Slave Farm

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

SIZZLER EDITIONS—HOT FLASHES GOLDEN ANGEL: UNWILLING SEX SLAVE Part Three: Slave Farm By CLAIRE THOMPSON ISBN 1-58873-986-4 All rights reserved Copyright © 2006 Claire Thompson This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission. Sizzler Editions/Hot Fashes B&D www.sizzlereditions.com A Renaissance E Books publication

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

CHAPTER ONE Laura looked down at her left breast, upon which a henna tattoo of the number five had been prominently placed. She was not unique in this regard, as the four other women huddled in the cramped stall with her also had the same single digit, in bright orange, on their bare breasts. When she'd been first delivered to the farm about an hour before, a silent burly man dressed only in cut-off denim shorts had stenciled the semi-permanent tattoo on her body after pointing to the ground to indicate she should kneel at attention. She noticed as he worked on her that the man had a stenciled tattoo of his own, of the number two. When he finished, the man reached out to touch her nipples, which still sported the little gold hoops Mistress Melinda had placed there after Laura's forced piercing. He'd pulled hard, making her wince, though her training kept her still and quiet, aware she might be punished for any sign of resistance. Apparently satisfied, he'd released her, finally speaking. "Lift your hair off your neck." Laura gathered her long golden blonde hair in her hands, piling it on her head as he moved behind her to buckle a narrow, black slave collar around her throat. He produced cuffs for her ankles and wrists as well, locking them in place with sturdy silver padlocks. She was hustled into what must have been an old horse stall, with only the words, "The overseer will be by later." 4

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

The horse stall had a dirt floor covered in fresh hay. The four women, sitting naked, marked and cuffed in the same manner as she was, looked up at her without speaking as the man left the stables, bolting the stall door behind him. Though the still-pungent smell of ancient horse dung lingered in the air, Laura inhaled deeply, savoring the light summer wind that blew through the open slats of the stall's glassless window. She hadn't been permitted outside since her abduction in the spring, though she hadn't realized until that moment just how much she missed the fresh air and the warmth of the sun on her face. The four women sat mutely regarding her from their various corners. They were all in their early to mid twenties, she guessed. Like her, they all had long hair, two of them blonde, one brunette and one with a red mass of curls around her pale pretty face. They all had lovely bodies, with high round breasts, their shapely legs crossed on the hay as they leaned against the unpainted wooden walls, which were grayed with age and weather. Their pussies, like Laura's, were shaven bare. None of them seemed the least selfconscious of their nudity. Indeed, Laura wasn't either, as she'd been kept naked for months on end, displayed in every possible way to the eyes and probing hands, mouths, cocks, whips and canes of her abductors. "I'm Laura," she finally ventured. None of the women responded, though they were looking at her. "Um," she tried again, turning toward the redhead. "What's your name?"

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

"Number Five," the girl answered flatly. "Just like you. You're another number five. Just another number, so don't pretend you've got a name yet." "What? No!" Laura remembered toward the end of her terrifying time with Madam and Sir, when she'd come to believe she was 'Number Seven'—an object for their abuse and derision, without a name, without hope. Mistress Melinda, whatever else she'd done, had allowed and even encouraged Laura to think of herself by her real name, though she'd always called her Number Six to her face. Melinda had mentioned she didn't like the brainwashed "zombies" Sir and Madam sent her way—she wanted a fully conscious woman, able to experience her sexual suffering and pleasure with her entire being, not just her body. Desperately Laura said, "You're not Number Five! That's just something they do to try to break you down! We may not be able to fight them, but we don't have to give up in our heads! Come on, you had a name once, before they took you! Think, what was it?" "Number Five," the girl answered, sliding her eyes away from Laura as her fingers twisted in her lap. Laura tried one of the blondes. "What's your name? Your real name. The name your parents gave you?" "You're stupid," the girl snarled, her pretty face twisting in a sneer. "You're trying to get us in trouble. You're trying to get us punished so you can look better. Why don't you just fuck off?" Her eyes slid toward a high corner of the stall and Laura looked up. A small security camera with a microphone was mounted there. 6

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

Laura looked at the other two women, both of whom looked away as she tried to make eye contact. Laura slid down the wall into the scattered hay, drawing her knees up protectively and wrapping her arms around them. She'd known a change was coming, but she hadn't imagined this! After nearly two months of highly sexualized slave training at the hands of the sometimes cruel and always lovely Melinda, along with her slave boy, Jared, she had been pronounced ready to move to the next level. She had thought her obedience and achievements would be rewarded with more freedom in a gentler environment. Instead she'd been chained, naked and blindfolded, in the back of a van and driven all night to what appeared to be an abandoned horse farm. Melinda and Jared hadn't even said good bye. Oddly, though they had been her captors, controlling her every move, denying her pleasure, keeping her bound and sexually tortured nearly every moment of her stay there, as Laura sat looking at the other slave girls, she found she missed them. They had been her entire world—a vast improvement over her first level of training at the hands of Sir and Madam, when constant whippings and deprivation were not softened by the sexual pleasure offered by Mistress Melinda. Though sometimes it seemed little more than a dream, Laura still recalled the 'other world'—the time when she'd been free, alone in the big city barely getting by, but free nonetheless. Melinda told her she was no longer fit to return to that world. Laura wondered if perhaps this were true. The constant sexual torture and stimulation to which she'd been 7

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

subjected had effected a change in the once rather shut down, sexually immature twenty-four-year old. Now, just the suggestion of sexual pleasure, a hand stroking her forearm, lips brushing her own, a whispered invitation, were enough to send shivers of desire through her loins, her pussy moistening and swelling at the thought of a hard cock or a soft warm tongue, even a leather crop. She somehow doubted sexual titillation would be part of this third level of training, and now even the thought of sharing this stall with other young women seemed to offer little solace. The realization that their every move was being observed by someone was disconcerting as well. Dropping her head on her knees, Laura closed her eyes, trying not to give in to the tears burning behind the lids. The brunette who sat closest to her leaned over, whispering so quietly Laura could barely hear her. "My name was Ellen." **** Five short toots of a whistle brought the other four girls to their feet. Laura copied their movements, standing at attention, her gaze turned to the bolted door. As it opened, she saw the man who had led her to the stalls, still dressed in only denim shorts, a little plastic whistle in his hand. His body was tan and he was sweating as if he'd been working outside. He jerked his head silently toward the girls, who lined up and followed him outside. They were led some distance from the stalls to a trench covered with planks. The other four slave girls quickly 8

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

squatted over the trench, which Laura realized from the stench was a latrine. Aware this might be her only opportunity for some time to come, Laura squatted as well, trying to relax enough to move her bowels next to the other girls, humiliated by the situation, as was no doubt the intention. Each girl did her business, waiting patiently until the man handed them each some toilet paper. Laura used hers quickly and dropped it down between the slats. When they were all done, they were led back by the silent slave to their little stall. Each girl washed her hands beneath the spigot in the corner of the stall where the camera had been mounted. There was a small drain set in the ground just below it. When it was Laura's turn, she splashed water on her face as well. Though summer was ending, the day was warm, the air close in the little stall. Wearily she sank down in the hay, closing her eyes. Some time later Laura was startled by the whistle, three short trills followed by one longer one. The bolt behind the stall door slid back, and the other four women hurriedly shifted to their knees, sitting back on their haunches, their hands behind their backs, their heads bowed, their breasts thrust out at attention. The girl once called Ellen gestured urgently for Laura to do the same. She scrambled to obey as the door was pulled open and a tall, extremely handsome man with dark brown hair, a firm jaw and deep set brooding black eyes swept into the room. Unlike the man who had marked and cuffed her, this man was fully clothed. His white shirt fit snugly against his strong 9

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

physique, tucked into straight-legged blue jeans that fit over black square-toed boots. Peeking through her lashes, Laura saw the silver whistle on a chain around his neck. He lifted it to his lips, blowing two short shrills of sound that caused the other girls to quickly turn toward the wall, lowering their heads to the hay as they lifted their shapely round asses into the air. Laura, taken by surprise by the silently choreographed moves of the young women, gasped with pain as the man grabbed her by the hair, hauling her to her feet as she stumbled forward. "Number Five! You failed to assume the position! That's five strokes with the cane." "Please," Laura implored. "I didn't know. I only just got here. No one told me what to do." "Ignorance is no excuse, Number Five, and because you protested, you will get ten strokes. You!" He touched the toe of his boot to Ellen's protruding ass. "You will cane her. Have no mercy." Quickly Ellen stood up, moving toward the wall where several canes of varying thickness were hung. Laura hadn't noticed them until now, as two of the girls had been leaning against that wall. Ellen selected a long thin rod of rattan, shaped like a very thin umbrella handle. The man said to Laura, "Bend over and hold your ankles. You can scream all you like, but don't move out of position or we'll start over." Trembling, Laura grabbed her ankles, the momentary fantasy of enlisting the other slaves to overpower the lone man slipping away as the other three girls remained in position, their heads still pressed against the hay, their 10

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

assholes and pussies on display for whoever cared to look. As her eyes had swept over them, Laura noted faint and fresh welts on each of the girls' asses, thighs and backs. She tried to catch her breath as she bent over, her body tensed in anticipation. Ellen came behind her, her face set in a blank mask, though Laura somehow knew she hated to have been the one chosen to deliver the punishment. They'd exchanged a few whispered sentences after she'd admitted she was once called Ellen. Mumbling into the drinking cup she'd said, "They are always watching and listening. We're punished for talking about anything to do with our training." Later she'd whispered, her face turned from the camera, "I've been here twelve days. I'm hoping to get out soon. No one stays longer than two weeks in the stalls." Laura tried to learn more, desperate for information in this strange place, but at a glare from the others, Ellen lapsed into an unhappy silence beside Laura, who gave up trying to talk to her. The first stroke wasn't so bad—Laura had endured worse at the hands of Sir many a time. The second stroke, which landed precisely where the first stroke had been delivered, made Laura scream with pain, but she managed to hold her position. "You've barely raised a welt, Number Five. Do it like you mean it, or you'll find yourself on the receiving end," the overseer barked. Frightened into obeying, Ellen struck her much harder, though mercifully on the lower fleshier part of her ass. Again Laura screamed. Over and over the cane 11

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

struck her flesh, leaving a fiery line of white hot pain in its wake. Silently she counted each stroke. At eight she knew she was going to make it. She waited for the ninth, then the final tenth, her body tensed, her breathing shallow and labored. "I'll do the last two," the overseer said, as Ellen handed the cane to him and returned to her corner, kneeling toward the wall. Laura flailed out of position as the cane cut across her back. The pain was excruciating, like a thousand wasps stinging across her skin, no fat beneath it to cushion the blow. "Tsk, tsk," the cruel man said, "and here you were doing so well. We'll have to start over now. Rules are rules." Laura struggled back into position, her back on fire, her ass crisscrossed with welts. He struck her again and again. She wasn't counting any longer, her entire being focused on keeping her position until the rain of fire ended. She was still bent over, her hands slippery with sweat as they gripped her ankles, her hair a shower of gold obscuring her tear-stained face. She felt something hard at her lips and opened her eyes, realizing the man had placed the cane there. Knowing what he wanted, she kissed the rod and it was withdrawn. "I'll be back later, Number Five. You're not fit to inspect now. You're a filthy mess." Putting his boot on the redhead's ass he said, "You! Wash her down. Use plenty of soap, she's pissed on herself." Laura realized to her own horror she had indeed peed down her leg during the beating. She felt shame and hatred like a venom coursing through her veins, though 12

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

she forced herself to keep her expression as neutral as possible, her eyes on the floor. She knew better than to attract any more attention than she already had. After the overseer left, the other girls relaxed, leaning back against the walls of the stall. The redhead moved toward a spigot set in one corner. A tin drinking cup and a large plastic bucket were beside it. She turned on the water, half filling the bucket. Reaching in, she pulled out a gray rag and a cake of white soap, rubbing the rag over it. "Hands behind your head, Number Five," she said, a trace of a smug smile on her face. "Spread your legs and stand at ease. I don't want to do this anymore than you want it done, so just cooperate and we'll get it over with fast, got it?" Laura stood as she was bidden. The redhead cruelly rubbed the cold, wet rag over Laura's body, pushing it up between her legs as Laura blushed. She winced and groaned as the rag slid over her welted ass. The redhead dunked the rag in the water and rinsed it off before again dragging it over Laura's body. As she drew the rag over Laura's breast it snagged on one of her gold hoops. Laura jerked back as the redhead's cruel smile widened. The cold water and her own cooling sweat made Laura shiver, her skin prickling with goose bumps by the time the girl was finished. When she was done, the redhead carefully dumped the water from the bucket into the little drain. She sat back down, saying in a clearly audible undertone to the blonde who hadn't yet spoken, "She thinks she's special because she has nipple rings and big tits and calls herself a name instead of a 13

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

number. The overseer will knock that right out of her. I knew she'd get a beating her first day here." "You got a beating your first day here," the blonde retorted, to Laura's surprise. The redhead didn't answer, instead turning her head away with a flounce of red curls. The blonde turned toward Laura. "We're treated well, all things considered." She glanced at the camera and back toward Laura. "We get three meals a day and there's always water." She pointed toward the tin cup near the spigot. "When's lunch? I haven't eaten since last night," Laura said, her empty belly for the moment making her forget her sore bottom. "We had it just before you got here, Number Five. Too bad," the redhead said meanly as Laura sighed, her stomach grumbling with protest. Leaning closer to Laura, barely moving her lips, she murmured, "My name was Jean. I had forgotten—it's been a long time. Thank you for reminding me." "Don't forget again," Laura whispered back, feeling a bit of warmth flow into her heart. With Ellen on her right and Jean on her left, Laura sat awkwardly on her side, trying to avoid the prickly hay against her abraded flesh. She ended up lying on her side, her legs curled up in a fetal position, her head resting on her arms. She was so exhausted from the ordeal she actually managed to fall asleep, and the other girls let her be. All too soon, her rest was interrupted, the sound of a whistle startling her into instant wakefulness. Her heart pounded as adrenaline spurt through her veins. Ellen, sitting 14

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

quietly beside her, whispered urgently, "Kneel up, like we did before. Two short whistles means head to the ground, ass up. One long whistle means lie on your back, knees drawn up, arms at your sides. One short and one long means—" Her explanation was cut short as the bolt slid back, the whistle blowing one short and one long as Laura desperately tried to copy the moves of her cellmates, kneeling back on their haunches, their knees spread wide, their fingers locked behind their necks, their blank faces staring straight ahead. She saw the overseer out of the corner of her eye as she prayed she'd been in position fast enough to suit him. Standing directly in front of her, he said, "On your feet. Follow me. One of the owners wants to see you." Nervous and frightened, Laura glanced back at Ellen and Jean as she followed the tall man out of the stall. All four girls gaped at Laura. She felt a cold finger of dread drag itself through her gut as she wondered what would happen next.

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Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

CHAPTER TWO Once outside the stables, the overseer attached a leash to the padlock on Laura's collar, and led her over the hard ground interspersed with clumps of grass and wild flowers. The area was surrounded by low lying mountains, everything green and lush in the setting sun. Laura, who'd had no food since she'd arrived early that morning, was ravenous. The several cups of tepid water she'd drunk had slaked her thirst but only made her hungrier. She tried to step carefully over the sharp little rocks and sticks beneath her bare feet as she followed the overseer, not daring to ask where he was taking her. As they walked, the unkempt grounds gave way to a rolling green, beautifully manicured lawn. High hedges flanked a wide cobblestone path leading toward a large old farm house. It looked to be three stories, wide and rambling, painted a fresh white with green shutters dressing its many windows. Laura was reminded of the contrast of the slave shacks in the old South, set only a few hundred yards from the master's house. Why had one of the owners summoned her? Surely her one misstep in failing to assume a position she hadn't known about wasn't enough to merit special punishment? Had they changed their minds, deciding she wasn't fit to be a sex slave? What happened to those girls not deemed worthy of training? She knew they couldn't be set free. Were they destined to be work slaves, kept in hovels, near-starved and 16

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

regularly beaten to keep them in line as they endured backbreaking labor in a virtual prison, with no chance of escape? Laura took a shuddering breath and hugged her body, as they approached the large front door. She wished she had the dignity of clothing when they sentenced her to a lifetime of hellish servitude. The overseer lifted the heavy brass knocker and let if fall with a thud against the door. It was opened quickly by a short but powerfully built young man with swarthy olive-toned skin, his hair closely cut, his bearing military. He was dressed in khaki pants and a black T-shirt, the sleeves stretched over his bulging biceps. The man stared brazenly at Laura, reminding her yet again she was naked. Despite herself, her nipples tingled as his eyes raked over her breasts, the tip of his tongue appearing between his lips as he stared. "Keep your dick in your pants, Number One," the overseer said curtly. "She's not for your eyes. Mr. Black wants to check this one out. We shouldn't be long." The overseer swept through the large front hall, passing through a lavishly decorated living room furnished with large sofas, scattered reading chairs, a huge old stone fireplace and a grand but faded Oriental rug. He moved into a long hallway, pulling the hapless naked girl behind him. All the doors were shut. They passed four of them before stopping at the end of the hall. The overseer knocked quietly and waited. "Come in," a masculine voice called out. He opened the door and ushered Laura in, unclipping her leash as he did so. She realized he wasn't coming in with her. She 17

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He shut the door behind her as she faced the man she presumed to be Mr. Black. "Hello there," he said. He was sitting in a large chair facing the bay windows through which a brilliant sunset was evident. He stood and moved toward her. "I've heard about you. Your reputation, if you will, has preceded you." Laura swallowed, not sure if she was supposed to respond, not sure what he meant. "Melinda is a good friend of mine. She's given me a steady supply of the best girls money can buy. I don't know how she does it, but she takes boring, stupid, lifeless little cunts and turns them into wanton sex goddesses who seem to exist in a constant state of arousal and desire." He licked his lips, moving close to Laura, who didn't dare move back, though she wanted to. He was a few inches taller than she was, with thick wavy blond hair and a cruel smile. He was stocky and strong, his neck and chest thickly muscled. She could feel power emanating from him. He reached out to touch her breast, tracing the orange 5 with a blunt-tipped finger. "That ability to respond is so much more valuable than the ability to perform sexual acrobatics. Yes, it's important to be able to take a cock for as long as a man cares to ram it down your throat." His finger moved up along her windpipe as Laura tried to control her shudder. "It's important to take it up the ass, if that's what he wants, without whimpering or resisting. You should take a beating with grace, if that's what he's into." "But how much more valuable is the slave girl who is always wet, always eager for your touch, no matter how 18

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

harshly she is treated. That's not something you can fake." His hand slid down her body, stopping just above her bare pussy. Laura bit her lip and closed her eyes. He stepped back. "Turn around." Slowly Laura obeyed. She felt his rough hand on her welted ass. "Poor girl. Just arrived and already caned. Not that you didn't deserve it, I'm sure. Nevertheless, spread your legs. Show me your cunt." Though Laura had endured this sort of treatment for months, the blush still bloomed on her cheeks as she bent forward for the strange man, arching back so he could see her spread lips. She felt his fingers on her sex, lightly tracing the soft lips, gliding smoothly toward her clit. Despite her fear, and the bizarre situation, the months of sexual training had, indeed, become a part of Laura's psyche. She felt herself responding, her pussy moistening, her clit tingling with desire. She was kept nearly always on the edge, rarely allowed to actually climax. When she was permitted to do so the experience was mind-numbingly intense. She couldn't suppress the small moan as he pushed a finger inside her. She began to breathe rapidly as he thrust it in and out of her wet hole. Moving closer, he pulled her back into him, reaching around her with his other hand to grab her breast. "Did she do that to you? Pierce you like that?" "Yes, sir," Laura gasped as he reached down, pressing his hand between her legs, forcing her to spread them wide. He massaged her pussy with one hand, his other caressing her throat. His touch was almost too rough, yet she couldn't help her reaction, pressed against his strong body, helpless as he 19

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

bent down, lightly biting her neck. Against her will, her pelvis began to gyrate against his firm hand and she knew she was about to come. He knew it too, as he let her go, pushing her away. Grabbing her shoulders, he spun her around toward him, slapping her cheek. "You're a slut, Number Five," he said as he lightly pulled on one on her nipple rings. She didn't respond, unless her flushed cheeks and chest, and shuddering breaths could be taken for a response. "Have you ever been tethered by these? Tied with chain by your rings and whipped? One jerk too hard and the pain is exquisite, or so I've observed." With an index finger crooked in each ring, Mr. Black pulled up, forcing Laura on tiptoe as she winced in pain, biting her lips. At the same time, she felt her nipples stiffen with perverse desire, her cunt still on fire despite her fear. He leaned down so his face was close to hers, his eyes fixed on her face as he watched her reaction. With a little triumphant laugh he let her go. She stumbled back, her hands caressing her tender nipples until his gaze made her lower them. "I asked you a question, slave. Answer it." "No, sir. Melinda never did that," Laura said breathlessly. "Mistress Melinda to you," he snapped, again jerking at one of the hoops for emphasis as she cried out. He released the ring, and reached between her legs, seeking her center. She was wet with her own juices as she responded again to his intimate caress. Laura, confused, embarrassed, and fiercely aroused, moaned at the pleasure his fingers wrought. 20

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

"Look at you," he said, his eyes glinting cruelly, his mouth curved in a smile. "You're flushed, your nipples hard, your chest heaving, your eyes bright with lust. Even in this situation—hungry, scared, naked and alone—all it takes is a man's hand on your cunt and you're reduced to wanton lust." He laughed. Humiliated, Laura tried to control her breathing. The man's sexual magnetism drew her to him despite his cruel treatment of her. She wanted to kiss those sensual, cruel lips, to feel his hardness fill her. He stared at her a while longer, his eyes boring into her as if he could read her mind. Embarrassed, she looked down at the floor. His voice suddenly surprisingly gentle, Mr. Black asked softly, "Would you like to come, Number Five?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. "Do it then. Make yourself come while I watch. Lie down and play with yourself." Laura knew it wasn't a request. Flushing with shame mingled with her strong sexual need, Laura lay on the shiny hardwood floor, dropping her hand to her pussy. Mr. Black walked over to an intercom on the wall and pressed a button. He returned to her and said, "Spread your legs, I want to see." He squatted to observe her more closely. Laura obeyed. She closed her eyes, but she felt his strong presence, inhaled his masculine scent mingling with her own arousal. Despite her fear of the man and the constant underlying rage at her captivity, Laura couldn't help the image dancing in her head as her fingers danced over her clit—Mr. Black, his strong body 21

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

looming naked over hers as he pressed his thick shaft into her wet, needy cunt... She knew this little gift of orgasm might be withdrawn at any moment, as it had been so often before. Feverishly she rubbed against herself, desperate to achieve at least one climax before she was forced to stop. "Oh, oh..." she began to pant, dimly aware of the man staring at her, past caring as a hot little climax shattered its way through her body. The buttery hot sweet sensation roiled itself through her center, spreading deliciously to her limbs as she lay still, her legs akimbo, her sticky sex still on display. When she came to herself, opening her eyes, she saw two men instead of one. The overseer must have been summoned by his buzz. He stared down at the naked girl, his face set in a sneer. "She's a slut," he said to Mr. Black. "Indeed," he laughed. Bending down, he drew one finger along her sopping wet pussy, then lifted it to his face, inhaling deeply as Laura slammed her legs shut, blushing furiously as she returned to full consciousness. "That's a good thing, Matt, and if you weren't only into boys, you might appreciate her, uh, virtues, a little more. In fact, with that lovely innocent face and mass of golden blonde hair, she's more angel than slut. A golden angel, worth her weight in gold." Mr. Black moved toward a large desk in the corner of the room. Sitting in the chair behind it, he put his hands behind his head as he leaned back, looking up at the overseer. "Take her back, but I'll want to see her again tomorrow evening. Have her wear something pretty next time. All this nudity is 22

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

tiresome." Dazed, Laura got to her feet and the overseer clipped the leash to her collar. He led her from the house, pulling hard when she didn't keep up. The pleasure from the orgasm and her bizarre sexual fantasies regarding Mr. Black dissipated like a forgotten dream as the overseer jerked her along by her leash. So his name was Matt. Laura had found during her captivity that it helped to know their names. It made them less menacing somehow—humanized them for her. Though she was still frightened of the man, aware he had full power over her, she looked at him now, thinking his mother had called him Matt when he was a little, helpless boy toddling after her. Laura was shaken from this brief daydream by a hard tug at her leash that made her stumble as she was jerked forward. "Don't think I'll use you any more lightly, just because Black wants your ass." As they walked back in the darkening evening to her stall, he said cruelly, "Too bad you just missed dinner." **** "I saved this for you," Ellen said, once Matt had thrust her back into the stall and left them alone. She held out a sandwich. A thick slice of ham was wedged into a hard roll. Gratefully, Laura took the sandwich. She poured herself a cup of water from the tap and drank it in a few gulps. She repeated the process, then took a third cup and sat next to Ellen. The first bite of sandwich was like heaven exploding on 23

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

her tongue. The ham was delicious, perfectly cured with a hint of brown sugar. The roll was fresh. Laura ate too quickly, but she couldn't help it. Only Ellen and one of the blondes were in the stall. "Where are the others?" she asked Ellen between mouthfuls. "Training," Ellen said softly. "They might not be back for hours. We're taken out mostly at night. That's when they use us to—" Glancing suddenly at the camera she put her hand on her mouth. Laura knew better than to press her. **** Laura, knelt naked on the floor, a cock thrust deep into her throat, she knew if he didn't pull back soon she was going to faint. For the last several hours Matt sat in a chair in a small house on the grounds, watching as Laura tried to accommodate a tall very well hung young man with the number three stenciled in dark blue on his smooth, hard chest. Like Laura, the man's nipples had been pierced, though instead of gold hoops, he wore silver barbells, the gauge much thicker than Laura's. His little nipples were at rigid attention, his cock gagging Laura, his hands gripping her head. "Let her go, she's pathetic," Matt said. As the young man stepped back, his large cock dripping with Laura's saliva, Matt said, "Number Five, you are the worst cocksucker I've ever had the misfortune to train. There's no way you can move up until you at least get the basics down. Jesus, what were you when they found you, a virgin?" He spat the last word with disgust. 24

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Laura bit her lip to keep from retorting they hadn't found her, they'd kidnapped her! And while she wasn't a virgin, oral sex had never been her forte. Being forced to suck this strange man's huge cock while another man stared at her wasn't making it any easier! Matt sighed. "I'm going to give you a demonstration, just once. Pay attention. You give a miserable performance like that again and I'll whip you to shreds." To her astonishment, Matt stood and unbuckled his pants, slipping them and his underwear down his strongly muscled thighs. His cock, semi-erect, wasn't as big as the slave boy's, but it was substantial nonetheless. Laura watched the young man kneel in front of Matt. She saw a look pass between them, as Matt's expression softened for just a moment, a hint of a smile on his face as he patted the kneeling man's curly blond head. As she watched, the man used his hands, lightly stroking and teasing Matt to full erection, his cock lengthening and thickening under his skillful touch. At a touch to his shoulder, the young slave knelt forward, his lips sliding over Matt's shaft, taking the full length of him so that his nose touched Matt's pubic hair. Laura knew from her limited experience he couldn't breathe with that cock blocking his windpipe. He stayed very still, his eyes closed, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. Laura kept waiting for him to splutter and choke, to pull back and gasp for breath as the seconds ticked into minutes, but he never moved. Finally, with another touch to his shoulder, he pulled back, drawing air through his nostrils as 25

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Matt stroked his cheek with a gentleness that took Laura by surprise. The boy leaned forward again, this time his tongue lightly circling the head of Matt's cock, then licking down the shaft in slow, sensual swirls. Matt's eyes closed, his fingers entwining in the boy's blond locks as he sighed with pleasure. The boy enveloped the cock again, sliding it deep into his throat then pulling back, repeating the gesture as he quickened the pace. His hands cupped Matt's balls as his mouth moved rapidly over the hard shaft. As Matt started to shudder the boy pulled back, once again only licking and teasing his cock, lowering his head to caress the swaying balls with his tongue. Matt moaned, and after several minutes of this erotic torture, grabbed the boy's head and thrust his member into his willing mouth, impaling him again to the hilt. This time as Matt began to shudder, his hips thrusting against the slave boy's face, he held the boy's head fast with his strong hands. His hard nearly-purple cock was a blur as he relentlessly pumped into the boy's mouth. With a cry he spasmed, his hips jerking forward as he emptied his seed in a stream down the slave boy's throat. The boy kept his position, Matt's cock still in his throat, until he dropped his hands from the boy's head and stepped back. The slave boy did not attempt to wipe the bit of semen that dribbled down his chin. He remained kneeling, his eyes on the floor, his hands again clasped behind his back. Laura saw his cock was still hard, jutting from his belly. 26

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Matt pulled his pants up, buckling his belt as he turned toward Laura. "Okay, Number Five. Now you try."

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CHAPTER THREE When Laura was escorted back to her stall, her jaw was aching, her throat was raw, and her knees were bruised from kneeling. For hours she'd been forced to tease, lick, suck and endure the thrustings of the slave boy's huge cock down her throat. His erection had remained rock hard throughout the proceedings. No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to get him to come! Each time he began to stiffen, his balls tightening in her hands, the tendons taut on his broad neck as he dropped his head back with impending ecstasy, a word, a touch, a gesture from Matt would stop him in his tracks. "Not yet, William," Matt would say, calling the boy by his name instead of his number, a fact not missed by Laura. Over the course of the time she was kept on her knees, she came to realize with certainty the pair were in love. Or at least Matt was in love. She well knew William might only be pretending as a survival tool. He might not even be gay, though he had seemed to be enjoying himself as he brought Matt to orgasm. The tender glances shared between the two didn't seem feigned on either side. So why was William still a marked slave? Laura thought about Matt's title of overseer. On the old slave plantations the overseer was little more than a hired hand, employed to wrest every last drop of labor from the slaves, but in the end still just a servant to the masters in the main house. Perhaps Matt couldn't afford to purchase William, even if he had wanted to. 28

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What did a sex slave, fully trained, cost? Laura had no idea, but from the bits and pieces of conversation she'd overheard from time to time she was pretty sure the final price tag was hefty indeed. She stopped abruptly in this train of thought, horrified at how she herself had begun to think of human beings as property. Deep in her heart, through all this bizarre confinement, torture and training, she'd tried to hold onto her vow that somehow, someday, she would win her freedom. Deposited back into the stall, Laura moved toward the spigot, eager to wash the slightly bitter tang of William's ejaculate from her mouth. She'd been nearly numb with exhaustion when he'd tensed and jerked the last time. Matt had finally permitted him to come in her mouth and he'd done so, spurting long, thick streams of acrid gooey semen down her throat, pulling out as he did so, it spurted in her mouth as well. Laura had choked and spluttered, very nearly spitting it out. She had forced herself to swallow, knowing she'd be cruelly punished if she dared spill that seed. Now she sank gratefully down next to Jean. It was pitch black outside, the stars obscured by clouds rolling in, the moon barely a sliver. The stall was softly lit with lights set along the edges of the ceiling. "Do they ever turn them off?" she asked, pointing to the lights. "No," Jean answered, motioning toward the camera. Laura sighed. At least in her other two confinements her sleep had been private, though she was chained to her bed. 29

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She wanted to ask Jean where she had been taken tonight. She wanted to tell them about what had happened with Mr. Black, and later with Matt and William. No one had punished her for talking out when she'd first arrived, but she'd seen how nervous the other girls were when she tried to draw them out, their eyes sliding warily toward the camera. Perhaps she should count herself lucky and keep her mouth shut. Laura tried to make herself comfortable in the scratchy hay, and realized she was bone tired. She'd only been at the slave farm for about twelve hours, but it seemed like a week. That lone ham sandwich hadn't been enough and Laura rolled onto her empty belly, trying to forget her hunger as she drifted into a light and troubled sleep. **** The next morning each girl was given a birth control pill. Laura, used to taking them daily during her prior captivity, swallowed hers with barely a thought. After a breakfast of apples, more of the ham and plenty of bread, Laura felt more fortified to endure whatever lay in store for her. After the latrine break, the girls were led single file to the huge old farmhouse, but instead of being taken through the front door, they were brought around to a back entrance. They were led through a huge old-fashioned kitchen to what appeared to be old servants' quarters, then into a large bathroom where shower spigots had been installed at intervals. There were no separate stalls for privacy, but that hardly mattered to slaves always kept naked. 30

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Laura luxuriated in the hot spray, washing as quickly as she could so she could savor the stream of water running over her head and back. All too soon the water was shut off, and the man with the number two on his chest handed them thin, well-worn towels to dry off with. "On the counter," Number Two ordered and all the girls promptly hopped up, spreading their legs as they leaned back on their elbows. Laura hesitated but a glare from the burly man caused her to obey as well. He produced a handful of blue disposable razors and some emollient shaving soap. Quickly and efficiently he shaved each girl's legs, underarms and pussies until she was smooth. Laura couldn't help but notice the erection beneath the man's shorts as he carefully scraped the stubble from her sex. When he finished, they were permitted to comb out their hair in front of mirrors. Laura, who hadn't seen herself in a mirror for a long time, was taken aback by the haunted look in her eyes. The skin beneath them looked fragile and dark with fatigue. She focused instead on her hair, noting how the early morning sun slanting through the high windows highlighted the butter yellow and golden strands. They were being led back to the stall when both she and the redhead were intercepted by Matt. "Training," he said simply, as he led them to the small house where Laura had spent so much time the night before, on her knees. Laura wondered about the two of them being taken at once but knew she would find out soon enough. What she heard made her bump into the redhead, who had stopped in her tracks as they heard Matt's words. 31

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"Today you're going to learn to eat pussy, and better you than me," he laughed. He led them into a different room than the one Laura had been in the night before. This one contained a mattress along one wall set on the floor, covered with a white sheet. There was a table with a cane, crop and paddle on it, and a single chair beside it. Laura stared at the items. The redhead was obediently looking at the floor. Matt sat in the chair, grasping the silver whistle around his neck. He blew it once, holding the sound for several seconds. Laura tried to recall Ellen's hurried description of what the different whistle patterns meant. She couldn't remember, but instead copied the redhead as she lay down quickly on the hardwood floor on her back, drawing her knees up to her body until her heels were touching her thighs as she let her legs fall open, her arms at her sides. Laura felt her face heat, wondering how the redhead felt about baring herself like this to Matt. Somehow knowing he was gay made it worse—she couldn't even fantasize for a moment that he might find her appealing or erotic, and thus perhaps be more lenient. She wondered if the redhead knew. Matt stood, bending over the table to select a small riding crop. "Twenty swats each, just to make your cunts more sensitive to each other's tongues." He chose the redhead first, smacking her spread pussy, the sound echoing in the little room. The redhead stayed still, her eyes closed, only her hands clenched at her sides betraying her. When it was Laura's turn, she closed her eyes, telling herself she could do this easily. She'd endured far worse punishment in the past few months. The crop slapped at her 32

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cunt, lightly at first, but by the last few strokes, it was all Laura could do to remain still. Somehow she succeeded, though her pussy felt tender and raw when he was done. Matt, seemingly satisfied, prodded Laura's thigh. "Lie on the bed on your back and spread your legs." As Laura moved to obey he stood over the redhead. "You, get it right this time. Don't act like you're eating shit. Pretend you enjoy it. Remember, you're doing it for your master, not yourself. You don't exist, except to please him." Her body language exhibited her clear reluctance, and with her back turned to Matt as she knelt over Laura, she shot her a look of venomous hate. Laura recoiled, wondering what she had done to earn this girl's obvious loathing. Matt pulled his chair closer so he was sitting by the side of the mattress. "Remember your lessons. This paddle will help you recall them, I imagine." He swatted the redhead's ass with a resounding smack. She gave a little cry of pain then said contritely, "Yes, sir." Slowly she leaned over Laura, lowering her head to her spread pussy. She gripped Laura's thigh, her nails digging into the flesh as her tongue made contact with Laura's labia. Slowly, tentatively, she licked up the sides, moving toward the center and away again, her face wrinkled in disgust. Despite the fact it was a woman touching her so intimately, and she was being forced to do so, Laura couldn't help the ripples of pleasure the girl's tongue caused. Squeezing her eyes shut, the girl began to lick more rapidly, the pressure increasing directly over Laura's hooded clit. What had been pleasurable began to be less so as the 33

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redhead's tongue battered the area, her fingernails digging harder into Laura's thighs. She couldn't have made it clearer she hated what she was doing if she had screamed it at the top of her lungs. Matt, watching, said in a dry voice, "You aren't trying to remove paint, Number Five. We've been through this before. The idea is to arouse, to please, to titillate. Ease up." He smacked her ass again with the paddle, forcing the girl's face into Laura's spread sex. She pulled back, gasping as he hit her again. "Is there a problem, Number Five?" the overseer asked, his face darkening. "She stinks," she hissed as her hands reached back reflexively to massage her reddened ass. "I'm not a fucking lesbian!" Matt stood abruptly, grabbing the hapless girl by her hair as he jerked her off the mattress. He slapped her face hard, his handprint left behind on the fair freckled skin. "She doesn't stink, you idiot! No more than any female. And I don't give a shit if your preference is goats! When I give you a command, you obey it! You might well be purchased by a woman, you stupid cunt! She isn't going to give a fuck if you like girls or not! What you like has nothing to do with anything! Haven't you figured that out yet! Jesus, am I going to be stuck with you forever? You've been nothing but trouble since you arrived." He slapped her again with the back of his hand and she fell to the ground, crying, hiding her face as she huddled into a ball. 34

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Laura was horrified as she witnessed this exchange. On one level she admired the girl's gumption, but on the other, she knew her own survival instincts would never have permitted her to behave that way. The girl seemed to want to fail. Laura had remained in position, but now slowly closed her legs, humiliated to think the girl found her so utterly repugnant. She wasn't gay either, but being asked to lick someone's pussy hardly seemed reason enough to risk the overseer's wrath by refusing. "Number Five!" he barked, and Laura realized he was addressing her. "Get up and get the cane! Give her thirty strokes. Mark her. Go on, move!" Laura sat up, dazed. "I don't know how," she whispered, feeling sick. "Learn on her," he said, glaring. "Just hold it by the handle, draw back your wrist and let it strike the flesh. To the redhead he commanded, "Get on your hands and knees. Count each stroke." The redhead moved into position, crying still, her hair tumbling in soft curls around her face. Laura felt horrible, as if she were somehow responsible for what had happened, though she knew that wasn't true. On leaden legs, she forced herself to walk to the small table. She picked up the long, supple cane, gripping the suede handle in her trembling hand. Standing behind the poor girl, she lifted the cane, recalling Ellen being forced to do the same to her. She hadn't blamed Ellen, understanding the girl had no choice in the matter. Somehow she doubted the redhead would be as forgiving. 35

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"Do it," Matt commanded. She let the cane fall against the girl's ass. "One," came the muffled word. "Harder," he said. She tried again, flinching as the girl flinched. "Two." Matt, who was standing next to her, grabbed the cane from her hand. "Like this," he said, as he brought it down squarely on both ass cheeks with a flick of his wrist. "Three," the girl screamed, tensing her body as she rocked on her hands and knees. This time a long pink stripe appeared, changing quickly to a dark, angry red. Feeling as if she were about to vomit, Laura took a deep breath. Bringing her arm back, she tried to flick her wrist as he had, the cane whistling as it struck the offered flesh. A line appeared just below the one caused by Matt, which was already flaring into a welt. "Four," the girl cried. Again and again Laura struck the girl, watching in horrified fascination as her ass became a crisscross of pinks and reds. Laura felt like the worst kind of coward as she hit the girl, trying to tell herself if she didn't do it, Matt would, and much harder, she was sure. As the girl screamed out the number thirty, Laura sighed with relief. She wanted to cry along with the girl, to apologize, to beg her to understand she had had no choice. She bit her lip to keep from screaming her hatred toward the man who forced her to hurt this poor slave girl. She clenched her fists at her sides to keep from striking him. He was watching her, his expression bemused. She looked down, wondering what she'd betrayed on her face as she 36

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forced her expression to go blank. "Lie on your back on the bed, slave," Matt ordered the redhead, prodding her side with his boot. To Laura he said, "Let's see if you can do it any better." Laura crawled over to the girl who lay back listlessly, her welted ass exposed as she bent her legs at the knee and drew them up to expose her pussy. Laura pushed her hair back behind her ears as she knelt between the girl's legs. She had never had her face this close to another woman's pussy, and despite the strange circumstances and her guilt at having caused this girl such pain, she found herself fascinated with its folds and colors. Having been forced to examine her own sex while held at Mistress Melinda's, Laura mentally compared it with the delicate pussy spread before her. The redhead's labia were bigger, the inner lips folding outward over the outer like the petals of an exotic flower. Her hooded clit was more pronounced and the flesh itself was darker—reds and purples, where Laura's were varying shades of pink. A smash of the overseer's paddle against Laura's ass sent bolts of pain hurtling through her, made worse by the surprise attack. Quickly she lowered her face to the spread sex, her lips parting as she took a nervous breath. She recalled the girl's stinging remark that she stank and dared to inhale near the soft, spread folds. The redhead didn't stink at all. She smelled of the same shaving soap that had been used on Laura that morning, plus another slightly musky but not unpleasing scent of her own. The labia were dry and limp. Laura glanced at the girl's face, 37

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which was closed into a mask of sullen indifference, her reddened eyes staring at the ceiling. Laura knew she had her work cut out for her. Determined to learn from the redhead's mistakes, she lightly licked along the edges of her spread pussy, recalling the pleasure the girl's initial kisses had engendered. Slowly she licked toward the center with swirling strokes of her tongue, marveling a little at how soft and smooth the delicate flesh felt beneath her tongue. The girl remained still. Laura put a hand on either soft white thigh, pushing them a little apart. As the girl's labia stretched, Laura bent down to caress the little hooded clit with her tongue. With feather light kisses, she teased the little bud, dancing away from it to lick down toward the entrance before swirling back up to visit it again. She couldn't help the slight grin of delight as she saw and felt the clit harden beneath her tongue, peaking out now from its hood. She licked it directly, glancing toward the girl's face. Her eyes had fluttered shut. Laura moved her hands from the girl's thighs, placing them on either side of her sex. She pulled, spreading the labia taut as she concentrated on licking and suckling the swelling folds. The girl's scent was ripe, overpowering the soap smell. Laura dared to touch the hot entrance at the base of the darkening, engorged folds, pressing her finger gently into its heat. The girl was wet, her vaginal muscles tight around Laura's finger as she moaned softly. Laura felt her own power like a drug as the girl's hips moved to force her finger farther into the narrow tunnel. 38

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She bent back over her task, her blonde hair swaying over the soft curve of the girl's belly as she licked and fingerfucked her, gaining confidence with each moan and soft sigh. The girl's swelling hot pussy, her primal, sexual scent and increasingly strong reactions to Laura's kisses were all combining to arouse her as well. She remembered Melinda's hot kiss, their tongues meeting as she pulled Laura's head back by the hair just before she had lowered Laura onto the huge phallus... Laura focused on the girl, noting which flick of her tongue made her tremble and shudder. She held her still with her hands on either side of her pussy as she licked and teased in circles around the erect little nubbin at her center. All at once the girl began to shiver, her body jerking in tiny spasms. Laura suddenly felt the girl's hands on either side of her head, gripping her hair as she held her close. Laura continued to kiss and suckle her as the girl arched and shuddered, whimpering and panting as she jerked against Laura's mouth. Finally she stilled and released her fingers from the tangle of blonde hair, her body going limp. Laura gave one last lick of her tongue over the still-erect nubbin and the girl shuddered reflexively against her. "Now that," she heard Matt say behind her, "is how you do it."

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CHAPTER FOUR Laura stood with her head bowed. She was wearing a gauzy sundress of pure white. The sheer fabric allowed the dark pink of her nipples and their little gold hoops to be clearly visible. She had been given thong panties of white lace. She still wore her slave cuffs, the little silver padlocks in place against black leather. It felt strange to be wearing clothing, even as skimpy as it was. It had been a long time since she was permitted such a luxury. Her long blonde hair hung loose down her back. Number Two had painted her lips with a coral pink lipstick and tipped her thick lashes with mascara. She stood in front of Mr. Black's desk, waiting for him to look up. His dark blond head was bent over papers he seemed busy signing. At last he put down his pen and pushed back his chair, leaning back as he looked up at her. "I hear you're doing well, Number Five. Making steady progress." He smiled. She kept her face neutral, waiting. "You look lovely. Your skin so soft, your hair like ribbons of gold and sunlight, those large brown eyes when one expects blue." He stood, and moved around the desk. He stepped close to her, too close for comfort, but she held her ground, not daring to move back. Taking her chin between thumb and forefinger, he tilted her face upward. "I want you." Laura swallowed, feeling the intent of his words before she understood them. "When I was watching you last night, the way you moved, the little sighs, 40

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your flushed skin. It was like you were on fire with lust. I sense a passion in you no one has tapped." He stroked her cheek and shook his head. "I don't mean the ability to make yourself come in front of others, though you do that very well." He released her chin and Laura looked down, embarrassed but oddly pleased. "No, I sense the woman in you, beyond the well-trained slave you are becoming." He stepped back and surprised her by saying, "Would you care for a glass of wine?" Laura hesitated, wondering what the trap was. His face was open, almost friendly. She nodded slowly. She watched as he moved to a sideboard and removed a bottle of red wine. Withdrawing the cork, he poured the dark liquid into two large crystal wineglasses, handing one to her. "Sit over here." He indicated the couch, moving that way himself. Laura followed, thoroughly confused and very much on her guard. As they sat he took a long drink from his glass. Laura tasted hers—it was delicious and she took another sip. Mr. Black said, "I have a special position here at the farm. I don't train the slaves directly. I have contacts. I find owners—I make placements. I don't handle the actual exchange of money and all that contractual stuff." He waved his hand dismissively, "but I seem to have a knack for placing slaves, especially women, with the right owner, or with someone who can find the right owner." Laura drank again, deeply, nearly finishing the glass. Why was he telling her this? She had often wondered how any of 41

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this could be real. It was one thing to keep the girls imprisoned in houses and on isolated farms, with cameras and thugs hired to keep them in line. But how could an individual 'owner' hope to keep someone forever imprisoned? It didn't seem possible. As if reading her mind, Mr. Black offered, "We place our girls carefully. Many of them are very willing, after sufficient training and, uh, behavior modification, to be placed with someone." Brainwashed, you mean, Laura said silently. "Those who are less cooperative are usually sold in other countries, where it's much easier to keep someone under lock and key without the slightest interest of those with no business in the matter." He finished his glass and set it down. "At any rate, I don't know why I'm telling you this. You are the object, not the subject, of these negotiations and you'll do what you're told." He stood. "The fact is, I've seen so many girls come and go and I guess I've become a bit jaded, if you will. What's one more pair of breasts, one more bare cunt, one more trembling, pliant slave girl? But you..." He paused, taking her hand and pulling her from the couch. "Something about you—like a golden angel, so vulnerable, almost virginal." He touched the white fabric of her dress. Pulling her to him, he bent his head so his lips touched hers. The wine had muddied her thoughts, but didn't account for the sudden warmth in her loins as he kissed her, pressing past her lips, his tongue plundering her mouth. She kissed him back—it seemed the natural thing to do. 42

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His arms came around her and he pulled her up hard against his body. She felt his erection, like steel against her belly. He maneuvered her so her back was to the couch. Pressing her down, he let her fall against it as he grabbed his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it from his pants. He knelt in front of her, grabbing the hem of her flimsy dress in his strong hands. He easily tore the fabric, ripping it to the top and pulling it from her body. Laura was startled and upset by the violent move, dismayed her brief opportunity to be clothed had been literally ripped from her. He bent forward, his mouth finding her nipple. He bit it hard and she cried out. "I have to have you," he said throatily. "I will have you." He pushed her down onto the couch, positioning himself between her legs as he yanked at his fly. He pulled one of her legs up over the back of the couch. Jerking aside the little bit of lace that covered her pussy, he roughly pressed a finger into her entrance. "Jesus, you're wet, you perfect slut, you're wet!" He pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees with one hand, not even bothering to take them off completely. His cock was not especially long but it was very thick, erect and bobbing toward her as he leaned down, using a hand to forcibly guide it into her body. He moved too fast, hurting her as he pressed inexorably into her tunnel. "You want it, you know you want, you slut!" he panted as he raped the girl. She felt the rage that always lingered just below the surface of her slave girl persona spilling out into her gut like acid. She struggled beneath the man, who 43

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

laughed, grabbing her wrists and jerking her arms over her head. "That's it. Fight me, you little vixen! I like a fight." He pinned her with his body as he pummeled her pussy, his cock ramming into her as he buried his face in her neck. He was breathing hard and she could smell his sweat and lust. She gave up the struggle, her body finally acclimating to his thick shaft. Despite the fear and rage, her body, trained for so long to respond, began to loosen and open to him, her juices flowing, her nipples stiffening beneath his hard chest. He fucked her hard, panting in her ear, his fingers curled tightly around her wrists. Within a few minutes he slammed hard into her, spurting his seed deep inside of her. He remained a dead weight on top of her for several moments. She felt his heat beating against her own. Eventually, he pushed himself off her, standing and pulling up his pants. He brushed his hair from his face, turning away from her. He retrieved his belt, looping it into his pants as she watched, not daring to move from the couch. Walking to the intercom he pressed the button. Turning to her he said, his voice almost cold, "Wait outside the door on your knees. I'm done with you." **** Days passed, one much like the next. Laura was groomed, sexually trained, whipped or caned if she failed to please. Both Ellen and Jean had been taken out of the stall, presumably "promoted" placed or whatever was going to 44

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

happen next. Even the difficult, defiant redhead had failed to return the day before. The other blonde, whose name she refused to share, was still there, and two new girls had been thrust in yesterday, as frightened and confused as Laura had been on her arrival. She'd tried to whisper comfort and direction. Each time the blonde would say loudly with a glance to the camera, "Stop it, Number Five. You're breaking the rules." Laura hadn't been summoned again by Mr. Black, to her immense relief. Her shock had been late in coming, processed after the fact as she thought over his bizarre, cruel treatment of her. He'd tricked her into thinking he valued her on some level—even liked her—but he'd proved to be no different than any of her captors, worse as he defiled her in that most intimate of ways. It was after dinner on the seventh evening of her captivity on the slave farm, when someone she had never seen stuck her head into the stall. "You," the woman said, pointing to Laura. "Let's go." She was fully dressed, her thick auburn hair swept up in a twist behind her head. She was wearing dark slacks and a soft silky looking blouse. Her makeup and jewelry were impeccable. Laura guessed she was in her mid thirties. The peculiar contrast between the elegant woman and the naked slave girl, dressed only in leather cuffs, was a strange one as she walked behind the woman, brimming with curiosity. The woman didn't speak as they walked. When they arrived at the main house she took Laura around to the familiar back entrance. "Mr. Black and Mr. Hennessey want 45

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

you at the showing tonight. I'll get you presentable." She led Laura into a bathroom smaller than the one outfitted with shower stalls for the slave girls' morning grooming. This bathroom had a large tub and shower as well as a long counter with a sink and built-in vanity. The vanity had a plump pink satin-covered stool in front of it and a tray full of makeup and perfume on its glass-topped table. "A showing?" Laura dared to ask. The woman turned her attention from the counter. "Yes. It seems you're being skipped up the ladder a bit. There's someone who has taken an interest in you, even though you haven't been promoted along the usual path. Apparently she's got a lot of money. And money, as you know, speaks volumes." Laura digested this as the woman told her to stand still. She was holding a bottle of something that smelled strongly of paint thinner or something along those lines. Pouring it onto a washcloth, she rubbed the cloth against Laura's henna tattoo, erasing the bright orange 5 from her breast as Laura watched with wide eyes. She was then directed to shower. The woman handed her a towel of much finer quality than the thin, barely absorbent ones she was used to. She dried her body and rolled her hair in the towel. The woman placed another fresh towel on the stool. "Sit down. I'm going to try and make you presentable." Laura obeyed, avoiding her own image in the mirror as she studied the myriad of bottles, sprays, sticks and lotions spread out before her. "You may call me Veronica," the woman said suddenly. "Or I suppose Ms. Veronica, though I 46

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

personally don't stand on ceremony. Really, it's better you call me nothing at all. Just keep your mouth shut and your head down. You're going to be presented and discussed—seen but not heard, if you understand me. If there's still interest, you'll get a chance to show them what you can do and what you can handle at the auction." The auction! Laura started to ask but Veronica silenced her. "No more questions. You'll be told what you need to know when you need to know it." She pulled Laura's hair back, clipping it on top of her head with a large plastic hairclip. Directing Laura to face her, she began to apply makeup to Laura's face, using brushes, pads and her fingers. She also applied a special rouge to Laura's nipples, darkening them from a dusky rose to a deep alluring pink. Next she took down Laura's hair, applying gel and spray as she combed, straightened and styled it. When she was finally done she said, "What do you think?" Laura turned toward the mirror, expecting to see herself made up like a cheap hooker. She couldn't help the intake of breath as she looked at herself. Even back in the other world she'd never worn much makeup, not seeing the need for it. Her face was still her face, but somehow it was subtly transformed. The skin was dewy, any trace of shadows and tiny wrinkles erased, replaced by soft, supple, creamy fresh skin fairly glowing with health. Her large dark brown eyes were subtly lined with silver fading into dark silver sparkling on her lids. Her lips were painted a rosy pink and looked wet and plump like something edible. Her hair was shimmering, gold strands over pale blonde, the bronze of the hair beneath glinting through, 47

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

all of it shiny and soft, framing her face like a halo of golden light. She stared at herself, stunned by the transformation. Veronica stood just behind her, her hand on her chin, stroking it. "Yes, you really are quite lovely, with the right makeup. Keep your head about you and you should do very well." She selected a bottle of perfume, dabbing it on Laura's throat, behind her ears, beneath her breasts and on her thighs. She led Laura to another room where an outfit had been laid out for her. A dark blue satin corset lay beside sheer stockings and high heel shoes of matching blue satin. Veronica helped Laura into the corset, pulling the satin ribbons behind her tight until Laura could barely breathe, her waist wasp thin, her breasts completely bare above the stays, the gold hoops proudly displayed. Veronica carefully rolled the silk stockings over Laura's shapely legs, attaching them to the satin garters of the corset before directing Laura to step into the shoes, which fit perfectly. Laura's mouth was dry, her heart beating a little tattoo against her ribs as Veronica consulted her watch. "It's time," she said. Coming Soon! Installment Four—The Auction—Laura appears to have become a willing sex slave, obedient to every sexual demand, submissive to every humiliating punishment. Chosen ahead of her peers for auction, Laura must face the final challenge of her captivity—placed on the slave block to be purchased by the highest bidder. Little does she know the auction is rigged from the outset, most decidedly not in her favor... 48

Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave 3: Slave Farm [A Hot-Flashes Novelette] by Claire Thompson

THE END (Don't miss the final two installments of Golden Angel, Unwilling Sex Slave: #4 "The Auction," #5 "Just Desserts.")

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