Amy\'s Story

 

 

Warning ---this particular chapter is very gory and not for the faint of heart. :-)
 

 

 

 

 

Amy regarded her new Master through tear-reddened eyes.  "I'm far from home?  How far?"

Mr. Johnson smiled grimly, "I don't suppose it will hurt for you to know your physical location.  You are on my private estate in Egypt, and you will most likely spend the rest of your life here."

Sniffling, Amy leaned back against the wall and covered her breasts with her arms once again.  "And how long will that be?  Until you get tired of me?  Then what? You have some hired goons shoot me and bury me in the desert?"

Mr. Johnson shook his head, "No, that's not how it works at all.  There are several international organizations dedicated to the keeping of pleasure slaves, and each has their own rules.  The society I'm a member of, The Black Dragon, is one of the most elite, and has stringent rules regarding the keeping of pleasure slaves."

"It does?" Amy sniffled again.

"Yes.  All slaves kept by the members must be kept in good health. That means nutritious meals, free access to bathroom and shower facilities, and proper healthcare.  There are two ways a slave meets her end as a ward of The Black Dragon, barring accidents, of course. A slave that has reached the end of her usefulness - either as a pleasure slave or a trainer of pleasure slaves - will be euthanized, much the same way animals are euthanized, with a painless injection.  The other way is to be snuffed, that is, to basically be tortured to death for public amusement.  This is a punishment for slaves that commit the gravest of crimes, such as repeated refusal to obey her master despite numerous training sessions and punishments, attempting (or succeeding) to hurt her fellow slaves or her master, or repeated escape attempts.  There is a sort of fair each month, in a different location each time to protect our secrecy, for these slaves to be snuffed."

Amy's eyes were wide with horror, "You're lying..." she whispered.

Mr. Johnson simply shook his head, "You've seen the evidence of the power this society wields for yourself. Were you not snatched off the streets of your own town only to first find yourself in France, then Egypt.  You saw-"

"Wait!" Amy interupted, "When was I in France?"

"The auction." Mr. Johnson replied, slightly grated by the interuption, but ever aware of the fact that she was not yet trained and this sort of thing was to be expected.

"I was in France at the auction?  And now I'm in Egypt! How do you people move me around so quickly?" She whispered, clutching herself even tighter, seeking some sort of comfort.

"You've been drugged quite a lot over the past few weeks. According to your file-"

"I have a file?! Let me see it!" Amy demanded, jumping to her feet, then bracing herself against the counter as the room spun wildly around her for a moment.

"No. I will tell you what you need to know: From what I read, you were taken by three professional slave-snatchers (as the society calls them.) They were three brothers named Evan, Cain and James. These slave-snatchers are given specific targets, usually young, attractive girls with naturally submissive tendancies and no family connections so that there is no one to really kick up a fuss when they suddenly vanish without a trace.  You met two of three criteria, and so it was decided to take you as well."

"Two of three?" Amy asked, leaning against the wall.

"You're not a natural submissive, but that's quite alright.  From what I read, you're very intelligent and will learn quickly.  At any rate, all slaves taken from any nation, be it China, Germany, Australia, America or wherever, are transported to the auction house hidden in a private estate in the south of France.  The means of transportation varies. You, I believe, were kept heavily drugged and packed in ice inside a coffin, so customs officials would believe you were a corpse being returned to Europe for burial. Obviously, it worked. So, do you have any other questions?"

Amy sank back to the floor slowly, absorbing all the information she'd just been given.  "What happens if I get pregnant? Abortion?"

Again, Mr. Johnson shook his head. He always hated to be the one to tell new slaves this part. "I'm afraid you won't get pregnant. Ever.  Prior your arrival in France, you underwent a brief surgery called a tubal ligation which-"

"I know what it is." Amy snapped, tears welling up in her eyes.  "And I don't believe you, if I had a tubal ligation, there would be at least some lingering soreness and a scar or something, and I haven't had any of that."

"It was more than four weeks ago, and according to your file, your surgery was done with a laser.  If you feel your abdomen, you'll find two tiny scars, less than an inch long."

Amy put her hand to her belly automatically, and sure enough, there they were.  "Why wasn't there any pain?" She whispered.

"Like I've said, you've been kept drugged from the moment of your kidnapping, that's why you're so dizzy now, your body is becoming accustomed to not being drugged any longer.  Now, do you have any other questions?"

Amy shook her head mutely, tears running down her cheeks as she pressed a hand to her abdomen.

Mr. Johnson stood quietly, knowing it was best to leave his Kitten alone until she'd adjusted to the facts of her new life.  "You'll find blankets in the cupboards, and the bathroom facilities are under the stairs.  Someone will be down with some supper for you later.  Tomorrow you will be offered the chance to submit of your own free will, and be trained as a slave that way.  I recommend you take it, the alternative is not an easy path."

With those final words, Mr. Johnson padded up the stairs.

"Wait!" called Amy, holding up hand to stop him.  "I have one more question."

Mr. Johnson turned around, raising his eyebrows.

"How did your society find me?" She asked, looking him directly in the eye for the first time since they'd met.

"That, I do not know." He replied. "We have members all over the world, several in the American foster care system, perhaps that's how you were discovered.  It really does not matter now, though.  Take tonight to mourn your past life, tomorrow, a new life begins." With that, he stepped out of the room and softly closed the door behind him.

Amy heard the lock click, then crawled over to the cupboards, too exhausted to stand up and walk, and did indeed find] several soft blankets and a pillow.

Making a little nest for herself in the corner by the counter, Amy curled up in a tiny ball and sobbed, mourning the children she would never have and the life she would never lead. 

Hours later, one of Mr. Johnson's former slaves, now a trainer and housekeeper, brought Amy down a warm meal, and found her sound asleep.  Leaving the meal on the counter, the kindly woman turned off most off of the lights in the room, leaving only the warm glow of a nightlight by the toilet.

In the morning, Amy was abruptly awakened by the lights being snapped on and a brisque patting on her backside.

"Come on now, girl, it's time to get up!"

Amy moaned and covered her face with her arm and was rewarded with a sharp pinch.

"Now!" The voice carried the musical lilt of Ireland, belonged to an older woman, and had a parental tone that impossible to refuse.

Rolling over, Amy squinted at the bright light and made out a fuzzy figure bustling about the room. "Wh-what's going on?" She sat up and winced as the painful brand on her backside protested.

The woman handed Amy a bar of soap and a washcloth. "The Master will be down shortly, you'd best wash up."

Too sleepy to argue, Amy pushed herself to her feet and made her way to the little sink under the stairs and started washing. "Who are you?"

"Master named me Emerald, but everyone just calls me Emmy." Emmy offered Amy a bright smile.   "Now then, Master is going to come down and offer you his collar, he's very particular about his slaves accepting the collar of their own free will, if you won't, then he'll have to train you the hard way." She bustled around the room, folding Amy's blankets and stowing them back under the counter, wiping up seemingly invisible dirt and generally tidying the room.

"Master?" Amy echoed groggily as she scrubbed her armpits.

"Yes, you know, the large black man that spent a good portion of his time down here with you last night, trying to help you adjust to your new life. Oh, and I recommend you take the collar immediately rather than doing it the hard way, or you'll wind up with more than a sore backside."

Amy huffed indignantly, then started scrubbing her breasts.  Her sleepiness was starting to wear off now, and all the revelations of the previous day were coming back to her. Somehow, in the light of a new day (that being a figurative term as there were no windows in this tiny room), things didn't seem so bad, though. "I'm surprised he's even giving me a choice."

"Now don't be bad-mouthing him, you couldn't have a better master if you'd chosen yourself."  Emmy was dressed in a peach-colored knee-length skirt with a matching blouse, and though she appeared to be in her fifties, age had not diminished her loveliness. Her snow white hair was pulled into a neat bun, and her face was tastefully made up to bring out her brilliant green eyes. It was clear that in her youth, Emmy had been a real beauty.  Demonstrating the efficiency that kept her still valuable to her master, Emmy pulled a comb from her pocket and began working a month's worth of tangles from Amy's hair.

Though she winced and occasionally gasped as her hair was ruthlessly put in order, Amy stood did not protest. In truth, Emmy reminded Amy of her biological grandmother in many ways, right up to the slightly gruff manner hiding an obviously kind heart.

Through a hint of an Irish brogue, Emmy explained the procedure to Amy, "Once you're cleaned up and ready, you're to kneel in the middle of the room and wait quietly for him to arrive.  I'll stay here until he arrives, then you're on your own.  He'll make a little speech and offer you a silver collar, if you accept it, you're to take it from his hands and put around your neck yourself. If-"

"Wait, a collar as in a dog collar?" Amy spun around in shock.

Firmly, Emmy turned Amy back towards the sink and continued combing her hair, "yes, it's similar a dog collar.  And don't interupt, it's rude!"

"Sorry..." Amy murmured as her heart sank and the true reality of her situation sank in.  She was a slave.  There seemed to be no escape from this life that had been thrust upon her, and all her dreams of a life of her own were gone like so much mist on a windy day.

Ignoring her sudden melancholy, Emmy tied Amy's baby-fine blonde hair back in a long braid, then examined her for any lingering dirt.

"Alright, you look ready, lass.  Now, kneel in the middle of the room there, good.  I'll signal the Master that you're ready for him."  Emmy bustled across the room and rapped twice on the door, then came back to stand behind Amy.  "It's really not so bad, I've been Master's slave for 50 years, since I was 19, and though he doesn't keep me as a pleasure slave anymore I wouldn't change a moment of my life.  You have a good, long, purpose-filled life ahead of you, child.  Don't worry."

Amy nodded quietly, tears forming in her eyes as the door slowly swung open and Mr. Johnson entered carrying an ornate wooden box in his hands, followed by two muscular men dressed in flowing white caftans.

Jogging up the stairs with surprising ease for a woman of her age, Emmy stopped long enough to press an affectionate kiss on Mr. Johnson's cheek, then disappeared out of sight.

"Amy, henceforth known as Fucktoy, you are today being offered my collar.  It is an honor bestowed only upon a select few. Do you accept?"  He opened the case and revealed a plain, silver collar with "Fucktoy" inscribed on the front and held it out towards her.

Amy looked at the collar, then up into his eyes, unsure of what she should do. Biting her lip, she thought hard, mulling  over all the possibilities and finally decided she had to be true to herself.  "I do not."  She replied, her voice wavering slightly as he snapped the case shut and stepped back.  "I want to go home.  Look, if you just let me go, I won't tell anyone, I'll be quiet, I'll mmph!" 

Amy's voice was abruptly cut off as the men on either side of Mr. Johnson stepped forward and shoved a ball gag into her mouth without a moment's warning. Her arms were grabbed from either side and twisted roughly behind her back, causing her to grunt in pain through the gag.

"That is not an option, Fucktoy."  Mr. Johnson's voice was calm, but tinged with sadness.  "You will go to the Farm, a reeducation center nearby, where you will be trained to behave as a proper slave. I'm sorry you chose this path, but the choice has been made and there is no turning back now."

Turning around, he tucked the wooden case under his arm and walked up the stairs.  "Gentlemen, you all know the rules, do what you have to do." 

The men nodded at him, then held Amy still while two others joined them, one carrying what appeared to be a pile of leather straps, the other something resembling the plastic pet carriers used on planes.

Between the four of them, they pinned Amy onto her stomach and began putting the leather straps in place, all without a word.

As her arms were were strapped tightly together behind her, fingers to elbow, Amy watched the door close quietly behind Mr. Johnson, wondering why his obvious disappointment made her feel so guilty.

Once her arms were strapped firmly into place, one of the men kept Amy pinned down on the ground by pressing his knees onto her shoulders and his hands on her bare ass. Her legs were grabbed by one man each and bent so her heel was almost pressed against her bare ass, and the remaining man wound a leather strap around her ankle and thigh, she they were firmly pinned that way.

The men worked so quickly and in such perfect harmony with each other, all without speaking a word, there was really no opportunity for Amy to struggle.  Once her arms and legs were bound tightly, there was little she could do except twist a little, and all that did was earn her a sharp twist of one nipple.

Tears burning at the searing pan from the twisted nipple and the ache of the brand, Amy lost sight of what was going on for a moment. When her vision cleared, a leather harness had been buckled around her torso.  It consisted of a long strap running down the center of her body, right over her pubic mound and between her thighs, handily covering her cunt. The vertical strap was bisected horizontally with four other straps, one over her breasts, one under, one over her belly button and one over her hips that just so happened to rub her already sore brand, forcing her to hold as still as possible to keep from irritating the still-healing flesh.

Finally, a black leather collar with a silver dog tag dangling from it was buckled around her neck and the ball gag was attached to it, forcing her to keep her head tilted back at a distinctly uncomfortable angle.

Now firmly trussed to the point where she could barely move an inch, and feeling rather like a piece of meat, Amy watched as the top of the pet carrier was lifted off and set aside. 

The four men hoisted her inside the bottom half by each grabbing a random strap on the harness, then setting her down on her knees.  The leather straps forced her to kneel bent over at the waist with her head pulled back so she could see out the front metal door of the carrier while her full breasts pressed into her knees. 

As tears trickled down the helpless girl's cheeks, the top of the carrier was returned and bolted in place, then a lock placed on the metal door, making escape from the carrier virtually impossible, even if she could somehow manage to squirm out of the straps holding her in position. The carrier was hefted up to the shoulders of the four men and carried out of the room, reminding Amy of the pallbearers at her parents' funeral years ago. 

Amy watched through the cage door as they passed through a series of large, airy rooms, including a set of rooms apparently dedicated to Mr. Johnson's harem of pleasure slaves, all of them richly curvaceous and glowing with health, lounging naked or almost naked around the room while they chatted idly, played in the clear water of several fountains or simply munched on fresh fruit.

This was done, obviously, to show her exactly what she had just given up.

Amy sobbed pitifully, snot and drool running down her chin, as the carrier was taken outside and strapped into the back of a pickup truck. The truck was put into gear and headed down the road, forcing Amy to squeeze her eyes shut as dirt and dust flew up from the road beneath the tires.  Though she couldn't see him, she knew one of the men was behind the carrier, making sure it didn't fly off the bed of the truck on the various sharp turns and curves the driver negotiated at speeds that would have made a NASCAR driver nervous. The sun above was hotter than Amy had ever known possible, and she felt the beginnings of a nasty sunburn on the parts of her fair skin that the sun could reach through the ventilation holes in the top of the carrier.

The truck came to an abrupt stop, then turned around and backed up so that Amy was facing the exact direction the driver had just been facing.  All she could see was a hilltop dotted with grass and a few shrubs. At the top was a small platform with a crying girl being dragged atop it.

The man sitting in the bed of the truck scooted up so he sat beside the carrier, then spoke in fluent English accented with a hint of the Middle East.  "This is an official snuffing. This girl was at the Farm for six months and never did accept her training. If you do not give in in that time, you will share her fate."

Amy was forced to watch in silent, wide-eyed horror as the naked girl was forced to her knees on the platform.  All around her, Amy could hear feminine sobbing and occasionally she saw a flash of bare flesh, and she realized that there were many women at the Farm, all of them being trained to be pleasure slaves, and all being forced to witness this cruel execution.  Though she could not see it, some of the women were new like she was and bound in the same position, trapped in carriers on the back of pickup trucks or the trunks of cars.  Others simply stood calmly on leashes, watching as their sister in slavery faced her ultimate fate.

All were marked with various tattoos and piercings, and none had any hair below their eyebrows - some did not have any above, either.

The girl on the platform was pushed so her shoulders and chest were pressed to the platform, her head dangling over the edge, her ass high in the air. Several men clad only in the loose, flowing robes Amy associated with Arab nomads held the girl in this position while one stood behind the girl bearing a long metal pole with a point at one end.

Calmly, the man slid the pole into the wide-open, vulnerable sex of his quivering victim and made a few adjustments for alignment, all while the girl flexed her muscles uselessly and begged for another chance.

Ignoring her cries, the man with the pole gave it a sudden shove and almost all of the pole disappeared into the girls cunt, the end reappearing out her mouth along with a splash of blood and saliva, leaving her helplessly impaled.

Flipping her on her back with her head still hanging over the edge of the platform, and her arms and legs flailing helplessly, one of the men made a quick incision in her vulnerable throat and inserted a tracheotomy, enabling her to breathe, thus prolonging her death.

She was then brought to her feet and the pole locked in a vertical position, forcing the girl upright with her head tilted back, eyes to the sky.

Amy looked in horror at the sight, a young woman standing on her own two legs, impaled on a pole from her cunt to her mouth. The snuff victim was unbound, and theoretically she could have pushed herself up off the top of the pole; however, in reality, it was quite impossible. Shock from the sudden impalement made her weak, and the pole kept her from movign around enough to escape. Nonetheless, her arms were over her head, hands gripping the pole over her face as she tried to pull herself up and free of it.

Impalement was one of the slowest forms of snuffing, and the method of choice at the farm.  The metal pole did not harm any vital organs, instead pushing them aside as it followed the victim's spine up past the diaphragm, then sliding into the esophogus and the mouth.  Providing the victim was able to breathe, she would stand there for days, unable to escape, until she was either killed by a wild animal or died of dehydration and exposure.

Amy bore silent witness as the girl clutched at the pole, then waved her arms in the air, struggling helplessly, blood trickling down her thighs and cheeks.

The truck pulled away as the crowd dispersed, and Amy watched the helpless victim fade into the distance, still struggling helplessly against the pole holding her in place. 

As soon as the the crowd was gone and the girl was alone, a group of wild dogs appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and began to circle the platform.  Occasionally, one would get brave and dart forward, nipping at the tender flesh spread out before them.

The girl kicked out each time, sometimes connecting, sometimes missing, always keeping the dogs at bay despite her inability to see them.  Finally, as the sun set and the moon rose, hunger overwhelmed the animals and they began to ignore her kicks.  The biggest dog of the pack lunged in and sunk his teeth into her thigh, mere inches from her naked sex growling as he ripped out large chunk of her tender flesh. Unable to scream, the girl flailed helplessly as the rest of the dogs leapt on her, their combined weight snapping the pole at the base and slamming her down flat on her back while flesh was cruelly ripped from her still living body.  Ferociously, she fought back, her arms and legs swinging around madly as she tried to squirm off the pole.  The pack was too strong for her, though. It didn't lake long for her struggles to slow, and then cease. Her eyes closed forever as the largest dog grabbed her arm by the wrist and yanked it forcefully from her body.

When the pack dispersed, there was nothing left but her head still impaled upon the pole and a few bloody, mangled bones.