AN ACQUISITION

By: Charles E. Campbell

The first time I recall seeing my most recent acquisition was at a benefit for an up and coming art gallery in Boston. I have been on the gallery’s Board of Directors for quite some time, and one of my duties in this capacity is to attend these usually mundane and seemingly endless fund raisers. There is little I hate more than making small talk with a group of pretentious society types who thrive on having their picture printed in the Globe while talking with me. I really can’t avoid these situations very gracefully, although there have been more than a few where I wished to God that I hadn’t accepted the invitation.

I was standing near the buffet, sipping a glass of sparkling water, ( I do not drink alcohol, much preferring to keep my senses as keen and sharp as possible at all times, one never knows when an opportunity might stumble along!), trying my damn level best to appear interested in what some silver haired matron was saying about the artist who was being featured in the showing. Out of the corner of my eye, about ten feet away and slightly to my left, I espied a flash of honey blond hair. Full, wavy, not too long, like a surfer. Natural too, not from a bottle.  Keeping my interest discreet, I allowed myself the luxury of watching with just my peripheral vision, while conversing with the woman. The light blue short sleeves provided a view of defined tanned arms. A firm taut body was underneath, flat belly, narrow waist. The slacks hid what was below, as they were loose fitting, light tan in color. I knew there was no rush. In my position, access to a guest list is nothing at all, and this newcomer’s name would, in all probability, stick out. As I was making a mental note to myself, the curator appeared from my left, completely obscuring my view. She spoke with me for only a few minutes, thanking me for being there, how much it meant to her, blah, blah, blah, and then excusing herself to head for the podium and begin the ceremonies. Light blue short sleeves was nowhere to be seen. I scanned the room, but to no avail. I was more than disappointed.

Being polite, I stayed while the curator introduced the featured artist, and then, making an excuse about an early morning meeting, I ducked out, my sanity still somewhat intact.  I spotted the curator’s secretary, Marcia,  standing near the doorway and asked her if she might have a copy of the guest list. Being the poster child for efficiency, she said she had a spare copy in a folder she had in her hand, and instantly procured the document for me. I thanked her and left. A valet brought my car around, and I headed west out of the city, along the Concord Pike, towards my current abode, a nineteenth century Victorian farm house, settled in the middle of two hundred acres of apple orchards, wooded areas, and fields.

There is a steel gate with stone pillars across the  entrance to the dirt road which leads to my house. All of my cars have a chip in them which causes the gate open automatically as I approach, and then it closes after I pass through, no need to stop, or even slow down, for that matter.

I left the car in front of the house, the engine still running, and went in the front door. My house maid, Lucinda would put it in the garage right away. I walked through the double front doors with their antique stained glass and strode down the narrow hallway which leads to the kitchen, disrobing as I went, discarding my clothes on the dark oak floors. I am always naked in my home, always. And it makes absolutely no difference to me at all who might be there in the house. Passing a full length mirror near the end of the hall, I caught a reflected glimpse of my now naked form. Pausing momentarily, gazing at the image, pleased with what I see. Smooth skin, taut and firm, flat belly, the slight hint of a six pack in the clearly defined abs, hairless from the neck down, long legs well proportioned, toned. Small, tight butt. Still looked good at forty-three. I give myself a little smile and proceed to the refrigerator for a cold glass of ice tea and to peruse the mail, which Lucinda always leaves out on the table for me.

Having sorted through the mail, I take my tea and the guest list into my office to begin the job of isolating the person who I have selected to be my newest acquisition. I flop down in the over stuffed chocolate brown leather easy chair, and dangle my right leg over the soft thick arm. Idly playing with myself, I start to read through the list, eliminating the names of the people I knew and highlighting the names that weren’t familiar to me.

“If there is nothing else,” Lucinda said, as she walked into the room, espying my right hand occupied between my legs, busy in it’s pursuit, “I should like to retire.”

“By all means,” I replied, my hand becoming more engaged in the traditionally solitary endeavor. “Hope you sleep well.”

“You as well,” she answered in return with a subtle nod, and turned to leave.

Lucinda has been in my employ for the past eighteen years, ever since I lost both of my parents to a car bombing in the Philippines. She had been in my father’s employ for about six or seven years before I was born. Witnessing my nakedness and masturbation was a common thing for her, in fact, it is probably the most normal and benign sexual activity she has seen me engaged in.

Returning to the list, I was able to get it down to thirteen highlighted names. These were people I did not know. Gender eliminated five, so there would only be eight people my acquisition could be among. I copied those eight names down on another sheet of paper and set it aside. I knew the perfect person to trace it down for me, ever so discreetly. Picking up the phone, I dialed her number, which she absolutely never answers, the line is direct to a voice mail service.

“Tracy, it’s me,” I said. “Will you be at the club tomorrow night? I have something for you.” Placing the phone back in it’s cradle, I laid my head back against the soft leather and closed my eyes, dreaming of what I was setting into motion. My right hand still gently keeping me aroused. I denied myself release, preferring to let the sensations build numerous times and subside.

The next morning, a Friday,  I worked from home. I don’t go into work everyday, no need really. Most of what I do can been done just as efficiently at my home computer as it can at the pharmaceutical company’s  headquarters in Waltham. And with my position and notoriety, the suits will tolerate just about anything to just keep my name on their research roster. After lunch, I got dressed, jeans and a white tee shirt, cowboy boots, and took a walk through the fields over to the orchard. Kindergartners from a local elementary school were coming to pick apples, try some fresh cider, and enjoy some complimentary face painting. I have it open to the public on weekends, but try to keep it exclusive to the school groups during the week.

After dinner, I prepared to go and meet Tracy. Tracy is a member of an all girl motorcycle club called “Hellz Bellz.” About twenty members strong, ranging in age from a few in their sixties to some in their twenties.  They usually hang out in a run down old gin mill in Lynn called the “Ore Haus,” as the decrepit building it inhabits is next to an old long abandoned foundry.

I grabbed my black fringed motorcycle jacket, gloves, goggles,  and a shorty helmet, (Massachusetts is one of the states still forcing bikers to not ride free), and headed for the barn, a very unique building of my own design.

From the outside, it appears to be your typical average barn: slightly weather worn wood siding, painted red, small cupola with a weathervane on the roof, a hayloft, and large doors swinging to the sides to open. But all of that is just a facade. The building itself is built entirely of concrete block, two stories tall, with two levels of basement excavated underneath. The exterior is there just for show, making it look like it had always been there with the old house.

My collection of automobiles and motorcycles takes up the main floor, with some just set up as displays. It is an eclectic collection, reflecting personnel taste, rather than investment potential. I have a green 1963 Volvo P 1800, a candy apple red ‘59 Chevy Impala convertible, and a red 1962 Triumph TR 3. These all share the floor with a 1964 Triumph Bonneville 650, a 1949 Harley-Davidson Panhead, a 1949 Norton Manx 500, and several current model Harleys, including a V-Rod, a Heritage, and a tricked out Dyna with a 110 ci motor.

The two lower levels are accessible only through a special hidden entrance. This is my private area, which I affectionately refer to as my “Lair,” and it is where I bring my acquisitions to enjoy them to their fullest potential, never needing to have any concerns regarding being interrupted or disturbed by others. Everything I could ever possibly want is there, some of it special ordered from specialty companies in the San Francisco area, and much of it designed and built by myself.

I decided to go for the feeling of strength and power the V-Rod provides, so I threw a leg over her, strapped on my helmet, and hit the starter. Instantly the shiny all black beast coughed out her throaty roar. A blip or two on the throttle, and I was off to Lynn. The crisp air was invigorating, and foretold of a New England autumn rapidly taking hold. I picked up I-95 and scooted around Bean Town till I hit 129 heading southeast into Lynn. A older blue collar town, Lynn has yet to see much substantial revitalization going on.

There were about fifteen or so bikes lined up against the curb at “The Haus.” Tracy’s was right in the middle of them, unmistakable with it’s custom paint job. A huge Harley Ultra Classic with all the chromed bells and whistles, done up in a bright pink and white paint job, adorned with air brushed breast cancer ribbons marking the numerous runs Tracy has ridden in, lead, and or organized. A breast cancer survivor, she had become obsessed with the cause, devoting much of her free time to fund raising activities and awareness programs.

I parked the Rod at the end of the line of bikes, The Bellz have a pecking order to their placement, and not being a member, for obvious reasons, I know better than to infringe on their rules. (A non-negotiable prerequisite tenet for membership is Lesbianism. Bi-sexuality is tolerated, unofficially, in a manner much like the military, don’t ask, don’t tell. Heterosexuality is strictly taboo. No exceptions). The interior of the Haus is dingy, dusty, and not particularly welcoming. Sawdust covers the well worn wide plank pine floor, and motorcycle parts, pictures, and posters decorate the scuffed and scarred walls. Blaring rock music from enormous wall mounted speakers threatens to bring down the walls of the old building.

As easy as Tracy’s bike is to spot, she is even easier to find. Standing a diminutive 5' 1", so she claims, Tracy “Bananas” Bonomo weighs in at under 100 pounds; bald, in fact no body hair at all, with tattoos covering her arms, neck, thighs, legs, and back. Multiple piercings hang in her ears, nose, and navel. The hairless look was something she adopted after her chemo treatments had ended. The hair grew back, but she boldly accepted the look in solidarity with others who faced and are facing the challenges she overcame. Laser hair removal keeps her body totally devoid of any hair whatsoever. The raw looking scars on her chest from the double mastectomy five years previous she displays proudly, as a warrior might exhibit his battle scars as a sort of grim and grotesques reminder of a hard fought and won victory over a formidable foe. For “Bananas,” breast reconstruction was unthinkable. A wimpy way of admitting  you had been beaten. She had won the fight, the lost breasts were just a casualty of war.

Tonight was a special night for the Bellz, as a Prospect was being initiated into the club. On the stage, where a bar band usually plays on Friday and Saturday nights, the naked Prospect was riding the Sybian Horse. Two ribbed phalluses invaded her pussy and ass, and to further humiliate her, she was in the midst of her monthly period, as evidenced by the blood all around the insides of her thighs and coating the mechanized device. Joining her on stage was Tracy, naked except for a pair of fringed pink leather chaps, festooned with conchos,  and pink leather ankle high boots with silver tipped sharp pointed toes and four inch heels. (All of the women in the Bellz were similarly dressed, just chaps and boots. Some buckskin, some tan suede, or black leather , but all topless with their asses and pussies highlighted by the leather). Tracy  was standing in front of the Prospect, her short legs spread, enjoying the oral ministrations being heaped on her. He breastless chest scars from the double mastectomy glistening with sweat in the harsh light on stage. Cat calls from the club members urged her into a massive mind blowing orgasm.

As Tracy left the stage, the Prospect screamed out as she was overwhelmed by waves of sensations from another orgasm. “Six,” one of the club members yelled out, and writing it on a tote board. One of the initiation rites was for the Prospect to cum once for each member in attendance at the ceremony  Another one of the Bellz replaced Tracy, bent over, and stuck her ass against the Prospect’s mouth. It promised to be a long agonizing night for the young hopeful.

Tracy spotted me right away, and called out, “Hey, you made it!”

Putting her left hand behind my head and pulling me to her, she kissed me heavily on the mouth, her tongue boring deep inside, her right hand grabbing my crotch. For my part, I wrapped my arms around behind her, cupping her narrow naked ass cheeks in my hands and lifting her off the ground. We held the embrace like we were long lost lovers, even though we both knew it was nothing more than a facade, a show for anyone who might be watching us for non-prurient reasons.  Engaged like this, we could be former, or present lovers, or old friends. Tracy had done work for me in the past, and we both agreed it best to make it all appear to be something other than what it really was.

We both had to catch our breath after we broke the embrace. Bananas took my hand and lead me to the booth that was farthest away from everyone. We sat in the booth, and I slid an envelope under the table to her. “Just where do you expect me to hide this,” she joked, taking the envelope.

“I’m sure you’ve got someplace to hide it,” I quipped right back at her.

“Just so happens I do,” she said, lifting her ass off the bench for a moment and slipping the envelope into an interior pocket in her chaps. “The usual,” she asked, settling back into her seat?

“Yes. Eight names. Usual background info is fine. I’ll follow through once I get what you can find. There’s five hundred in there with it, another five when you’ve got it together.”        

“Very generous,” she smiled wickedly, licking her lips. “Must be a beauty.”

“Cutest so far,” I reflected.

“So far,” she laughed at the implication.

“Yes, so far,” I agreed, mulling over the thought.

“You’ll call me if........”

I finished it for her, sort of a verbal commitment from me and an agreement from her. “......If it looks promising.”

Tracy nodded toward the bar, and a stocky dyke waitress brought over two empty shot glasses. Neither Tracy nor I imbibe, and since she insists on a toast to seal any agreements, she devised something a bit more over the top. Sliding her hips forward on the bench, she put one shot glass between her legs, and as she smiled coyly at me, as she peed in it. Extracting the glass to examine the amount, she licked the side of the glass seductively, before setting it down before me and filling the second one.

The two glasses sat in front of us, filled to the brim with the acrid amber liquid. She picked up hers, as I did mine, and with a light ‘clink’ of glass to glass, we each drained it in one large gulp.

My newest acquisition was one step closer to being mine. One major step closer.

“There’s a fall foliage run in Maine this Sunday if you’re free,” she said, easing out of then tight booth. “It’s a benefit for breast cancer up in Kennebunkport.”

I reached in my pocket and produce two one hundred dollar bills. Handing them to Tracy, I said, “I’ll be out of town this weekend. Here’s a donation for the cause.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the bills. “You’re welcome to stay and watch the rituals, if you’d like. My guest.”

“Maybe for a little while,” I said, hearing the Prospect scream out again, as a voice intoned, “Seven.”

“I should have this done for you by Tuesday. Wednesday at the latest,” she said, still standing at the edge of the table.

I knew what she expected, she requires it of anyone who sees her scarified chest. I leaned over and kissed the dark scars where her breasts once had hung. First left, as it was the one that had been removed first. Then the right side.

“Tuesday or Wednesday would be fine, Tracy.”

Tracy kissed me once more on the mouth, then returned to join the Bellz.

“Eight,” I heard the voice call out.

I got out of the booth and headed to the bar to watch. The Prospect was in a pleasure filled daze. The motor from the Sybian droned on relentlessly and her juices and blood coated the sides of the horse. An older patch holder was standing behind the helpless girl, scratching, slapping, squeezing, and pinching the girl’s breasts and rock hard nipples. The Prospect seemed oblivious to the torture, her entire being focused on the assault in her ass and cunt. It is always so incredible to me that a device, such as this one,  designed solely for pleasure, can become a heinous torture device as well, when carried to the extreme.

I remained until the count reached fifteen, and watched as the whimpering Prospect was lifted off the two rubber invaders. Babbling incoherently, she was laid face down on the bar. One last remaining step and her status would be that of a patch holder, not a Prospect. The logo of the Bellz was now going to be tattooed into her skin at the small of her back. This would take a good three hours, as the design was rather involved and about sixty inches square. The central part of the tattoo would be a bell, similar in shape to the Liberty Bell, on a weathered wooden yoke. This was about six inches high. Where the yoke would typically rest in a cradle to allow the bell to swing, the design would have a full female breast on each side, with very prominent dark red nipples. The crack in the side of the bell would resemble the vulva. All around the base would be skulls and bones, with red and orange flames consuming the entire area.

On the ride home, I mused about the person Tracy was. Holding both a BS and an MS in computer science, her life now about day to day living, as it really should be, no longer caught up in the pursuit of wealth or fame. She had been zealously pursuing an advanced degree in computer science when she was diagnosed. That goal was not just put on hold, it was abandoned for good. Priorities can change drastically when the word cancer is spoken by a doctor. Her education was not unlike my own, actually.  I hold a B.S. in chemistry, an M.S. in botany, and my doctorate is in bio-chemistry. Both Tracy and I now doing what we needed to do in order to allow us the time and funds to pursue that which we really love.

Wednesday afternoon, true to her word, Tracy rode her pink Harley up to the door of my farm house. Lucinda opened the door for her, and ushered her into my office. She was wearing skin tight black denim jeans, heavy boots, and her pink leather motorcycle jacket. Tracy wasn’t the slightest bit put off by my nakedness, and sat down in one of the arm chairs that faces my desk. Pulling a manilla envelope out of her shoulder bag, she said, “Here it is. Not too much info on a couple of them, but I got everything I could find.”

“Thank you,” I said, reaching into the middle draw of the desk and withdrawing the envelope containing the balance of her fee. “How was the ride last weekend?”

“Went very well, raised a four thousand dollars.”

We chatted a bit, and then she said she had to get going. I walked her out to her bike, the sky was darkening, foreboding. The wind was picking up, and goose bumps popped up all over my exposed skin. I gave her a hug and watched as she fired up the big motor. With a wave, she was gone, and I went back to my office to begin the process of locating my newest acquisition.

Tracy’s on line diggings got my pool of potentials down to three right away, due to factors such as race, hair color, and height. Of the three, I was reasonably sure I could eliminate one of them due to age, leaving me with only two that it could be.

As I have done in the past, I chose the person I would locate first  by just a simple toss of the coin. That done, I read and reread Tracy’s dossier, memorizing every minute detail: residence address, place of employment, position, marital status, memberships, credit cards, banks, registered motor vehicles,.....In short, I knew just about everything there was to know long before I got dressed and drove over to Framingham in a silver gray 4 year old Toyota to locate the house and scope out the neighborhood.

Finding the house was easy, a typical New England Colonial, neatly trimmed lawn with professionally maintained landscaping, vinyl siding, shutters, three car garage on a semi-quiet street. Not too quiet, like a cul de sac would be, where the only vehicles are those belonging to residents, and not too busy, so as to be potentially spotted by someone passing by. I drove past it, and kept going down a few blocks, before looping around one of them and heading back, retracing my steps. The house was quiet, the fading afternoon light showed no interior lights on. No toys in the yard seemed to indicate either a cleanliness nut, or no kids. Very good “A.P” as I liked to call it: “Abduction Potential.”

I headed east into Waltham, to do some recon on the business address. It was just as I had suspected, a typical corporate park setting: huge parking lot surrounding a steel and glass edifice to corporate greed and stature, more than too much street lighting, surveillance cameras atop every light pole, minimal shrubs, all low and scattered. The lowest “A.P.” imaginable. On the bright side, I did locate the car. A one year old Audi TT Roadster in red. Very dedicated, still at work at 6:30 in the evening.

Driving out of the lot, I glanced in my mirror and saw what I thought might be my “intended” coming out of the building. Hastily parking my car, I re-positioned the mirror to allow me to watch. Height and build seemed about right, but the distance and the halogen street lighting made hair color a guess at best. I saw the headlights blink on the TT and knew I had gotten very lucky. I had located my mark on the first attempt. I was getting a very good feeling about this one. I watched as the car started to pull out of the space, and drive right past me. The driver never looked in my direction, much too busily engaged on the cell phone already. No need to follow. I had all the information I required now, so I headed home to plan out how best to acquire my latest find.

Comfortably ensconced at my computer, naked,  in my lair, I had decided to use the disguise of a gas company employee to gain entrance into my acquisition’s home. I had used it twice in the past, and it seemed to work flawlessly. I have a van the same color asthe ones used by the utility company, with magnetic signs carrying the logo. Additionally, I have an employee’s uniform, many sizes too large, allowing for extra padding to hide my true shape and size from the casual observer.

That decided, it was just a matter of selecting a date and time to stage the abduction. My urges, heavily stimulated by the constant attention of my right hand, a blur in my crotch, said, Tuesday but my ever cautious, rational brain overruled, selecting instead, the following Saturday morning, as a better option. More time to plan, set everything up, mix the elixir that provides the extended time, establish an alibi, and any other of a myriad of small touches that reduce the risk factors involved.

Saturday afternoon, one week before the grab, after the last of the apple pickers had left, I began the preparations on the van. Making sure enough tools were in it to make it seem legit, securing an extension ladder and step ladder to the roof racks, and applying the magnetic gas company signs to the two front doors. My little “tool kit,” which contains the restraints, the syringe, several pairs of latex gloves, and several other “tools of the trade,” would be placed in the locked compartment under the spare tire just before embarking on the abduction.

The next week, I drove past the mark’s office each day, checking to see that the Audi was there. I was always in a different vehicle, always a rental, and always from a different agency. Monday and Wednesday night, I swung by the house as well, getting a better idea of where to park my van on Thursday, so as to make the grab easier. Tracy had been appraised of the time frame for my little operation, and would establish an alibi for me, should it ever prove necessary.

Saturday morning I started getting into my disguise at 6:30. Stage make-up advanced my age a good ten years, plus the padding under my uniform added about fifty pounds to my appearance, with a beer belly any brew swiller would be proud of. Heavy work boots and a baseball cap finished it up. 7:15 and I was locking my tool kit under the spare and ready to go.

The drive to Framingham went without a hitch, no commuters, and no leaf peepers this early in the day. The route I chose was circuitous, not direct. I spotted the TT in the drive as I neared the house. Pulling the van into the drive, I parked across the double garage door, the sliding door of the van facing the doors.

The lights came on as I got out of the van, over zealous sensors had obviously activated them. I opened the back of the van and got my tool kit and slipped on a pair of latex gloves. Ringing the door bell, within fifteen seconds, I was face to face with my latest acquisition. I was certainly not disappointed.

“We’ve had reports of poor pressure in the gas lines in this neighborhood,” I stated, in a tired, end of a long day fashion, never looking up from my clipboard. “I need to check the fastenings on your appliances as well as your gas meter.”

“Of course, please come in. I’ll show you where everything is.”

“Thanks,” I replied, my heart starting to race as the door closed behind us.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” I said, feeling out the mark to make sure we were alone.

“No, not at all. I live here alone. Remnants of a messy divorce.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic.

“Don’t be. We’re both better off.”

“I’d like to start in the kitchen, if that’s alright.” Didn’t want to seem too interested

“Of course. Please follow me.”

We went down a short hallway past the staircase and into the kitchen. I made a big deal of getting a meter to check the fittings for the presence of gas. “This is tight,” I proclaimed. “What about the furnace?”

“Out in the garage. Through here,” pointing to a door next to the refrigerator.

We both went out into the garage. The lighting wasn’t great, which suited me fine, as I didn’t want what was about to happen to be overly obvious to a dog walker or some other witness.

I headed right for the furnace, which, fortunately for me, was located in the far corner of the garage, away from the doors, and partially obscured by a tall freezer.

“I’m going to have to move the freezer out of the way to get to the back of the furnace,” I proclaimed.

“Of course. Sorry about that. Let me help you with it.”

My target got on one side of the freezer and I got on the other, after first having taken the syringe from my tool kit and uncapping the needle. As we started to move the big unit, I stuck the needle in my mark’s neck. As my acquisition instinctively grabbed for my hand, eyes wide, stunned, trying to speak, he staggered a few steps and collapsed at my feet, awake, but unable to move. The fast acting drug a gift from a small tribe in the Sumatran jungles. It leaves the victim totally conscious to everything that is happening, but unable to move or speak for a good four hours. More than ample time for me to finish the abduction and get home with my prize.

Taking the shackles from the tool kit, I locked them on his wrists and ankles. His eyes following my every move, total shock and disbelief exploding from his terror stricken eyes.

I walked over to the garage doors and looked out through the glass scanning the neighbor for signs of life. Seeing none, I put everything back in the tool bag, and hit the button to open the garage door.

I walked the four feet to the sliding door of the van and opened it, placing the tool kit inside. There is no interior light, of course, so attention wouldn’t be drawn to the vehicle. I went back to my victim and dragged him by his feet out to the van. Grabbing him under the shoulders, I got him up and inside in one laborious motion. It’s primary for me to keep myself in shape, I mused.

I climbed in after him and closed the door. Flipping him on his stomach, I hogtied his ankles and wrists together with locks. I went back, and shut the garage door before getting into the passenger seat..

As we drove out of his driveway, and away from his palatial home, I said, “Welcome to my world, Kevin. My name is Samantha, but you won’t be able to call me that, unfortunately. Because I highly doubt you will ever speak again!”

I drove a longer quieter route home, taking almost twice as long to reach my barn on the return trip. Ten minutes before reaching my house, I called Lucinda on my cell phone and told her to meet me at the barn. There was no way a female my size was going to get my male acquisition into my lair without help.

Lucinda was waiting by the barn doors as I drove up. She had the slider opened before I even got out of the van. We threaded a stout pole through the shackled slave’s arms and legs and placing it on our shoulders, hoisted him up and into the barn. The stairs leading down to the dungeon were tricky, but he couldn’t complain when we banged his body into a stair or wall on occasion.

We set him down on the floor, it would be a good two more hours before the drug wore off, so I had plenty of time. Lucinda went upstairs to clean out the van and stash the magnetic signs. As  Kevin watched helplessly, I stripped off the uniform and let my new toy soak in the sight of my naked body. My 34 B’s firm still, standing out proudly, unaided, with thick rings through the areolas. My flat waist hard, six pack still visible. A large hoop pierces my clit hood, with five gold rings in both my left and right labia.

I unlocked the shackles on Kevin’s wrists and ankles. “Let’s see what my new toy looks like, shall we?” I asked him rhetorically, knowing full well of his urgent need and total inability to vocalize. I stripped him naked, and stood back to gaze at his helpless nakedness.

I was pleased with what I found. A well tanned and trim, defined, body, a flaccid cock trying to hide in the dense tangle of blond underbrush at the juncture of his legs. Strong legs, from foot to groin. The crotch hair had to go!

I balled up his clothes, “We’ll donate these to the homeless. You’re never going to have need of the again,” I said. Stuffing the expensive clothes into a plastic bag, I had no intention of ever donating them, and taking the chance they were traced back to me. They would be buried along with Kevin when his usefulness to me had ended.

Lucinda returned, locking the door behind her. “Would you prepare a needle for me, please,” I asked her?

“Yes, Ma’am,” she replied.

Blood tests for S.T.D.’s are paramount as far as I am concerned. They’re simple enough, especially when one has her own lab right there on premises. I drew Kevin’s blood and Lucinda took it to process. While she was gone, I set up an I.V. drip, wouldn’t want Kevin to dehydrate on me. Also, it is a much easier way to see that he keeps getting a steady supply of the drug that makes him so damn compliant!

My particular area of specialization, which makes me so desirable to the pharmaceuticals industry, is in natural remedies, the rare unknown and unproven kinds used by remote native peoples in rain forests around the world. Like the drug that was presently coursing through Kevin’s body, for instance, that held him better than ropes ever could. I found that little helper in Sumatra. The drug Lucinda was going to be prepping to give Kevin next was like that, only with much more highly specialized effect.

On one particular trip to the Brazilian rain forest, far up the Amazon, I had encountered a small tribe of indigenous peoples, virtually untouched by modern outside influences. Spending the better part of a month among them, learning about their medicinal herbs and folk remedies, I was allowed to witness a strange and bizarre ritual, a rite of passage more accurately, that is unheard of outside of their world , and occurs only when strict requirements are met.

One of the major beliefs of these people is that the de-flowering of their women is sacred, and may only be undertaken by the eldest male off-spring of the last man who performed the task. The ritual only takes place when five virgins have attained the required age, a minimum of thirteen. Being that the tribe is quite small, when I witnessed the ritual, the five women ranged in age from the eldest at twenty-eight, one at twenty-three, one at nineteen, one at fourteen, and the fifth one, the one who made the ritual possible, a thirteen year old.

The man performing the ritual was eighteen, the eldest surviving son of the last man who performed the rite, almost nineteen years earlier.

For the month leading up to the ceremony, the male is treated like a king. He wants for nothing, in terms of creature comforts. He has been celibate his entire life, waiting for the day when his position and life long purpose are fulfilled. On the morning of the ceremony, all of the women in the tribe gather around him and they strip him naked He is then taken into the jungle to a sacred place on the Amazon for a ritual cleansing. His cock is teased repeatedly, caressed, fellated,  keeping it hard, but never allowing him release.  His body is then prepared, adorned in brightly colored paints depicting various lewd scenes covering every inch ofit, save his cock and balls. He is given a special tea to drink in copious amounts. The tea is brewed from a concoction of plants known only to the women of the tribe. The purpose of the tea becomes painfully obvious as the ceremony wears on. It causes the person who ingests it to have an erection that will never be sated. He is, quite literally, going to be fucked to death, over the course of the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours. The first male offspring of his fruit will take his place when the required five virgins attain the age.

The eldest virgin is first to offer up her virginity to him.  Removing her clothes before the tribe, laying down on a fresh mat made of leaves, naked, she spreads her legs and beckons him to enter her, hoping he will bless her with a son, and heir to his legacy. 

He doesn’t last long. As he dismounts her, the twenty-three year old takes her turn. Then the nineteen year old, and so on, until all five girls are bleeding in the firelight, as the tribe bears witness to their loss of virginity, and their birth into womanhood.

When the youngest has given up her virginity, the eldest has another go at him, then the next eldest, and so on. Five or six rounds are the norm. Of course, by now, the male is in excruciating pain, and it has become necessary to have him staked to the ground, spread eagle, by his wrists and ankles. He is screaming in pain, as they mount him repeatedly. The act of pleasure has become a torture of horrific agonizing indescribable pain.

When the virgins have had their fill, the rest of the women in the tribe take turns fucking him through the night, and on into the next day. This will continue until he dies. Once he is dead, his cock and balls are severed, and carved up, to be served to the five virgins, who will consume them in front of the tribe. The male’s body is then taken to the Amazon, back to the site of the sacred bath, where it will become food for whatever denizens happen upon it.

I had gained the trust and respect of several of the tribe’s women, having nursed a few sick children back to health. So when I inquired about the ritual tea, they showed me which plants it was brewed from, and what the quantities were. I was given seeds for all the plants, which I brought back home with me. I have propagated them and have them growing in a special temperature controlled greenhouse behind my home. Through chemical analysis, and some experimentation along the way, I have distilled the leaves into a concentrate, which I inject with a hypodermic into my acquisitions. The effect is much faster acting than with the tea, and the intensity of the erection, and it’s subsequent pain, are increased at least tenfold. The blood flow to the penis is so great, that I have had a few men bleed out after only six or seven hours of forced fucking. Kevin would be my fifth test case. I give the injection at the base of the penis, in the shaft itself,  insuring that the maximum amount of the drug will be absorbed into the erectile tissue.

“Well, Kevi,” I said with a sardonic smile, eyeing his cock, “Let’s see what this bad boy looks like when he’s ready to play, shall we?”

I knelt down next to the inert form and took his cock in my hand, gently teasing him and bringing it to life. Within a few seconds it began to stiffen up, growing in both length and girth, responding to my caresses. Bending over him, I sucked the still soft shaft into my eager mouth. I love the sense of control I get when a cock stiffens inside my mouth; growing, hardening, ripe with anticipation, and all out of the control of my acquisition.

The rapidly rising cock was pressing to the back of my throat as it attained it’s fully erect stature. I had long ago learned the trick of suppressing my gag reflex, so holding it deep was no problem. The curly tangled mat of pubic hair was a nuisance, tickling my nose.  Annoying, and repugnant aesthetically. Before we began to use up my acquisition, it would have to go!

Lucinda returned, seeing me bent over with Kevin’s cock buried in my throat. Pulling back, I licked my lips and said, “Please clean him up for me, Lucinda. Then I’ll give him the injection.”

“Yes, M’Lady,” she replied.

Is the blood sample ready for me to test?”

“Yes, M’Lady. In your lab. Everything is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” I said, standing.

“See you soon, Kevin. Then we’re going to have some fun like you can’t imagine!”

As Lucinda began to prep Kevin for shaving, I went to my lab to test his blood for any diseases he might have, being a young studdly bachelor and all.

While the machines were reading his blood samples and analyzing them for me, I called Tracy and told her she should pop by in a couple of hours. She asked me if she could bring one of her “Sisters” from the Bellz. I said as long as she could trust her, it was fine with me. She said that Anita was one of her long time friends, and she trusted her completely. I said that was good enough for me, the more the merrier.

The lab tests came back clean, as I had hoped. I really like doing my riding bareback far better than fooling around with condoms.

Lucinda had Kevin all cleanly shaven when I returned, although he had gone soft once again. I guess he found the act of being shaved humiliating and not stimulating. No matter. Some light tickling and massaging of his ball sac, coupled with the warm wet attention from my mouth, and he was standing proudly at attention, ready, willing, and able, albeit completely lacking in control.

I took the syringe and, holding his cock in my left hand, proceeded to inject the fluid into the base of the shaft in four different sites. “This little concoction is going to give you a woody the likes of which a fifteen year old couldn’t match,” I said to him. With the blood engorging the erectile tissue, most of the drug would be absorbed there as well. Soon, the slightest touch, the most innocent contact with his “manness” would be agonizingly unbearable for him. Every sensation would be amplified to the point of placing Kevin on the brink of madness. But then, what difference would it make? He would have no choice but to endure it. At least until I was through with him.

I never learned how long it took the tea used by the Amazonian tribe to exact it’s wicked effects, but I do know that the injection starts to work it’s magic in a matter of mere minutes. “Hey, Kev,” I said, grinning at him, “Let’s give you a little tease, shall we?”

I squatted over his face, straddling his head, and lowered myself onto his mouth. His nose was buried inside my slit, and I covered his mouth as well, completely controlling his ability to breath. Helpless, at my mercy, the pungent smell of my wetness and arousal, coating his mouth and nose. I lifted off him for a few seconds, allowing him to take in the air his brain was screaming for, then I lowered myself back on him, and grabbed his cock. Stroking it, it was beginning to get engorged more than it ever had, or was ever meant to be. The soft smooth skin stretched taut over a rigid shaft of man-meat. Turning a dark crimson from all the blood trapped inside, pre-cum seeping from the tip. I scooped it up with a finger and brought it to my lips. “You taste good, sweetie,” I said. “Need a breath?”

I waited a few seconds before getting off him. His eyes were wild with fear, the sensations in his manhood overpowering his addled brain. “I’d say you’re ready top be taken for a ride, Kevin. Hope you enjoy it. It’s going to be something you’ll remember, for the short time that will be the rest of your life!”

I placed a foot on either side of his hips, and squatted down. Taking his cock in my hand, I guided into my open pussy, and sat down. The tip of his cock just hitting my cervix. That sweet sensation of pressure at that point deep inside. I slowly began to rise an fall on his cock, using my thigh muscles to lift myself up, and fall back down on him. In seconds, I felt his pole throb, and I knew he was cumming, with an intensity he had never before experienced.

I kept right on riding him, his cum dripping down from my box, his cock like a shaft of steel, unable to soften. The drug overriding his body’s reflex to cause his cock to go limp. A few minutes later he came a second time, but I had yet to cum even once. This is typical for me, as I need a lot of stimulation before my first orgasm. Subsequent ones come much more frequently and more easily, although they are no where near the  mind blowing intensity as the first cum is.

I kept on pumping and riding, using my kegel exercise work outs to milk him and increase the horrifically exaggerated sensations in his cock. Tears streamed freely from his eyes down the sides of his face as I pounded down on him.

He came a third time, just before I erupted in a mind blower of a cum, causing me to fall over on him.

“That was nice,” I whispered in his ear, licking it, darting my tongue inside seductively.  “Are you ready for more, Kev, honey?”

His eyes registered panic as I started to ride his pole again, this time even faster. Drool was cascading over his lips now, as I scratched his chest with my sharpened fingernails, drawing blood with each rake. Bouncing up and down, my breasts flopping obscenely, I came quickly this time, although Kevin didn’t.

“Couldn’t cum, dear?” I mocked him. “A young stud like you, and only three times?”

I dismounted him and started sucking his cock, teasing the glans with my tongue and teeth. He came in my mouth, with very little fluid, a minute later.

“I want another ride,” I proclaimed, hoping back on his now purple dick. His mind was going, and I watched as his eyes rolled back into his head, just before he passed out. That didn’t stop me, however, as I wanted another cum. So I kept riding his pole, fingering my clit with one hand, and scratching his chest with the other, until I came again. I didn’t want to deny him, so I got off his cock and jerked him off.

Lucinda had been watching my fun, “Want a ride on the dick, Lucinda,” I asked.

“Yes M’Lady.”

“Go for it then. I’m going upstairs to wait for Tracy. Take your time.”

“I will, M’Lady, and thank you.”

I left Lucinda as she was undressing and went upstairs to get a drink of water and wait for Bananas to arrive.

The wait wasn’t long. I had just put down the bottle of sparkling water when I heard the thunderous throaty roar of her big twin motor coming towards the barn. Anita was on the back of the pink Harley.

Tracy maneuvered the big bike like it was a featherweight, and pulled it to a stop right by the door of the barn, where I stood, naked,in the brilliant afternoon suhshine. Anita got off first, then Tracy hopped off. “Hi, hon,” she said, smiling, as she strode over to me. Reaching up, she wrapped her left arm around my neck, pulling my head down to kiss her full on the mouth. Her right hand instantly dove between my legs, and a finger slipped into my pussy. “Somebody’s been busy I see,” she remarked, judged by my wetness and semen that was seeping out.

“I’ve taken a few spins, Trace,” I admitted. “Hope you two are ready for some fun. This one’s got a long way to go yet!”

“I’m in the mood for a good pussy stuffing,” she said, “ Maybe even take a run in my ass as well. Can’t beat a stiff cock!”

“Well he’s certainly got that requirement covered, “ I joked.

“This is Anita,” Tracy said, finally getting around to her friend. “She been in the Bellz for seven years now, right?”

“Yes,” Anita said, looking at me, but not seeming the least bit put off by my nakedness.

“She likes a bit of the old dick like me sometimes,” Tracy laughed, “Although, she’s got a great tongue and knows how to put it to good use.”

Anita smiled, but didn’t add anything.

“Well today’s about cock,” I said. “Oral, vaginal, anal, or manual. Your choice.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tracy said, unzipping her leather jacket. “Let’s get at it before I get a stain in my leathers!”

Anita and Tracy followed me into the barn and down into my lair. We were all greeted by the sight of Lucinda bobbing up and down on Kevin. Her wrinkled sagging breasts slapping about as she took her pleasures from him.

Needing no invitation, nor words of encouragement, Tracy stripped off her clothes, right down to her bare feet. Anita followed suit. Anita was a stocky woman, 5' 4", a solidly built muscular body, maybe 145 pounds. Thick black hair in her crotch covering her slit completely, obscuring it from view and fanning out across the tops of her thighs and up her belly to just below her navel. Her breasts were small, almost like those of a male body builder.

“Any success, Lucinda,” I asked?

“Oh yes, M’Lady,” she responded while bucking away on Kevin’s dick. “I have cum twice, and he has cum once again as well.”

“I’m next,” Tracy declared, watching Lucinda as she came a third time. Tracy helped Lucinda get up off the dark purple cock. Tracy jumped right atop Kevin’s motionless form, and slid the hard cock into her pussy. She had her back towards him, bracing her hands on his knees to help with the thrusting.

“Hmmmm, feels, good,” she remarked.

Tattooed on her lower back is the  insignia of the Hellz Bellz, which she proudly displays, like her scarred chest. Wearing it as a badge of honor.

Tracy pounded up and down on him like a wild woman, screaming out, “Yee-Hah,” like she was riding a bronco in a rodeo. She was using her heels like spurs, kicking Kevin’s thighs as she rode him. Kevin, for his part, was lost in a world far beyond anything he ever could have imagined. His eyes were opened, but glazed over. The tip of his tongue was peaking from between his lips, and saliva coated both sides of his face.

Tracy reached between Kevin’s legs and grabbed hold of his nut sac. Giving it a hard squeeze, and not letting go, she brought him back from the brink of unconsciousness, as the sharp pain stabbed into his addled brain like an ice pick. With her other hand, she was busy rubbing herself, in a frenzy, anxious to get off.

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” she moaned, as her muscles began to spasm in orgasmic delight.

This release only served to turn her on all the more, and she kept bouncing on Kevin’s hard pole with even more energy than before. Tracy let go of Kevin’s balls, but only so she could torment him in another fashion. “Spread his legs for me, Anita. Grab his ankles and spread ‘em wide.”

“Sure, Trace,” Anita replied, kneeling between Kevin’s feet and pushing his legs wide apart.

Tracy began slapping Kevin’s balls, hard as she fucked him. His eyes were wide open now, as the intense pain was ratcheted up in his mind. Tracy came quicker the second time, and got off Kevin. “I think he might have cum,” she commented, “But I can’t be sure. I was a little busy.”

We all laughed with her.

“My turn,” Anita announced, as she straddled Kevin’s face. She ground first her pussy, then her ass into his mouth. Although he could do nothing orally to satisfy her, she was just looking for lubrication from the saliva that had drooled  from his mouth. Deciding she was as wet as she could get, Anita took her turn riding Kevin’s permanently rigid member. She employed a variation that the three before her didn’t, however. Anita took him in her pussy, and then she would alternate taking him up her ass. A few minutes in front, then, alternating, a few in the rear. She held her own cheeks apart, as she would switch entrances.

Kevin’s body was starting to shake and twitch now, and his glassy eyes rolled over and shut. Made no difference for Anita, as his cock was responding to the drug, not to her use of him.

After Anita had satisfied herself, I suggested a brief respite, including some food and beverages. Lucinda set off to gather some things we would enjoy, while Tracy and I hooked Kevin up to a milking machine with an electric pump. We greased his cock up and applied the milking tube to the tip of his aching cock. The suction from the pump  sucked his dick deep inside, just like a teat on the udder of a cow being milked. The steady drone of the pump pulled on his sore cock as it mechanically tried to suck out everything that remained inside him.

Anita watched as Tracy and I took a seat and awaited Lucinda’s return.

“I think he came again,” Anita announced, looking at the clear plastic tube that was attached to the pump and connected to a plastic collection bottle.  “I think it looks pink,” she commented, inspecting it more closely.

“That’s blood,” I answered her. “He’s starting to cum blood. It will stay pink for a while longer, then it will get darker, as more blood is sucked from him.”

“Really,” Anita said, trying to look closer at the tortured dick.

Lucinda return with some coffee and fresh baked apple pie with ice cream. The three of us enjoyed our little repast and chatted about motorcycles, computers, and the pie.

Our taste buds sated, I stood and asked, “Anyone want another ride?”

“I’m game,” Tracy announced. “Just need to pee first.”

“Piss on Kevin,” I offered. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Tracy laughed and said, “Love to!”

She stood over Kevin’s head, but his eyes were closed, so he didn’t see her spread her lower lips with her fingers and begin pissing all over his face. His eyes did open when the warm stream splashed onto his face. “Thirsty, pet?” Tracy asked jokingly. The urine flowed copiously down on Kevin, who could do nothing to avoid it.

Her bladder empty, Tracy turned off the pump and tore the milker from Kevin’s cock. She squatted on him and started bucking. I examined the plastic receptacle on the milker, and noted how much more bloody the secretions now were. He was bleeding internally now, and soon blood would start to slowly seep from the tip of his cock. As the onslaught continued, the bleeding would increase in intensity, and he would die, just like my other acquisitions had.

Tracy enjoyed herself, cumming twice, once vaginally and once anally,  before getting off and making room for Lucinda to take a ride,  and then followed by Anita, and then by me once again..

The three of us were done. Our lust satisfied, our pussies sore from the sex we had enjoyed. We were spent. Anita’s ass was gaping obscenely when she had finally dismounted Kevin for the last time. We wanted no more, although Kevin was long past wanting no more. Blood was oozing non-stop from his cock now, even without the constant stimulus of being sucked, fucked, or milked.

All five of my acquisitions had gone out the same way, so dearest Kevin was to be no exception. Tracy and I hooked him back up to the milker, and turned the pump on to the highest setting. Within a few minutes, one of the thick dark blue ropey veins on the side of his cock ruptured, and the blood started to pour out of the milker and down between Kevin’s legs. He was no longer aware of anything, having long before succumbed to the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

A few more minutes and blood was erupting from the hole in the tip of his cock. It coursed down the plastic tube and started filling up the bottle. When the markings on the bottle said two liters, I felt for Kevin’s pulse, but it was gone. When the bottle said three liters, the flow of crimson liquid had all but stopped, and Kevin’s naked form was a ghostly bluish white. He was dead.

We wrapped his body in a plastic sheet and carried it out of my lair. We set it, along with Kevin’s clothes,  in the back of the wagon that is hitched to the farm tractor. Lucinda drove it deep into the field, where I had previously had a deep hole dug to bury tree stumps and other debris. Dumping his body in the hole, I used the excavator to cover it up with tree stumps, rocks, and soil.

Tracy and Anita were too fatigued to make the trip back to Boston, so they spent the night. As they were climbing on Tracy’s bike the next morning, they both hugged and kissed me and thanked me for the day, exacting a promise that they would be invited back the next time I found a new acquisition.

“Of course,” I answered them, “I adore sharing anything that I acquire.”