. From the way she positioned her torso in profile and spread her legs as she turned to face him, he was certain that the sly little minx knew all about backlighting.
It was definitely time to move the conversation to more intimate topics.
"I'm always interested in how young people think. I have a rather risqu¨¦ joke to tell about your playwright George Bernard Shaw."
Kyla's big blue eyes flashed provocatively.
"Fire away!"
Rashid looked deep into her big blue eyes and arched an eyebrow roguishly.
"He was sitting at a dinner party next to a very prim and proper English Lady. He turned to her and asked 'would you sleep with a man for 10 million dollars'?"
Kyla smiled radiantly. This was her sort of joke all right.
"The prim English Lady says 'of course'!"
The Sheik winked at Kyla.
"Then he asked 'would you do it for fifty cents'?"
The Sheik spread his hands dramatically.
"The Lady was outraged and indignant as she replied 'of course not!
What do you think I am?'"
Sheik Rashid smiled urbanely.
"To which Mr. Shaw replied: 'we've already established what you are. We are merely negotiating the price!'"
Kyla snickered appreciatively. She liked the way this conversation was going. She gripped his arm briefly as she bent over in laughter, playing a little touchy-feely to push things along.
"Good one! All good-looking women are whores. The rest are jealous because they have nothing to offer!"
Sheik Rashid poked her playfully in the ribs.
"Surely beautiful women are like rare jewels and the rest are lumps of coal."
"Very true! There are whole truckloads of coal out there! Us rare jewels command top dollar."
"What do you mean by 'trucks', there are whole trainloads and super-tankers full of cheap coal out there!"
They both had a good chuckle. No matter how hard Sheik Rashid squeezed a piece of coal; it never turned into a diamond. However, he did like squeezing the diamonds. He squeezed Kyla's upper arm gently.
"I notice that your ears and bellybutton are pierced. Have you thought of doing anything more? A tongue stud, nipple rings, tattoos?"
Self-absorbed Kyla was always happy to talk about herself.
"Eeeewwww! Those are for really trampy sluts! I know a few girls at school who are into body piercing and it sucks bigtime. They're just trying to do something interesting to attract attention to themselves because they don't have great bodies. Those tongue studs make them sound like total retards when they talk! They're supposed to be good for BJs, but that just does stuff for the guy, not for me! And don't even mention tattoos. The same ugly sluts have them for the same reason. A fashion model can't afford to have her body marked up that way."
Kyla smiled perkily.
"Did I mention that I'm a fashion model?"
In another room, Ilsa was showing Laura her leather strap outfit.
"It's brand new! Never been used before! I'll help you put it on."
Laura laughed.
"I've worn more revealing things on the fashion runway. It can't do any harm to try it on. If it doesn't work for me, we'll just pick something else to make my grand entrance in!"
Laura stripped with the shameless insouciance of a high fashion model who, as a matter of routine, has exhibited her most intimate body parts to large audiences with the cameras zooming in for close-ups of a turgid nipple or a nicely dimpled derriere. When she was gloriously naked, she pirouetted gracefully for Ilsa.
"Not bad for an old broad, eh?"
Ilsa inspected Laura's nicely tanned body from her high-cheekboned, heartbreakingly lovely face with big blue eyes and fine blond hair right down to her perfect little toes. Large breasts with no trace of sag, big red perfectly shaped nipples, a flat belly, tight buns, a smooth shaven pussy and the long elegant legs all made a delightful package.
"Lady, you've got 99.9999% of the female population beaten senseless! They couldn't compete!"
Pleased, Laura sat down, parked her bare bum on a well-padded chair, pointed her toes prettily, pulled on the spike heeled black ankle boots and laced them up. The heels were so high that she was practically walking on tiptoe, but Laura had been balancing in spike heels most of her working life so this was no new challenge. The difference between high fashion and complete sluttiness has always been a very fine line indeed. She stood up and sauntered about sexily, looking like a very high-priced call girl.
Ilsa explained how the straps fit onto the naked female torso.
"The thicker strap down the back is the 'backbone' that holds it all together. So we start off by hanging that down your back while we buckle up the leather collar at the top that holds it in place. It's a nice thick collar that forces you to hold your chin up and present your torso nicely. I'll buckle it up so that it's snug, but doesn't cut off too much blood to the brain. We wouldn't want you passing out!"
Laura laughed agreeably.
"We wouldn't want that. I got dizzy and fell down on a runway in Milan
once when a dresser fastened a bow tie around my throat too tightly. I felt
like a complete idiot and the rankest of rank amateurs."
"The thick studded belt around your waist has to be cinched pretty tight,
so you'll have to keep your belly sucked in."
"No problem! I work out at the gym three times a week to keep my girlish figure."
It was a pleasure dealing with someone who was experienced at handling the daring and discomfort of a serious female fashion statement. Ilsa slid the waist belt down, adjusting its position on the 'backbone' until it was at the slimmest point of Laura's waist and pulled it tight. A deep breath was now out of the question, so Laura breathed in shallow pants.
"This strap goes over your breasts. There's a small clip inside each of these round metal covers that slide along it to cover your nipples. The clips snap onto your teats. They serve the dual purpose of covering up those yummy big nipples of yours and preventing the strap from popping loose."
Ilsa smiled pleasantly.
"You should clip them on yourself. There's a small screw on each clip so that you can tighten it. You've got lots of jiggle so I'd recommend you tighten it as much as possible. If it pops loose, I guess it's a lot like falling down on that runway in Milan - embarrassing and not too professional."
"Whatever happened to pasties?"
"The studded belt and metal covers are heavy. If we used glue strong enough to hold them in place you wouldn't be happy with the removal process. Anyway, this won't be for long. You just want to make a dynamite first impression and then you can slip into that delightful leather vest and leather miniskirt combo that you selected at the clothing store the other day. I mentioned it to the Sheik and he seemed interested."
This was valuable information.
"Oh really? Is the Sheik into leather?"
Ilsa nodded emphatically.
"As your daughter would say: bigtime!"
Laura giggled. She twisted the screw on the nipple clamps, her giggle changing to a grimace as she tightened them brutally to avoid embarrassment. Ilsa buckled up the two slim straps that encircled Laura's torso just above and just below her quivering titmeat.
The 'backbone' piece of leather tapered into a crotch strap. Ilsa threaded on a slim triangular piece that fit snugly into Laura's butt crack.
"This has a small anal insert to hold it in position, Laura. That's so it doesn't slip up and down in your butt crack along the crotch strap. I'll just grease it up and slip it in."
Laura breathed in sharply as the smoothly rounded metal rod was poked into her anus.
"Wow! That's what I call a rather intimate item of apparel!"
Ilsa smiled reassuringly.
"Next is the crotch cover. I think you'll rather like this. Its design holds it in place."
Laura obligingly spread her legs as Ilsa slid the slim crotch cover onto the strap. The inside of the crotch cover was a V-shaped ridge with a line of beading along the top of the V that would fit into Laura's slit, parting her cuntlips. It had a small, soft, cunningly shaped, subtly vibrating nubbin protruding from one end to tickle her clit with every step.
Ilsa threaded the crotch strap through a stainless steel loop hanging from the front of the waist belt. She looped the crotch strap back upon itself and snugged it tight.
Laura's big blue eyes popped open and she breathed in sharply as the lubricated V-shaped crotch cover burrowed into her slit. In the process, it parted and cupped her cuntlips. The vibrating nubbin quivered delicately against her clit.
"God! That's great!"
Ilsa smirked smugly.
"Try walking!"
The exaggerated hip swings of Laura's runway model walk meant that the superbly designed crotch cover massaged her cuntlips and rubbed her rapidly stiffening clit ecstatically with each step.
"I'm not too keen on the nipple clips. It feels like my teats are on fire, but the rest is exquisite! The only problem is that it's pretty distracting. I'm not sure that I can walk and talk at the same time!"
She looked down at the waist belt curiously.
"What are these metal rings on each side used for?"
Ilsa grinned.
"The handcuffs. It's part of the Total Look. Want to try it?"
Laura was bold.
"If it's part of the Total Look, I guess I have to! I'm a sucker for an extreme fashion statement! The more outrageous the better!"
Ilsa nodded approvingly as she produced two pairs of handcuffs.
"It really completes the Bondage Babe theme. The Sheik's going to love this!"
Ilsa cuffed Laura's wrists to her sides. She snapped one cuff snugly around Laura's right wrist and the other cuff to the belt ring on her right side. She did the same with the other pair of handcuffs, cuffing her left wrist to her left belt ring.
Laura turned in front of the full-length mirror, inspecting herself critically. She looked the perfect Bondage Bitch.
"Are you sure that it's not too much?"
"Positive! Since when does understated ever work with men? You have to hit them right in the gonads with something totally outrageous!"
Laura sniggered.
"Too true!"
Ilsa dangled a huge carrot.
"The Sheik gives huge bonuses at the end of the month for women that please him. The sum I mentioned earlier is just the base salary. We're talking about being rewarded with real diamonds the size of walnuts. You'll be set up for life, no matter how extravagant your lifestyle."
Laura's beautiful blue eyes gleamed with greed.
"I have to warn you that the Sheik is an extremely demanding master."
Like her daughter, Laura could fuck like a mink. She spoke confidently.
"Don't worry. I've satisfied some of the fiercest horndogs ever born."
Ilsa smirked smugly.
"Then wait here a second! I'll cut the Teen Angel out of the picture to make way for a real woman!"
Ilsa entered the party room and approached the Sheik and Kyla, smiling brightly.
"Sheik Rashid! You asked me to remind you about the video conference with some of your OPEC colleagues."
A fountain suddenly splashed to life next to them. Kyla stared in fascination at the splashing, burbling, splendorous fountain carefully backlit to produce a multitude of miniature rainbows shimmering prettily in the spray. With Kyla's attention briefly diverted, Ilsa slipped the Sheik a sly wink. Rashid grinned and turned to Kyla.
"It seems that I have a most important meeting and must, alas, leave you temporarily. Have you considered the offer Ilsa mentioned to you about a position as a 'companion'?"
Kyla's blue eyes narrowed to greedy slits.
"I have no problem with accepting that sort of offer."
Rashid laughed delightedly and turned to Ilsa.
"Perhaps you would care to earn a generous advance by posing for some nude, lewd and rude photos while I attend the meeting and then talk with your mother."
Kyla looked a little concerned.
"Um. You wouldn't show these pictures to my mother, would you?"
"The pictures are for my own enjoyment, not your mother's."
Kyla accepted this slightly ambiguous response, not realizing that the Sheik's enjoyment of nude pictures might include showing them to her mother and enjoying her reaction as well. She had another concern.
"If I totally accept your offer to be a 'companion', and I'm strongly tempted, there's a small problem called 'mom'. How do we get her out of the picture while I service you?"
"I'll tell your mother that you and Cheryl are going off on an adventurous tour together and have my servants amuse her while you amuse me!"
Kyla brought a teenager's expertise in conning adults (especially darkly suspicious mothers) to bear on this trifling problem.
"Mom hates the sun. She claims it ages her skin and gives her wrinkles. Tell her we're going to see camel races in the dusty, blazing desert sun."
Rashid smiled happily.
"Agreed! Ilsa, show her the diamonds for the pictures. Kyla, if I'm satisfied with the result, then I'll get your mom out of the way and you can become my 'companion' for a month. After you show her the diamonds, Ilsa, introduce her to my photographer. Gretchen is world famous for her sexually sophisticated nude portraits."
Kyla smirked lewdly.
"You won't regret this."
Sheik Rashid was a gallant horndog.
"I only regret missed opportunities and this one is too good to pass up!"
In another part of the plane, Gretchen had moved to teaching the insolent TV reporter lesson number four. Sliding wildly down the slippery slope to total degradation, the insolent reporter stank of sweat, piss and vomit. The ring gag kept her mouth propped wide open so that she was drooling steadily onto her blouse and gaping like a particularly vapid fish. The badly shaken female stood before Gretchen, still fully dressed with her wrists bound behind her and her dainty ankles strapped together. Gretchen unbuttoned the bald babe's expensive form-fitting white silk blouse and opened it wide to reveal the white bra underneath. She flourished the straight razor. The insolent reporter eyed it apprehensively.
"Remember this?"
The bald reporter nodded nervously. How could she forget?
"It has other uses than making your head as smooth as a billiard ball."
Gretchen slipped the razor under each bra strap and sliced upwards.
Gretchen grinned as she pulled up on the blouse, untucking it all around. The reporter shivered as she felt the smooth silk brush against her bare skin as her sweat-stained blouse slid out from the waistband of her pee-stained slacks. Gretchen reached up the back of the bitch's blouse and unhooked her bra.
"Let's see what you have to offer."
She held the tit warmed bra in her hands and admired the insolent reporter's full, ripe breasts. Pale pink, slightly upturned nipples that were almost the same colour as the surrounding skin slowly hardened in the cool, air-conditioned air of the plane. Gretchen approved.
"Perfect! It will make lesson number four so much easier to teach."
Gretchen picked up a remote control and pressed a button. The reporter raised her big brown eyes upwards as an electric motor hummed overhead. Two small nooses lowered from the ceiling and stopped, dangling suggestively in front of her bare breasts.
She whimpered as Gretchen noosed the base of each breast. She squealed as Gretchen snugged each noose brutally tight and pressed another button on the remote. The powerful motor purred smoothly and the nooses pulled upwards.
Her tits were cinched even tighter as she was slowly, relentlessly pulled upwards by her tightly stretched breasts. The heels of her shiny black high heels left the floor and Gretchen stopped the motor.
The insolent reporter's big brown eyes bulged as she pranced like a ballerina on the very tips of her toes trying to get up as high as she could to ease the relentless pressure on her burning chest. It felt like her obscenely bulging breasts were tearing inside, slowly ripping away from her sweating torso. Her tits turned an ever-deepening shade of purple. Her nipples grew obscenely huge as her tightly squeezed breasts ballooned.
Gretchen waited for her to stretch in a bit. The pink-faced reporter was sobbing continuously. A stream of snot dribbled stickily from her nostrils and disappeared into her gaping mouth. When it looked like her heels were about to touch the ground again, Gretchen cranked her up a notch.
Gretchen squatted down and felt the insolent reporter's calves through the expensive clinging fabric of her slacks, trembling as they strained to lift her as high as possible and ease the tearing pain in her breasts, which bulged like they were about to burst. Gretchen ran her hand appreciatively up the woman's tight thighs.
"You have good legs. You shouldn't cover them up."
Gretchen grinned into the woman's pleading, pain-filled eyes.
"Perhaps I'll give you a chance to remove your urine soaked slacks and panties so that you can spread your kegs and show everyone the goodies."
The insolent reporter winced as Gretchen patted her burning bum, still feeling
the heat of her recent spanking through the seat of her slacks. Gretchen had
some helpful advice.
"You shouldn't scrunch up your face like that. You'll give yourself wrinkles."
Gretchen sniggered.
"On the other hand, I guess a few wrinkles won't matter much. Once your tits finish stretching and tearing internally, they'll hang down to your waist like two empty flour sacks."
It would take a while for lesson number four to be fully learned. The insolent reporter groaned as Gretchen squeezed her aching ass globes and let her know a bit of her future so she could think about it while her ballooning tits stretched, turned purple and tore agonizingly.
"Lesson number five involves removing your teeth. That makes your face fall in like an old woman's."
As the insolent reporter's face crumpled in utter despair, Gretchen studied her text messaging cell phone, which had vibrated quietly, summoning her elsewhere.
"Well, I've got to go. You concentrate on learning lesson number four and think about how you'll handle lesson number five. Some life lessons can't be repeated so you have to get everything out of them the first time."
Gretchen looked concerned for her snuffling, sobbing victim.
"I hope for your sake that we don't hit any air pockets or turbulence. Your tits could be ripped right off your chest."
The insolent reporter wailed forlornly as Mistress Gretchen left her alone with the security cameras, which recorded her suffering with a cold impersonal eye.
The insolent reporter felt that when it came to being stripped of all dignity and self-respect, it could get no worse than this.
She was instantly disabused of this absurdly optimistic notion.
Two of the Sheik's heavyset Nubian guards entered the room. The insolent reporter whimpered pleadingly as her pants and panties were lowered. Her bruised burning butt cheeks were parted. A thick greased penile intruder began worming its way into her bruised, aching rectum.
While she was attempting to wrap her mind around the agonising anal rape, the strap binding her slim ankles together was unbuckled. Her thighs were parted until her knees were stretching her pee-stained panties tightly between them. This exposed her genitals without allowing her the freedom required to wrap her legs around her attacker to ease the burden on her tearing breasts as she bounced up and down helplessly. The Nubian in front began a painful unlubricated vaginal rape with his massive black member.
Crushed between the two massive black brutes, her burning holes stretched agonisingly and her tits feeling like they were being blowtorched from her chest, the insolent reporter began to scream high and hard. The ass-raping Nubian grinned.
"I can hardly wait to see what The Surgeon does to her."
The cunt-raping Nubian nodded amiably.
"Yeah, after he gets done operating, even her own mother won't recognise her."
As her vocal cords tore, the shrieking insolent reporter was forced to the realisation that, when it came to being stripped of dignity and self-respect, she still had a long downhill journey remaining.
|
|
|