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The Klitzman Stories - Volume 3 - Slaver`s Dozen (Paul Blades)

The Klitzman Stories - Volume 3 - Slaver`s Dozen by Paul Blades

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In a three story commercial walk up on a small side street in lower Manhattan, a man descends a narrow, dimly lit staircase. When he reaches the street level, he puts down his small valise and takes a set of keys out of his pocket. He drops the keys in a mailbox with the label ‘Paradise Productions’. He removes the label and places it in his side jacket pocket. As he opens the door to the street, he looks back up the stairs and smiles. In two hours a cleaning crew will have erased any trace of his presence. He picks up his valise and steps into the street. He will find a cab at the corner. When he gets in he tells the driver, “Kennedy Airport.”

A few hours later, a batch of ten gorgeous girls would become the next victims on Klitzman island.

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 4 / 2009

No. words: 58500

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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The girls had been waiting in the room for over an hour. The door they had entered from was locked on the outside. There was another door on the opposite side of the room, but that was locked too. There was no telephone, no windows.
“What is this shit!” Kit exclaimed. “It’s like we were being held prisoner or something!”
Rene didn’t like it either. But she wasn’t just mad, she was scared. She had a feeling that something was up. There was just no logical explanation for the way they were being treated. Those black guards had looked mean and had treated them like cattle. She looked around the room at her compatriots. They were lounging around the room trying to adjust to the boredom. Carol and Brenda were asleep. Danielle and Brittany were holding hands; they looked scared too.
Karen had taken a strong dislike to Kit and her snobbish ways. She was tired and scared and frustrated. She got up from her chair and confronted Kit, drumming her forefinger into her chest. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up!” she told her. “Do you think we want to hear your fucking whining!”
Kit was taken aback by Karen’s hostility. But she wasn’t going to let that trailer park refugee put her down.
“Don’t talk to me like that, trash mouth,” she said. “I can say anything I want.”
“Listen,” Mary said. “This bickering isn’t getting us anywhere. Everybody just has to be patient. Someone will….”
At that moment, the door to the room swung open. All of the girls watched, surprised, as three tall, black men, dressed in calf length, black robes stepped into the room. They were carrying frightening looking black batons and large cloth bags that looked like they contained some sort of equipment. A huge mountain of a man, black as coal, with a cruel, hard face followed them in. He was wearing a reddish brown robe. He closed the door behind him and stood there, taking in the vision of youthful, innocent beauty.
Kit, stepping past Karen, ready to assert her superiority, spoke first. “Listen, mister, I want to get to a telephone right away. I want to call my father.” Her voice was insolent and demanding. The big black guy smiled and nodded to the other men. The three black robed men advanced as one upon Kit. She shrieked as two of them grabbed her arms and the third ripped her blouse down the front right in two, spilling tiny white buttons throughout the room. She was spun around and the third man yanked the blouse right off of her body.
“Oh, oh, what are you doing? Let go of me!” she yelled. Her arms were held out as leather bracelets were slapped on her wrists. A chain was passed through an eyehook in the ceiling in the center of the room, about ten feet from the door from which the men had emerged.
All of the other girls were on their feet and yelling at the men. Two of the guards stepped forward, putting themselves between the still struggling Kit and the other girls. Karen, put off by the ferocious conduct of the men, stepped backwards, away from them. The third man hoisted Kit’s arms above her head and clipped the other end of the chain to her bracelets.
“Stop! What are you doing? Let me down!” Kit yelled, tugging frantically at the chain which now held her arms prisoner. She had been so engaged in protesting her manhandling, that she had forgotten that her pretty, dainty bra was exposed for all to see. “Oh!” she cried out, mortified. “Stop this! You can’t do this! Give me back my shirt! Oh! Oh!”
Her assailant pulled a thick, leather gag out of one of the bags and, waiting until she was mid shriek, forced it into her mouth, buckling the belt tightly behind her head. While Kit emitted muffled protests, he took a penknife and cut off her pretty, white, push up bra. Her pale, white globes swung free.
Kit’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She kicked out at the man who had gagged her, striking him in the thigh. The man was pushed back as a result of the blow. He laughed and said something to the larger man, obviously their leader. Then he took his baton and touched it to Kit’s right breast.
‘Crack!’ A jolt of electricity passed through Kit’s body. She gave out a high pitched, muffled scream. When the man held the baton out to her once more, she tried to pull away. Her eyes pleaded to be spared another taste of the electrified baton. He touched it to her left breast. “Crack!” Kit howled with pain. Her breast seemed to jump as the result of the charge passing through it. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she cried as her body sagged, her weight supported only by the chains that held her wrists. All of the fight was out of her. She looked up forlornly at her assailant, her eyes begging for a surcease of his cruel attack. Seeing her surrender, the man rehooked the baton to his belt and stepped up to the sobbing girl. He reached around her waist and proceeded to pull Kit’s bright red, latex miniskirt and the matching thong beneath it to her ankles, all in one motion. He knelt down and unfastened her Gucci sandals tossing them and her skirt and thong over to the side of the room.
While Kit was being rudely stripped, the other girls had all gotten to their feet and had backed away from the threatening guards. None of them had the nerve to come to Kit’s aid, especially when they saw and heard the bite of the black man’s baton. Danielle and Brittany were holding on to each other. Carol and a few of the others were crying. The rest looked on, aghast. Their minds could not process what their eyes were seeing.
The brown robed man stepped over to Kit and began to admire her naked form. Tears were flowing from Kit’s eyes, spoiling her black eyeliner and mascara. The bottom part of her face was covered by a shield of leather. The big man caressed one of Kit’s soft, round breasts, tweaking the rigid nipple. Kit tried to pull away, but the man caught the nipple between his strong, fat fingers and drew her back. He smiled at her, bright white teeth offset by a dark, cruel face. He then turned to the other girls.
“My name is Rukimo,” he announced in a deep, loud, frightening voice. The girls all fell silent. “I’m going to give you all one chance.” He pointed to the floor about ten feet in front of himself. “You will all line up here, hands behind your head. If you fail to obey, you will be punished.” The girls all looked at him in shock. “Now!” he added, his voice booming throughout the room.
Crying and shrieking, the girls all obediently advanced to where Rukimo had pointed and lined up, elbow to elbow, their hands clasped tightly behind their heads. When they had all settled into place, Rukimo paused to admire the nine frightened young women. Nine pairs of delicate, long legs, eighteen plump, firm, round breasts, nine beauteous, appealing, fresh, young faces stood before him. Walking to the end of the line, he crossed in front of the terrorized young women like an officer inspecting his troops. He walked slowly, taking in the delightful curves and taut bellies lined up at grotesque attention before him. “Spread you legs!” he called out and the girls dutifully obeyed, parting their delicate, well formed thighs.
The girls watched Rukimo pass by them nervously. Their eyes darted between his huge form and fearsome aspect and the naked form of their tour mate, straining at her chain, tears flowing down her face, her feint whining the only sound in the room.
After the second pass, Rukimo stepped back. He signaled to one of the guards who took a long, rattan cane from one of the bags. He swished it through the air for effect. Kit eyed the man with desperate apprehension. He was going to whip her! “Oh, God,” she thought, “please no!”
The guard stepped over to Kit and maneuvered himself into position at her side so that all of the other girls had a clear view of what was to come. A low pitched moan could be heard flowing from Kit’s mouth. Tears dripped from her eyes. Her breasts quivered expectantly. She gave out an obscured cry of surprise as she felt the chain above her pulled taut, lifting her feet from the floor. Another guard knelt at her feet and drew a belt around her ankles. Kit could neither retreat from the anticipated blows, nor flail out with her legs. She could only accept helplessly what the guard was about to mete out.
The guard raised his hand and, not waiting for any further signal, struck the poor girl across the breasts with the hard but supple cane. The sound of the cane striking Kit’s soft flesh filled the otherwise silent room. Kit moaned loudly as the kiss of the cane set her breasts afire. As the cane was raised again, she began to plead and beg to be spared. Her voice emerged in the form of a muffled, guttural tongue, the language of some arcane, primitive tribe. As the cane struck her again, this time across her firm, tanned thighs, the unhappy girl screeched in pain. A long, red line formed where the cane had landed, matching the angry red line across her breasts.
Three more times the cane landed on Kit’s body, once across her taut belly and again across her pure, white breasts and her tawny thighs. The other girls looked on with horror. None of them had ever seen a whipping and the violence of the scene before them was astoundingly shocking. Mary wondered to herself what kind of hard, cruel world they had entered. She yearned to break her humiliating stance and run for the door. But the door was locked. And where would she go anyway?
Rene watched with the same outraged sense of horror. Her instinct was not to run, but rather to attack. There were nine of them and only four men. Maybe they could overcome them, get one of the batons away from them. She figured that the door the men had come in through, the one opposite the door they had used to enter the room, was unlocked or that the big, heavy man had a key on him. Her palms were sweaty and her mouth dry from fear. She could attack, but would the others follow? She considered her company: the meek, child like sisters Danielle and Brittany, the soft spoken Carol and Brenda. Maybe Mary would respond and Karen, the hard, Irish girl. Sheila was an insecure, in-crowd wanna be. Forget her. Lana, maybe, but that made only four of them. The odds were too long. She held her place as the cruel blows fell on the helpless girl in front of her.
Danielle and Brittany quivered in fear. So swiftly had their dreams of glamour been turned into a nightmare. Casting side long glances at each other, they fought off the urge to fall into each other’s arms. They had spent a lifetime together and were linked in their minds like twins. Neither could remember any significant time apart from each other. Brittany had even stayed back a year in school, too devastated by her separation from her sister to attend kindergarten. “What will these men do to us?” they thought, virtually in unison.
Both Carol and Brenda cringed as each blow fell upon Kit. They imagined the cane striking their naked, displayed flesh. Every lash of the cane against Kit’s body was like a blow to their own.
After the fifth fierce blow from the cane, the black guard crossed behind Kit. He turned so that he could strike her back with the cane, wielding it in his strong, right hand. Five more blows fell from the narrow, supple cane, each one causing a long line of lacerated flesh on Kit’s back, rump and the back of her thighs. She screamed and yelled behind her gag as the cane tore into her flesh. Her body, although confined, had enough movement to permit her torso to twist and turn in agony. Sweat descended her body in small rivulets. Her eyes were surrounded by smeared mascara, her once neat and stylish hair, matted and in disarray.
Rukimo eyed the young women as they watched Kit’s torment end. It had had the intended impact. Nine, quivering, frightened young women stood before him. Nine young women who would meekly follow directions, who would cooperate in their own demise.
Kit was released from the chain and her bracelets joined behind her. A guard pulled the still whimpering girl to the side of the room. She was forced to her knees, her legs splayed apart. A small, silken, black bag was drawn over her head and secured around her neck by a drawstring. One down and nine to go.
Rukimo let the impact of what the girls had witnessed sink in. The message had been clear: they were in the hands of cruel and ruthless men. After a minute of heavy silence, marked only by the feint sounds of Kit’s whimpers, he walked to the middle of the room. All eyes were on him. Tension filled the room like a poisoned fog as he thoughtfully perused the nine remaining women. He then pointed to the third girl from the left. “Step over here,” he told her, indicating a spot about two feet in front of him. It was Carol, the long haired, shy brunette. She gave a little cry at Rukimo’s instruction. She was so frightened that her legs would not obey her. Her body began to shake and she began to sob.
“Come here,” Rukimo reiterated in a deep, menacing voice, urging her into action by a single crooked finger. Somehow, Carol found the courage to move and she walked slowly to the designated place before the fearsome black man. She kept her hands joined behind her head, too afraid to move them. Each of the girls pitied her, glad that they had not been the one singled out, but anxious lest they be next. She stood in front of the man, her face a mask of agonized fear. When she had stood before him for several long, anxious moments, Rukimo spoke to her, softly.
“What’s your name, pretty one?”
Carol was almost stupefied by the question. She had kept her eyes downcast, too frightened to look this savage stranger in the face. But now she looked into his eyes, seeking, but not finding, a sign of sympathy and kindness there. “C, C, Carol,” she stuttered.
“That’s nice, Carol,” Rukimo replied. He paused a moment, taking in her tremulous form. And then spoke again. “Carol,” he said, softly, “please remove your clothes.”
Carol gave a little whimper at the giant black man’s command. She could hardly believe her ears. She looked over at Kit, hooded and bound, her nude form displayed for all to see. Was this her fate, she wondered, her heart beating fiercely in her chest, her breasts rising and falling with each panicked breath. Was she to be whipped like Kit? She knew that she couldn’t stand it. She looked back at Rukimo and saw the cold, remorseless visage staring back at her. “P,please,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “P,please don’t make me. Please!” Her voice cracked as she spoke.
“Now, Carol,” Rukimo intoned, his voice still soft, “you don’t want to make me angry, do you?”
“N...no,” the terrorized girl whispered back.
“Then please do as I say,” Rukimo instructed her. “Take off your clothes now!” The last was said with more than a hint of menace in his voice.
Carol, sobbing, reached to her waist, her hands trembling. She was wearing a plain, white cotton, spaghetti strapped top over a green and black plaid miniskirt. She slowly pulled the hem of her top up, revealing the dainty bra covering her pale orbs. Her pink nipples peeked through the lacy tops, and her breasts swayed invitingly as she struggled to pull the blouse over her head.
When she had removed the shirt, she held it in her hands as if afraid to lose hold of it. She twisted and turned it, tears running down her cheeks. Rukimo motioned to one of the guards who handed him an empty cloth sack. Rukimo held it open and Carol, regretfully, let the shirt fall inside. She hesitated briefly, and then reached behind her back to loosen the strapless bra that held her plump orbs in abeyance. Her breasts trembled and quivered as they were loosened from their bondage. She dropped the bra into Rukimo’s sack and crossed her arms over her now bare mounds. She was mortified that these unknown men would see her private treasures. She had kept herself pure, had denied sight of her tender, soft orbs even to her boyfriend. She knew that men were driven by powerful lusts and that seeing her bare breasts would initiate passions that she had struggled all her not quite yet an adult life to avoid. She knew, too, that forcing her to strip before them was only a prelude to what would be demanded of her. Her stomach churned, her hands were moist with sweat. If only she could stop, could run and hide. But there was nowhere to go, no way to avoid giving these cruel men what they wanted.
Rukimo was pleased at the pleasant, succulent shape of Carol’s breasts. Paderovski, as he was known to these ten hapless captives, had not lied. He had delivered a flock of fresh, delightful young females to Klitzman’s island. Rukimo yearned to see all of their youthful charms.
“I’m waiting, Carol,” he told the cowering young woman. “Off with the skirt!”
Carol closed her eyes and reached behind her to lower the black, nylon zipper that held her skirt firm to her waist. When it had reached its nadir, she slid her thumbs into the waistband and pushed the skirt down over her hips and to the floor. She crouched down to pull the skirt over her black, patent leather shoes, tugging it past the thick, modest heels. As she bent over, her breasts swayed free of her torso, the soft flesh rippling. When she had freed the tiny skirt, she stood up and dropped it into the sack held out before her. She now stood clothed in only her blue and white flowered, cotton, bikini style panties, her ankle length white sox and her black, low heeled shoes.
The long, agonizing process of disrobing created a heavy tension in the room. Standing, waiting their turns, the other girls watched with trepidation. Mary watched with horror. Her throat was dry and heart pounded in her chest. Soon, she knew, she would be standing naked before these men. Her mind raced with thoughts of the implications of the scene before her. They had all been duped. There was no engine trouble, there was no fashion tour. They were now the prisoner of unknown men, thousands of miles away from home. Her arms had begun to ache with the strain of holding them up behind her head. She could feel the sweat running down her face, under her arms, the dampening of the scanty clothes that she, like all the other girls, had been instructed to wear. She had held back her tears, but now she could feel her emotions begin to overwhelm her. She closed her eyes and prayed that what was happening was not real.
Carol did not wait for any further encouragement from the imposing black man before her. She pulled her panties to her feet and dragged them over her shoes. Her long, chestnut colored hair spread around her as she kneeled to remove her shoes and socks. When they were off, she hesitated at rising back to her feet. She knew that when she did, the men would see all, that she would be naked and helpless before them. She wanted to stay kneeling forever, to disappear right in front of them, to be whisked away to some other place where she would be safe and freed from fear.
Rukimo reached for one of the black batons carried by the other three men. He poked it under Carol’s chin. “Up, up, up,” he ordered. “Stand up, pretty girl and let me see you.”
Recalling the fierce bite of the baton, the way that it made poor Kit jump and scream, Carol reluctantly obeyed. “Please don’t hurt me, mister,” she said, her voice a desperate whine. “Please.”
“Hands behind your head, girl, and be silent” Rukimo commanded curtly. He was done playing games. “Turn around!”
As she lifted her arms behind her head, Carol turned her back to her tormentor. She could see all of the eyes of her fellow captives glued to her naked frame. She squeezed her eyes shut in shame. Rukimo shoved the black baton between her legs and tapped her thighs. “Spread your legs,” he ordered.
Reluctantly, but obediently, Carol moved her thighs apart. She could feel the eyes of the men boring into her back, her pale white rear. She felt her sex exposed, the little lips peeking through her faint, sparse bush. Rukimo stepped past her, closer to the rest of the expectant girls. The three black giants followed suit.
“Strip!” he bellowed. For a moment there was stunned silence as Rukimo’s command sunk in. Then, eight frightened young women jumped at his command. In a matter of a minute, blouses, bras, skirts, panties, sox and shoes were tossed on the floor. Sobs of fear and humiliation filled the room.
Rukimo watched the terrorized girls shed their meager clothing. He had seen their pictures, of course, the ones Paderovski had sent on. But they had been in bathing suits, little ones to be sure, with their sexual parts shrouded. Now they would be revealed in all of their glory.
Having disrobed completely, even down to their pretty, stylish sandals and shoes, the girls all resumed their enforced pose, hands behind their heads, legs apart. Tears filled most of the youthful eyes. The posture they had assumed showed off their fine, unblemished breasts to great advantage, pushing them out invitingly. Their trimmed pubic hair set off their parted labia, forced open by the spread of their legs. Rukimo took another tour of inspection, pausing here and there to caress a luscious breast, or to rub the pussy of a tearful girl. Although the girls had been chosen for their comparative uniformity in physique, naked, all their subtle differences were highlighted. Were breasts like the shells of the ocean, Rukimo opined to himself as he admired the assembled pulchritude, no two exactly alike? Pert nipples, long ones, thick ones, well rounded breasts, thick heavy ones, firm, taut ones that peaked, cone like. Even the areola differed markedly from girl to girl. Some were dark and wide, some pale and small, with almost every variation in between. On Sheila, one of the blondes, he could see the feint hint of blue veins, clouded by the milky whiteness. The Latina girl’s breasts were dark, although still lighter than the rest of her skin. A tiny black hair peeked out from her right nipple. Rukimo smiled at the trembling girl as he caught it between his thumb and forefinger. He tugged at it briefly, enjoying the tension on the girl’s face and then yanked it out. Lana cried out, more in surprise than pain. She cringed at the intimate contact.
Rukimo paused at the almost mirror like forms of Danielle and Brittany. They were on the far left end of the line. He studied their faces carefully, noting the slight variations, a chin slightly less sharp, eyes a tad wider apart. They both had broad, plump, full lips, accented by the bright red lipstick that they had adorned themselves with the previous day. “Open your mouth,” Rukimo ordered Danielle, who stood next to last in line. She complied meekly. Rukimo pressed two long, thick, black fingers past Danielle’s trembling, ruby lips. She moaned as she felt her mouth invaded. She wanted to clamp her teeth down on the insulting digits, to cast them from her mouth. But fear of retribution held her in thrall to the mighty man before her. Her only reaction to the rape of her mouth was to produce two large drops of tears, one for each eye, which trailed slowly down her cheeks, over her chin and down her graceful, soft neck. “Suck,” Rukimo commanded in a low, but stern voice. Danielle closed her lips on the man’s fingers and, closing her eyes as if to shut out her shame, produced a gentle tugging on them with the suction from her mouth.
With his free hand, Rukimo grabbed one of Danielle’s thick, short nipples and twisted it, just enough to cause a hint of what pain could be induced. Danielle whined at the abuse of her flesh, mortified that her intimate parts should be so rudely used before the three black guards who stood behind Rukimo, leering. “Suck it like you mean it, slut,” the giant man told her softly. Danielle’s mind rebelled at the derogatory label, but her mouth studiously obeyed the command. With alacrity bordering on vigor, she caressed the invasive fingers with her tongue, pulled hard on them, pressed her face forwards and back like she had been taught in the back seat of her boyfriend’s car.
“Good, good,” Rukimo commented. “And now let’s see your sister,” he told the despondent girl.
Brittany awaited her turn with trepidation. She had watched the degradation of her sibling from the corner of her eye. Her mind raced with dreadful speculation of what this all meant. The sexual connotations of the act forced on her younger sister did not escape her. She knew that the black man was measuring her, her sister, all of them, for some cruel, unbearable fate and that the act of simulating fellatio on the callous fingers of the big black man was almost certainly a prelude of heinous and foul treatment to come. Rukimo’s actions had put paid to any notion that there would be a pleasant ending to this disturbing interlude. Like her sister, Brittany forswore resistance and parted her trembling lips in obedience to Rukimo’s command. Giving a little cry, she submitted to the man’s outrage. The thick, heavy fingers probed her mouth, depressing her tongue, causing her stomach to heave. Without further instruction, she drew her lips closed over them and caressed them with feigned fervor.
Rukimo maintained his fingers in the young girl’s mouth until he was satisfied that she had been sufficiently humiliated. He was tiring of this prolonged psychological torture of this new crop of victims. He pulled his fingers free, wiping Brittany’s saliva on her breasts, and ordered the girls to turn around in a loud, harsh voice. They all complied readily. Eight pert little asses presented themselves to his view, eight naked, graceful backs, eight trembling pairs of interlocked hands. Carol was still standing in the center of the room, facing her travel mates. She could feel the menacing presence of the black men behind her. Tears were flowing down her face as she contemplated her obvious fate. She yearned for home, cursed her stupidity in being duped by the illusion of glamour. Her knees trembled with fright.
While Rukimo had conducted his tour of inspection, the tall, black men had gathered the abandoned clothes strewn about the floor and stuffed them into the bag in which Carol had deposited hers. Now, two of the black guards, at Rukimo’s signal, carried the sacks containing the leather bracelets and gags to the right side of the line and approached Sheila who was standing on that end. One of the guards pulled her arms behind her and the other clamped two leather bracelets over her wrists. When finished, he clasped them behind her back. Up to now, Sheila had held back her fear and shock. But the sensation of being deprived of the use of her arms, of being rendered unable to mount even the feeblest defense against an assault to her person, broke through her brittle reserve.
“Oh, God, please let us go, please!” she called out. “We haven’t done anything, please!”
Ignoring her entreaties, a guard pressed up against her back and, reaching around, one hand grabbing and depressing her jaw, he jammed the business end of a thick, leather gag between her lips. She gave out a muffled moan as it was buckled behind her head.
One by one the young women were bound and gagged. None resisted; all docilely accepted their unknown fate. Only their sobs and whimpers marked their adornment with the instruments of confinement. The third black guard followed in the wake of the other two, fastening thick leather collars around their necks.
When all of the women were reduced to helpless, voiceless victims, they were ordered to turn around once more to face their captors. Kit had been raised to her feet, her hood removed and a collar snapped closed around her neck. A series of short chains were produced and the girls ordered to turn to their right. The frightened but subdued young women were connected to each other, chains leading from the front of their collars to the braceleted hands of the girl before them. Kit was fastened in the front, her eyes darting to and fro in nervous apprehension. The door was opened and nine new, naked and frightened female slaves were led from the room, urged on by the menacing black guards and their fearsome black batons.


Extremely creative and well described ordeals 5 out of 5

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This story has been self-published by the author

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