East Coast Slavers Organization

East Coast Slavers Organization – I: A Caribbean Adventure

Chapter 26 – A Villa is Purchased (or He Takes Her Soul)

It was Sunday afternoon and Aaron was stuck. He had not fully planned how to accomplish his upcoming trip to the British Virgin Islands with his slave, Ingrid Gaviard. Her identity paperwork was in order. That wasn't the issue. In fact, Aaron had established quite a relationship with the Cuban document forger Ricardo Manapat and his granddaughter Teresa Manapat. Aaron had paid for alternate identities and passports for Puppy, Ingrid Gaviard, Sandy Hamilton, Karen Rigden, and Michael Mueller. Teresa assured Aaron that no records remained in her files of any document that she ever made. Ricardo reaffirmed this business practice and informed Aaron that his life and that of his granddaughter would be forfeit if anyone in the Cuban community discovered that she provided any information to the police. The forgers had dealt with too many desperate people for the customers to allow their document information to reach the authorities.

No, the problem was the simple one of how to take a seemingly cooperative slave out of the country to a Caribbean Island. He knew that an ocean voyage, while a pleasant way to spend time with one of his favorite fuck-bunnies, would take too long. The extra post-911 airport security made a commercial flight out of the question. Exhausted from the extended ordeal of busting open the Oscar Lynden drug organization, preparing the freighter shipment, and then starting his 'catch and release' program, Aaron gave up and called his friend Steve Austin for advice. Minutes later a sheepish Aaron dialed the number of a local air charter company to book seats on a small twin-engine flight from a small airfield. Security was virtually non-existent on the private flights as they were outside the secure areas established for commercial airline flights. The cost was reasonable and the two were the only passengers. The pilot, Jennifer Engel agreed to depart at mid-morning on Monday with two passengers for the Beef Island Airport on Greater Camanoe.

Aaron smiled as he walked out of his private office and headed toward the slave training area. He knew that Ingrid Gaviard was eagerly waiting for the trip details. She had been through a painful contest with her fellow slave Sandy Hamilton to earn the right for this trip.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Jennifer feathered the engine throttles as her aircraft slowed to a crawl on the taxiway leading to the commercial flights terminal on Beef Island. She smiled reassuringly to her two passengers behind her and again briefly admired the couple. The man, a Mr. Michael Moore, held his girlfriend loosely with one arm while he brazenly grinned back at her. Jennifer felt sure the beautiful woman was a girlfriend as she wore no rings. Despite her businesslike appearance in her flightsuit, Jennifer was all woman and recognized the designer clothing the unnamed woman wore. "Maybe they are going for a low-profile getaway so nobody will see them. Hmmm, could be that at least one is married and they are having an affair. She is clearly infatuated with her man."

Jennifer Engel moved the romantic daydreams to the back of her mind as she focused on the hand signals from the terminal ground crew as they guided her to an open spot on the parking apron. Once in her final position, the aircraft's engines and propellers fluttered to a stop and silence descended upon the cabin. "OK guys," she said cheerfully, "we are here and on time. I'll walk you over to the customs and immigration area since I'm going to spend the afternoon shopping and killing time. My next customers leave this evening after dinner on Tortola."

Michael Moore (Aaron Clarke) shouldered their single large bag and walked behind Ingrid and Jennifer as they led the way. Each of the slender women carried a shoulder bag and he thought that they were wriggling their hips unnecessarily. "Probably for my attention," He thought. At thirty-six, Ingrid was his oldest acquisition in the PPP category (Prime Piece of Pussy). Michael compared their bodies and attitude. He judged that the slim brunette was probably close to fifty years old. Her body and attitude were enticing. "The only sign that she is aging is that her facial skin is no longer soft and wrinkle free," he mused. "All that wind and sun damage is catching up to her."

Only the former dress shop owner, the strikingly handsome blonde Belinda Maticevski, was older than Ingrid. At forty-six, Belinda was the oldest acquisition taken by Aaron Clarke's East Coast Slaver Organization. The now hairless slave sported a set of E+ tits and looked like a porn star turned bondage freak. Her slim frame had held a nice, tight set of B breasts. Michael grinned as he unconsciously categorized Jennifer Engel as completely fuckable, even if not in the same class as Ingrid. Visually and personality-wise, she was a far better catch than Belinda.

Michael had to grin in appreciation at the perfunctory perusal given their travel documents at immigration. The customs agents were completely unconcerned with the arrivals from Miami and seemed to have a good relationship with their pilot. Customs inspections appeared to be focused on arrivals from elsewhere in the Caribbean rather than the U.S. mainland.

They parted ways at the taxi stand and Michael and Ingrid started on their short journey to a marina in Road Town where a yacht he was keenly interested in was moored – the sailing yacht Destiny.

Ingrid grinned with satisfaction as her lover droned on about his latest toy, the sailing yacht. She couldn't help stretching back in the taxi seat, comparing her feeling of contentment to that of a pampered cat that always got her way. "It's amazing how much he has changed my personality over the last few weeks," she thought to herself. "Before, I would have been spitting mad if my date had flirted with a woman like that pilot. In fact," Ingrid told herself, "I now accept that he will have lots of interaction with women. He has shown that he is principled and honor-bound despite the odd ways he sometimes interacts with women. And, there is no doubt that he is the best lover I could imagine."

The trip to the British Virgin Islands was one that she certainly deserved, she wryly thought. "After all, I took lots of punishment to beat out my competition." Her hand slid down the gorgeous sheath she wore. Puppy and Sandy helped her select her wardrobe for the trip from the extensive collection of stolen clothing kept in the warehouse. The gown itself came from Belinda's former dress shop. She also surreptitiously felt for her panties through the clingy material. It felt good to be fully clothed, even if she was probably a little overdressed. The expensive dress had its own built-in breast support so she didn't have to wear one of the uncomfortable strapless bras in the balmy island weather. It was pleasing how friendly and supportive her new associates were in getting her ready for the trip. Both hands also unconsciously wandered up to feel around her neck. The heavy dog-training collar was gone, replaced with a tasteful pearl necklace.

Michael Moore paused in his eloquent description of the yacht and looked over at his companion. Despite his prattling on about the boat, he fully realized that she was checking out her body, outfit, and the missing training collar. Ingrid was honor-bound to behave herself on this trip and each knew that her failure to obey fully during this trip would result in horrid personal and financial consequences for the woman. Under the terms of his new 'catch and release' program, Ingrid held the identity codes for a hidden offshore account in her name holding one million dollars of E.C.S.O. money as well as her stolen inheritance and life savings. She owed East Coast Slavers five years indentured service time and then the account location and serial numbers were hers along with the money. Further, Ingrid still owed eleven of her twelve full-service slave days that she bartered away in return for certain privileges during the ongoing twelve-week period. 'Piggy' as she was known when in full slave mode had surprised her owner with her willingness to participate in her own slave training during her indentured period. Michael Moore grinned in appreciation of the complexities of his sexy partner / submissive pet / and training mistress.

Michael and Ingrid roamed through the sailing yacht; each was extremely impressed with the vessel. Michael fell in love with the boat largely due to the rigging on the sixty-foot schooner that allowed for easy long-range cruising by a single person. The steering, autopilots, and all the sails were remotely controllable from within the enclosed cockpit. Internal halyards and enclosed roller furling systems were equipped on each of seventy-foot, equal-height masts. The Perkins six-cylinder, 354 cubic inch marine diesel engine packed an impressive 130 hp backed up with a 640 gallon fuel tank. The boat was a sailor's dream.

Ingrid, with no sailing experience of any kind, loved the vessel's lines, wide sixteen-foot beam, and the spacious luxury below decks for which the Morgan line was renowned. The master cabin featured a queen-sized bed and a private master bath with full-sized Jacuzzi tub, shower, and electric head. Even as a non-sailor, she knew the boat was luxurious if she could bathe daily, an easy task given the desalinization unit – a Galley Maid capable of producing 400 gallons per day of fresh water. The two mirror-image forward cabins featured double beds, lots of storage and private bathrooms, sink, and vanities. The only facility shared by the forward cabins was the over-sized shower unit. A third, smaller toilet / shower unit was located adjacent to the crew berth, an area equipped with a twin-sized bunk. The office / chart area / navigator station was top-notch with the best electronics available on the market. The refurbished galley, dining area, and living room were large and plush. The entertainment equipment in the main salon included a surround sound system with plasma screen television, DVD and VCR units, and a CD player and AM/FM radio in the receiver.

Michael Moore purchased the boat on the spot without dickering about the asking price. His only stipulation; that the boat be transferred immediately and that the sellers were responsible for loading the vessel with first class food for a ten-day voyage of eight adults, including wine and beer. The sales broker immediately accepted the offer and informed Michael that a provisioning company would have the boat ready to go by the end of the afternoon, including full tanks of water and fuel.

Less than three hours after arrival on the islands, Michael Moore was the proud owner of a sixty-foot Morgan schooner. Michael locked his luggage and Ingrid's handbag in a storage bin onboard and then they walked hand-in-hand down the marina pier. They decided to kill a few hours playing tourist while the provisioning crew prepared the boat.

--L--A--T--E--R--

Michael dropped the seventy-five pound anchor and watched carefully as the schooner slowly swung around the anchor site and settled in. Michael and Ingrid had set sail in late afternoon and had an enjoyable sail in a steady wind and easy seas. They moved due east for five miles in order to cross the bay from Road Town and then conducted a series of long tacks to head northeast and upwind for another five miles. Their destination was a small, very private harbor nearly to the eastern point of Tortola. Michael silently thanked the fickle gods for allowing him to arrive at his anchorage with at least fifteen minutes to spare before sundown. "It would have been tough duty to motor through the chain barricade hung from the permanent buoy system that blocked the bay without daylight."

Michael pulled the cork on a cold bottle of Viognier wine from his just-purchased estate south of Mendoza Argentina. The 450-acre estate, now named Manera de Diablo (The Devel's Way) produced quality wines. Michael Mueller, the dead drug lord's accountant was just beginning his five year indentured service as estate manager. The wine, purchased from a Miami liquor distributor, had been hidden as a treat in his luggage.

Ingrid graciously accepted the wine and sat down on one of the cushions on the Destiny's forward deck. Michael sat down beside her and hugged her tight. The sun was just setting in the western sky as they took their first sips of the crisp white wine. "You see that house up on the hill?" Michael said gesturing to the huge estate a hundred and fifty feet or so above the private bay they were moored in.

Ingrid leaned into his shoulder and murmured, "Oh, it is nice. This place is truly beautiful. How did you know about this bay?"

"Ahhh, Ingrid, that is a good story all by itself. Remember that girl Connie Baxter?"

Ingrid tensed against him and said, "Yes, Aaron; but that was a different life. You were trying to set us up for blackmail to control us weren't you?"

"Yes," Michael responded; "and it really worked. After all, now I have you and Connie as well. This 114-acre estate is one that Connie Baxter has been renting this summer. I planned to rent it for three weeks. However, the owners have just decided to put it up for sale and Connie Baxter desperately wants to be the listing agent. Unfortunately for her, a rival has the listing."

"Hmmm, and you have a way to take advantage of the situation?" Ingrid whispered. "You are lucky that I am not jealous anymore."

Michael's grasp tightened on her shoulder, and he said huskily, "Oh well. I thought I would have to forcibly convince you to play games with her." He felt her stir and after she set her drink down Ingrid slipped to the deck on her knees and laid her head on her master's lap. Her hot breath fluttered through his slacks and warmed his dick.

Her muffled voice further stirred his cock when she spoke into his uncoiling monster, "This Piggy will do whatever is expected of her."

Michael stood up and dragged her to stand beside him. "Hmmm, I like the offer but it is out of bounds for the next eleven weeks except during your slave day. No, unfortunately for me, it's a Monday night and unless we work out a trade, your next slave day is this Thursday."

Ingrid hungrily kissed him and clenched his back tightly. "If you put it that way, then I especially want to play whatever game you have in mind. I'm sure that tomorrow will be especially interesting." Her right hand snaked under an armpit and slid her zipper all the way to her hipbone. She grinned up at him and shrugged her shoulders, the silky fabric fluttered down her taut body to pool on the deck. Ingrid leaned her head and shoulders way back and shook her bare titties in a vulgar copy of a burlesque move before she gracefully sank back down to her knees. The move had also freed her hair to swirl wildly around her head. She unzipped his slacks and eased his monster cock out through the opening.

Michael felt her incredibly warm mouth suck his quickly hardening cock all the way down her throat. He intentionally twitched his dick and she instantly responded by sucking strongly in answer to each twitch. She continued her expert blowjob by grabbing his belt at each hip and savagely yanking his groin in and out of her hot mouth. She pulled so hard that Michael felt her face thump hard against his groin as she took all nine inches of his brutally fat cock. "Her lips must be hurting," he grinned to himself.

Michael had enough of her mouth and again yanked her up beside him. This time, he spun her around and pushed her upper torso down toward the stainless steel bow rail. "Hold tight and don't let go," he commanded as he slipped down to his own knees and buried his face in her tight ass. He deeply breathed in her sexy aroma and pushed each ass cheek up hard to open her pussy to his view. Enough of the rapidly dimming twilight remained to illuminate her crinkly outer pussy lips.

Ingrid felt her ass cheeks stretch up high and then felt his hot breath blowing on her sensitive pussy. She moaned and pushed her ass back toward Michael. His tongue teased its way around her vaginal lips and the scent of own musky cunt wafted up to her nose. "Hmmm," she moaned aloud, "that is nice lover. Make my cunt twitch. Your tongue is making my tits swell. Your fuck-bunny is getting ready. Suck. Suck. Ohhh, yessss suck me hard."

Michael didn't know where her slutty mouth came from but he liked it. His already rock-hard cock started to throb with need for more stimulation. His pushed his face harder into her cunt and slid his thumbs around across the bottom of her ass cheeks toward her brown anal sphincter. His thumbs brushed across his nose as the tips of the digits sought her tightest fuck opening. As soon as the thumbs slightly stretched open the tight opening, Michael fully extended his tongue, drove it deep into her slimy cunt slit, and then quickly moved it back to stab it deep into her rectum.

"Ohhh, yessss," Ingrid moaned as his tongue finally buried itself in her eager cunt. "What, …" she started to say as the intense oral sensations abruptly stopped. Then she actually gasped as his extended tongue speared its way into her ass. "Yessss," she hissed as one ass cheek was released and the freed hand wormed its way deep into her cunt. The stimulation of her pussy and ass was too much, she exploded in orgasm and her knees gave out. Her hands stayed in place as if glued to the rails while her ass sunk down and pulled his tongue out of her ass.

Michael took the respite to step away and quickly shuck his clothes. Everything was thrown in a heap on one of the many cushioned seats built into the deck of the boat. Michael locked eyes with Ingrid as she looked coyly over her shoulder as he approached naked, cock in one hand, and lubricated condom ready in the other hand. He spit out the condom's foil package and expertly rolled the condom down his shaft. It was a tight fit.

The velvety cunt closed around the tip of his cock. "Hmmm, Ingrid, you feel great," Michael commented as his hands moved to grasp her trim hips. He bent his knees and rotated his own hips, thoroughly coating his dick with cunt juice from her already soaking outer lips as he prepared to fuck in. Ingrid's long black hair fell across her shoulders and back; the horny woman made a sexy sight, naked tits hanging down and hips rotated back and up to encourage his cock to set itself fully into her tight cunt. Michael pulled up and back on her hips as hard as he could, burying his fat fuckstick into her hole in one push.

Ingrid's hips rose up, leaving her toes dangling inches above the yacht's deck. Her bare feet quested blindly for purchase as her sex partner bludgeoned his way into her cunt. "No matter how loose and ready my cunt gets for sex," she muttered quietly, "his cock still feels like a telephone pole going in my pussy on the first few strokes." The violent strokes vibrated the nerve bundles connected to her clit and pussy lips. Ingrid couldn't help but smile as she wondered what her co-workers would say if they saw her fucking like some kind of slut. "Oh, but it feels so good, girls," she mumbled quietly. "You don't know what you are missing."

Michael heard some quiet muttering from Ingrid, but he ignored it as he fucked the gorgeous woman's body up and down on his cock. It felt so good; tight, slippery, and hot. When her orgasm released rippling spasms through her cunt, Michael waited for the climax to fully overwhelm her before he yanked her off the safety rail and sat down hard on his ass, pulling her with him. Ingrid's weight and momentum slammed her pelvic bone hard upon the root of his cock, further intensifying her orgasm. Michael's own climax couldn't be held back; he exploded, pumping spurt after spurt of jism into the condom.

Ingrid's torso limply slumped forward and she weakly kissed his toes before her head also fell forward. She was too fucked out to move.

The sunset was over and the shoreline and the ocean's horizon became more difficult to discern. Michael crawled out from under his lover and left her to recover while he walked naked to the grill hanging off the aft stanchions. The evening was clear and quiet; the stars just beginning to appear in the dark sky. The faint sounds of the distant surf and the nearby slapping of small swells against the hull created a pleasant backdrop to the romantic night. Michael Moore looked up at the amazing sky and told the silently observing stars, "Yes! Life is fucking great!"

Ingrid, still sprawling naked on the bow heard his declaration and echoed back, "Freaking right! This life is fucking great!"

--L--A--T--E--R--

Michael Moore (aka Aaron Clarke) sat in a comfortable chair on Tuesday morning, sheltered from the already muggy tropical weather outside by the office's air conditioning system. He had escaped the frenetic pace of daily operations in Miami the day prior in order to head to the British Virgin Islands in response to an excited phone conversation that took place several days earlier. He and Ingrid spent a romantic evening and night aboard his new sailing yacht, Destiny.

Aaron / Michael looked up and complimented Connie Baxter on her work, "The estate you found is perfect. The digital pictures you sent clinched the deal." Aaron kept an extensive listing of coffee shops and restaurants that offered WiFi connections that he used to check his various e-mail accounts on anonymous servers. He found Connie's messages when he checked a Yahoo mail account through the WiFi connection at a Miami coffee shop. "Connie, if I ever decide to buy," he said, "you would be my agent of choice. This property is perfect as my summer rental; and, you say it's getting ready to go on the market?" he prompted.

It turned out that a competitor of hers would soon list the extensive estate. Connie was fuming mad about it. "Well, you appreciate that nobody knows this property as well as I do. After all, the estate is one of my best, high-end rental units. It's only been available as a rental for twelve weeks and I have leases signed already for ten of those weeks. I'll never know why our broker gave the sales listing to Carolyn White, that stuck-up bitch!"

Michael thought, "She's whining. Wow! I thought she was made of sterner stuff than this." He masked his thoughts and looked helpful. "You know, Connie; I will close on some lucrative deals this summer, and I know you said closing may have to be delayed because of tenants, …" Michael paused for dramatic effect and then continued, "Well, if you have time, please show me the property this morning. You said it's available as the cleaning and provisioning staff are prepping it for a tenant's arrival tomorrow."

Connie perked right up at the possibility of getting a sales commission instead of her normal rental management fee. "Sure, let me grab my things and I'll drive." As she turned to gather her purse, cell phone, and some real estate folders, Michael admired her tight ass under the slightly-too-tight skirt she wore. The thin, silky material did little to hide the full shape of each luscious ass cheek as they slightly undulated from her movements. Michael evaluated her form as cute and cuddly, a little plump from the soft island life and no exercise. He visualized her working off the weight and toning up with a few days of 'structured' weight control and workouts. He grinned at the thought of a naked Connie running on an electric walking machine, her wrists tied off to the support bar, … breasts swaying and bouncing. At thirty-two, she was a definite prospect for putting in a final hogtie.

Connie Baxter had also proven to have a great sense of humor. Weeks earlier, she had helped him with a fictional girlfriend problem, giggling with amusement when he described the problem and his proposed solution. Like many women, the chance to put a potential rival down a few notches was too great an opportunity to pass up. She ended up humiliated herself.

On the way to the property, Connie explained the proposed terms of sale on the estate and some of the property's history. Connie became involved as rental agent when the owners placed the property for rental during a limited twelve-week period that summer. The time was to allow the owners in the United States time to work on their marriage. Just two days ago, the husband unexpectedly filed for divorce in New York City. Connie's boss was finalizing the sales contract with the two legal firms representing the now warring spouses.

The initial asking price would probably be $14.2 million for the 6,000 square foot villa with pool and most of the amenities demanded by Michael Moore for his vacation rental. The estate did not include a sailboat or a jeep. However, the boathouse and garage stored a nice powerboat, two sets of jet-skis, and four mopeds. The estate did include a tennis court, outdoor pool and spa, extensive grounds, and a security perimeter fence that ran out into the water. The 89-acre site included a private bay of 25 acres for a total of 114 acres. The site featured mostly rocky bluffs overlooking the bay except for a cove with two glistening white sandy beaches and a substantial dock attached to a large boathouse.

The home sat above the ocean on a bluff about 125 feet above sea level. Adjacent properties were also large and well separated by ridgelines and thick forests. As described, it was extremely private. Connie said that the furnishings and exterior landscaping were interesting and professionally designed.

Michael thought that the place sounded perfect as the permanent base he was hoping to purchase for the East Coast Slavers Organization. It was well within his budget. The organization's new operating concept of raping illegal business enterprises of their cash assets was bringing in substantial amounts of cash.

Michael stood behind Connie with his arms around her shoulders and both admired the spectacular view through the wide expanse of glass in a large, airy living room. The spacious deck wrapped around the house and hung over the bluff, all with incredible views of the ocean and the lush island vegetation.

Connie snuggled back against his hard body. She had been intrigued and in lust with him since they first met. Weeks earlier, she had rendezvoused at a restaurant bar with him, certain they would spend the night together. Somehow, she and that horrid creature Ingrid ended up in bed together. Connie remembered wakening late the next afternoon, still bound together with Ingrid. Her faulty memory of events indicated that the woman had nearly fucked her to death. Connie's cunt, ass, and even her mouth had been chapped and sore for days. Connie's ovaries ached from the deep pounding of the obscene neon-bright double dildo. "And those pictures, …" she still shuddered in dismay when she thought of them.

Michael Moore had Connie Baxter phone her boss, the owner and real estate broker for the firm. She explained the situation with the property and briefly introduced Michael Moore. She handed the phone over to Michael who said his hellos and then started right in, "I like this property, I trust Connie Baxter, and I must commit on this property this week. My proposal is a full cash offer of $14.2 million plus $800 thousand for all furnishings and personal property, inside and out. I can have ten percent earnest money in your company's account in an hour and the remainder available for your attorney's escrow account by mid-afternoon. The deal is contingent upon contract commitment this week with Connie as the exclusive agent. She will split all commissions with you 60-40. Will you accept this offer?"

Michael paused while he listened to the broker waffle and he finally broke in with, "Yes, I realize this is unorthodox. Keep in mind that you will bear zero expenses or effort to close this deal. I understand that estates of this size can sit on the market for years, draining your advertising budget, and wasting your agents' time on fruitless showings. Deal or no deal?"

The broker reluctantly agreed and Michael passed the phone for Connie to wrap up the details.

Moments later, Connie closed her cell phone with a snap, squealed with glee, and jumped into his arms. "Oh, Michael, you are a magic worker," she gushed. "That tight-wad had to eat part of his commission and he will have to face that skanky bitch, Carolyn White that thought she had the listing. Oh, thank you! I am so happy. Let's go celebrate!" With that outburst, she melted in his arms and her lips hungrily sought his. She had cause for celebration. At closing, she would receive a sales commission of $720,000 for virtually no work. Her boss, while now upset about losing control of the listing, would ultimately be ecstatic about his own easily earned $480,000.

Michael went straight for the gold; his tongue sunk into her eager mouth and his hands slid down her randy sides to the silky soft skirt. He forcefully clutched both her full ass cheeks and yanked her pelvis into his. Her horny hands copied his eagerness and she scratched and pulled at his shirt. The two slid toward the lush carpet and rolled until Connie sat astride Michael's body.

Connie looked down at the strong body underneath her and she smiled. She felt many emotions rushing through her body. The idea of beating Carolyn White out of a sale gave her an emotional high that was reinforced by the rush of greed from the pending sale. Atop all that, she had been on a sexual edge since picking up Michael Moore at the marina that morning. "I'm ready for a good fuck," she told herself. She leaned down and sucked the man's tongue into her mouth while her hands desperately unbuttoned his shirt. His hands slid her skirt up, exposing her skimpy red thong panties, and then yanked her own blouse apart. Buttons flew across the room and her heavy breasts sprang free from her center clasp bra before the buttons finished moving. Connie felt his hands tightly squeeze her breasts. She moaned in heat and wriggled her crotch across the meaty lump that confirmed how well endowed her soon to be lover was. "Michael, your dick feels so large," she whispered throatily into his ear as the two groins continued to dry hump one another.

Michael was pleased with the easy responsiveness of the real estate agent. "She is every bit the sexy bundle that I thought she was," he told himself as his hands clutched her oversize tits. She moaned into his mouth and wriggled across his engorged fuck meat. Michael moved his hands. One slid across her back and held her down tightly against his mouth. The other hand slid down and caressed her bare ass cheek. Michael smiled as he felt her thong. "Connie I think your thong is so sexy," he whispered into her ear.

Connie silently increased the pressure of her nearly bare cunt against his cock mound and wrapped her fingers tightly around his pronounced pectorals.

Michael smiled again and quickly threw off the surprised woman and rolled her onto her back. He looked down at the blonde, hair and clothes in disarray. "I meant that thong panties make me horny because they remind me of sluts with juicy cunts, constantly ready for fucking," he said clearly.

Connie gasped in embarrassment and surprise. "I'm no slut," said with indignation.

Michael just grinned down and jammed three fingers hard into her drooling cunt, easily bypassing the tiny patch of silk protecting its entrance. He pushed firmly and rotated his hand, sinking to his knuckles in one easy move. Michael pulled out his slimy hand and rubbed it across her protesting face. "This is certainly a slut's cunt, and it's definitely ready for a fuck." Without waiting for a reply, he set his left hand across her throat, firmly holding her in place while his right hand brought a condom foil up to his teeth. He grinned down at her as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his fat, nine-inch cock.

Connie stared in shock as Michael pulled out the largest cock she had ever personally seen. With fluid, practiced moves, the man rolled a condom down its ridged length and he set the head against her throbbing cunt. Connie shrieked in lust and pain as he threw his 205 pounds hard against her open body. She felt the cockhead thump against her cervix. "Eiii, Michael! That's too fast," she hissed into his ear before stopping in further shock as his pubic bone struck hard against hers. His heavy torso pinned her down as his hips set up a strong circular fucking motion that dragged her helpless hips in matching circles. Connie felt like her poor cunt was being stretched permanently into a gapping cavern by the huge cock and the incredible gyrations of his hips.

Michael hissed into her ear. "See, those thongs did hide a slutty cunt ready for a fucking. I'm buried in you in one single fucking push. Don't try and tell me that the cunt butter lubing up my cock didn't come from you. I should have fucked you last time instead of watching you seduce my girlfriend. At least you are obviously bi-sexual and not just a lesbian."

Connie relaxed in complete shock. Her body shook like a rag doll's as his relentless fucking continued. She felt his lips seeking out hers and despite her anger, she found herself kissing back, tentatively at first, and then with steadily increasing passion. The acceptance of the sex let her brain notice that her nerves were tingling with stimulation. Her cunt and mouth seemed to be her body's two epicenters of feeling. The sensations from her cunt were increasing in waves of feeling. Connie's hips eagerly started to fuck back against Michael's strong fucking. Connie heard herself start to beg for more, and harder, sex from her newest lover. "Oh, yesssss. Fuck me. Fuck me! Yes, you bastard fuck me harder."

Michael knew the risk he had taken with his rude comments had paid off. Instead of the lackluster and reserved sex he probably would have gotten from the sexy woman, he was giving and receiving hardcore, no holds barred fucking. From long experience, he knew that based on Connie's unreserved responsiveness, she could easily be drawn into other enjoyable games. Connie would be a lot of fun as one of his island girls.

Connie heard his wet cock plop out of her thirsty cunt and to her dismay, she immediately began to beg for him to put it back in. "Michael, please. I'm sooo close to cumming. Please fuck me. Fuck me," she wailed as she tried to pull him back down onto her body.

Michael grinned down at the horny bitch below him. Her blonde hair was in complete disarray and her big breasts flopped loosely across her chest and the torn-open blouse. He reached down and yanked hard to pull off the wrinkled skirt and her now slimy thong panties. One leg of the thong was left dangling around her right ankle and then tightly wrapped around her right wrist. Connie's cunt was now splayed wide open. Michael grabbed the other ankle and bent it back toward her ear before leaning down and setting his heavy weight on her calves. His fat cockhead found itself nestled against her thin patch of blonde pubic hair and he eased it in an inch or so. "Tell me what you want," he taunted the panting woman.

"Fuck me you idiot!" she hissed as she tried in vain to raise her cunt up onto his cock.

"First tell me what you are," he responded back as he withdrew his plum-sized head entirely from her drooling cunt.

"I'm a slut," she sobbed. "My cunt is ready for a fuck. Now, please, fuck me."

Michael obliged by sinking his shaft all the way into her hot vagina. It clasped tightly all the way down.

"Yessss," Connie hissed up at him. "That's just right." She felt the fat cockhead brushing against her g-spot as the hips widely swiveled above her. The bent over position left her at the mercy of his talent for sex; she could do little to increase either her pleasure or his beyond verbal encouragement and clamping her internal muscles against his plunging cockstick.

Connie heard herself grunting as he threw his weight around above her tightly clasping box. If not for the wondrous sensations from her cunt, she would have thought he was merely fucking for his own pleasure and not caring about hers. Then, she started moaning as her first orgasm struck with whirlwind force, "Eiii, ohhhh, yessss. That's it. Fuck, … fuck, … fuck me good."

Michael looked at the fucked out woman below him as he finished getting his clothes in order. "I'll be back in a little while," Michael told the sweaty and exhausted woman before him. "I saw something outside that intrigues me. Don't go away." With that said, he walked away.

Connie glared at his retreating backside. She did admire the tight muscles of his ass before grunting in displeasure at her predicament. He had just abandoned her helpless on her back with one ankle tightly tied to a wrist with her red panties and the other wrist and ankle equally secured with her skimpy white bra. She tried again to roll over and failed. She took satisfaction at the sight of the used condom thrown on the rug by her head; it was full of ounces of sperm that her tight cunt had sucked out of her lover. The sound of voices outside the living room window just feet away interrupted her daydreams. Naked, spread-open in a pose apparently meant to invite any male to mount her for free sex, was not how she wanted her company's cleaning crew to discover her. She knew that two male groundskeepers were working outside and two local island women were inside, cleaning and dusting. The two men near the window were laughing about something. The sounds faded as the workers moved away. Connie sighed with relief and then she worried that she might be found by the cleaning women. She wondered whether the women were finished cleaning the room or if they were soon to enter the room for cleaning. She wriggled again in frustration and dreamily gauged the just-finished fuck as the best of her life.

Michael stood beside a deep chasm cut roughly into the property. Connie told him it was a sinkhole made from ocean tides constantly surging through an underground entry from the nearby bay. The hole was easily 150 feet deep and several acres in size. He visualized an underground tunnel connecting from the nearby home to this pit and another one running from the pit out to the bay. He was certain that Connie was correct about the existence of a tunnel to the ocean as deep blue water filled the cavernous pit below, at a level equal to the bay. Michael Moore knew then that this property was what he needed as the Caribbean base of his organization.

Michael pulled out his cell phone and contacted his west coast partner, Steve Austin. "Steve will know a good engineer / architect and a construction manager to get this going," he told himself as he dialed the number. "An underground lake with slave holding and training areas above; Aaron Clarke, you are a certified genius."

Minutes later, Michael approached the groundskeepers and they spoke briefly about the landscaping and the site in general. The men enjoyed working on the various plantings and only had compliments for the outdoor design of the estate. Michael then asked about obtaining a length of tying twine and the men directed him to a small shed hidden behind some shrubs. He found the items he needed and headed back to the house.

Michael next found two housekeepers scrubbing the counters and floor in the kitchen. He chatted with them for a few minutes about the house and its condition. Like the men working outside, they knew of no hidden flaws and judged everything to be in top condition. When asked about cleaning supplies, they directed Michael to a utility room.

Connie was unable to protest when she was manhandled about and secured by Michael. He made sure she was secured too tightly to resist. The first thing he did was to stuff a clean dish drying rag into her mouth. Next, he carefully pulled her blonde hair back and tied it into a ponytail with a short piece of nylon line from the shed outside. Another wrap of the line around her head kept the gag securely in place. He sat back and looked at the woman, still spread-open helplessly on her back. She squirmed angrily.

Michael then strapped an old leather dog collar around her neck. It glistened from the quick cleaning and oiling he subjected it to after finding it abandoned in the shed. He then snapped a chain-style leash onto the collar and rotated it to the rear. Connie was rolled onto her side and the chain was fed down her back, between her still slimy pussy lips, and back up to the front of the collar where it was fed under the tight leather. The remaining six feet of lead chain was then set down. Michael started to rearrange her bondage; first working on her wrists which were tied together and then attached to her lead chain just below her collar. An eighteen-inch hobble line completed her constraints.

Michael pulled the confused woman to her feet and then stepped back to admire the effect. Naked save for the torn blouse and her sandals, Connie trembled before him in humiliated bondage. Michael set a frayed straw hat atop her head and tugged on the dog's lead chain to get her started behind him. The skirt, panties, and bra were stuffed into Connie's handbag which Michael picked up to carry to her car.

"Connie," Michael started, "we have several stops to make; first my bank, and then your office. Do you want me to leave you at my boat until that bit of business is complete?" He turned and looked at the distraught blonde, her bulbous tits swung softly from side to side under her torn blouse as she shuffled to a halt. "Or," he continued, "perhaps you would like to inform your friend Carolyn White that you have taken her contract away?"

Connie blanched and hurriedly nodded her head up and down. She didn't want anyone to see her present condition, especially that woman Carolyn White.

"Very well, Connie. We'll stop off at the marina then and you can get a tour of my new yacht. She is named Destiny. I'm sure that you'll like it." He then tugged on Connie's leash and walked quickly on to her car. She hobbled behind as best she could, bare pussy and ass hanging free in the breeze.

At the car, Michael stopped and tied her leash to a door handle. Connie's face was flushed and sweat streaked. "Pussy," Michael started, "what has come over you. You can't go out in public like that." He grasped the free ends of her torn blouse and tied them in front of trim belly, hiding most of her previously exposed tits. The little wrinkled skirt was taken from the handbag and yanked up her naked legs, covering the chain links buried deep in her pussy. Michael shoved her back against the car's body and squeezed her face between his hands. "God, you are a hot little bitch. Are you ready to fuck some more tonight, or do you want to go home alone, safe and sound?"

Connie heard the question in disbelief. She felt the line securing the gag in place loosen and then he started to tug the moistened cloth out of her mouth. Before she could catch her breath to announce her answer, his lips clamped down on hers and his tongue darted into her swollen mouth. His hands again strongly clasped her head and the kiss continued on and on. One hand slipped down to her tummy and where it started to gently jerk the chain in an up and down motion, frigging her pussy lips with the rough links of the dog chain. "I'm in a dog collar and leash," she told herself with disbelief, "and treated no better than a pet."

The kiss stopped and his lips moved to whisper into her ear. "So, what is your answer? Safe in your bed at home or writhing in ecstasy on my boat?" He licked her ear and then continued, "By the way, I guarantee that you will enjoy yourself."

Connie hesitated and then said weakly, "Take me to your boat and fuck me. Please don't hurt me though."

Michael laughed and said, "Good choice! It will be lots of fun and many orgasms. And, in the morning, … well, you probably won't regret your choice; remember, I made no guarantees about that."

Connie moaned in dismay at that last comment and opened her mouth to protest. The sopping cloth was jammed back into her mouth, stopping any chance at argument. After the line was retied around her head, she heard the thump of her car trunk opening via her car's remote. Michael picked her up and gently folded her into the trunk.

Just before he slammed the lid, Michael added, "Since you took so long to decide, Pussy, I have to get our errands done first. We will play at the boat later."

Connie saw the trunk slam down and she was in total darkness, scared, and tied helplessly. "Pussy? Why does he keep calling me Pussy? Where have I heard that before?" Connie thought long on that question, considering it important in determining if her choice had doomed her to death by a madman. When she remembered, she inwardly cried with real fear. "That deviant slut, Ingrid. She marked me with that name and Ingrid's nickname was Piggy. Oh, God! What have I gotten involved in," she thought."

Michael drove quickly around the island to make his necessary stops. He first went to his bank for two draft notes, one for the earnest money deposit and the other to cover his final closing costs. That simple task complete, he headed back to the real estate office. He opened the door and saw a thin attractive blonde glowering at him. Michael smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Michael Moore. Is Mr. …"

"Where is that back stabbing bitch at?" the blonde-haired woman demanded.

Michael already knew what was going on but decided to feign confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't know you and I'm simply looking for the broker that owns this business."

"Oh, shut up," she sneered. "You're the bastard that just bilked me out of a commission. I want to tell that bimbo a thing or two. Where is she? That's her car out there. You must know." Her voice rose to a shrill, unpleasant pitch.

"Please, calm down and start over again," Michael continued in a pleasant voice. Inwardly he was seething at the woman's demeanor and lack of manners. She didn't realize the danger she was in.

Suddenly a bizarre transformation occurred in the angry woman's face. She seemed to calm down and a coquettish expression appeared on her face. "Oh," she cooed, "I'm just distraught about the shameful way Connie has handled this transaction. Perhaps you and I can discuss the sales contract and negotiate a better conclusion?" One of her hands brazenly rubbed down her side and across the tiny paunchy area just above her pubic mound. The other hand cupped each of her breasts in turn, plumping them up. She cocked her head and pursed her lips.

"Lady," Michael spoke, knowing full well that he was going to set off this crazy woman with his response; "the deal is already done and I close later this week. The broker has already agreed to my terms and will present the deal to the sellers this afternoon."

The blonde's face, which Michael Moore thought obviously belonged to Carolyn White, froze and she stared wildly at him. Then her face transformed again into a snarling mask of fury and she spit out, "If I can't get the commission, then nobody will." With that, she grasped her white blouse and bra cups with her hands and yanked with all her strength, ripping blouse and bra; fully exposing her tight B Cup titties.

Michael watched in fascination as the emotionally distraught woman's emotions raged through her system. After she ripped her clothing, she raked one set of fingernails across a breast mound and the other set of sharp nails down across her cheek. When she took a deep breath and opened her mouth, Michael sprang into action. Too far away to punch or tackle the woman before she started to shriek about his supposed rape, he twisted his entire body sideways and spun his body around his left leg. The upward part of his right foot and ankle swung with incredible velocity and power into Carolyn's gut; a perfect flying soccer kick was completed. Without a word, the woman flew backward to splat against the office wall and then she slumped limply down to the floor.

Michael leapt forward and rolled the lifeless woman onto her belly. He flipped up her skirt to determine what kind of hose she had on, yanked off her heels, and then tugged both her pantyhose and panties down her hips toward her toes. The hose quickly secured the woman's hands helplessly behind her back. That done, Michael dragged the woman, her purse, panties, and her shoes behind a desk and frantically swept through the office to ensure everyone else was still out at lunch. On the way, he found the table where mail packages were prepared and picked up a roll of nylon-reinforced strapping tape and a pair of scissors. The strong tape was used to tightly hold her ankles together and to further secure her already tied wrists.

The parking lot appeared clear so Michael picked up the thin woman, tied her blouse closed as best as possible, and quickly walked toward Connie's car with the woman dangling at his side. From a distance, it might appear that the two were walking out together rather than a slaver with his latest tightly bound victim. Michael none too gently threw the woman onto the floor behind the front seats and got into the car himself. The scissors quickly cut off a large swath of the woman's skirt that was unceremoniously stuffed into her mouth atop her wispy black panties. Michael reflected that the least the bitch deserved was to taste herself over the next couple of hours. Wraps of nylon strapping tape finished off the impromptu gag. Another strip of cloth was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes effectively as a blindfold. This wrap was also secured in place with strapping tape. Michael tested her gag and consciousness status by sliding a hand down to grip a white, fleshy tit. He pinched one fat nipple as hard as he could, simultaneously yanking it hard away from her torso. Carolyn made no response; she was still out cold.

Michael started the vehicle and he carefully backed out of his parking spot and drove toward the marina. The entire chain of events that ended so poorly for Carolyn White had transpired in less than five minutes. Like the ill-fated Belinda Maticevski, Carolyn White was certain to discover that poor manners ranked very high in the listing of unforgivable cardinal sins that Aaron Clarke used in guiding his ethics. Carolyn was in terrible trouble.

Author: Desert Dog ****** E-Mail: Desertlickingdog at yahoo dot com

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