Holly's Home Invasion
Part 12
by Andromeda
Stripped and roped together by the neck, mouths taped shut and hands bound as
always behind our backs, the three of us were hustled through a number of wide
and luxuriously decorated corridors to a small tiled room at the end of a
darkened hallway. It was a bathroom of sorts, equipped with hoses that were
connected to a high-pressure water outlet on one of the walls. At the base of
the wall was a wide gutter that emptied into a drainage canal. From Red's
account I guessed that this was where we would be taken after being raped to
have our semen-dripping vaginas and buttholes flushed with high-pressure jets of
water. I wondered bitterly how many other gang-raped women over the years had
been made to pass through here to be humiliatingly hosed down as though they
were farm animals. The slave girls opened a side door that led to another room,
also tiled and bare but much more spacious than the first. Along the side wall,
sitting side by side on a low bench with their knees drawn up and their heads
bowed, were the other victims who had been brought here tonight to be raped by
Mr. X's so-called franchisers. They had their hands behind their backs,
obviously bound either with rope or handcuffs, I couldn't tell which. Their
mouths were duct taped and all of them had been stripped naked. Like us they had
been roped together by their necks. From beyond a door at the far end of the
room came the animated sounds of the party that I'd heard outside.
I did a quick head count. There were nine captives. Including the three of us
made twelve, the same number the dead slaver had counted at the awful party he
had so gushingly described while I'd lain hogtied in the back of the kidnap van.
Several of the women were sobbing, their shoulders heaving uncontrollably, their
cheeks bulging out grotesquely from the combined pressure of the panties and
other silencing material that had been stuffed inside their mouths and the heavy
layers of duct tape wrapped around their heads to keep the gags strapped firmly
in place. They were guarded by four slave girls in boots and short pleated
miniskirt uniforms who paraded menacingly in front of them slapping what looked
like riding crops against the palms of their hands. I gazed fearfully at the
guards. Sets of shiny steel handcuffs and black leather floggers dangled
intimidatingly from utility belts at their waists, the grimly oppressive display
clashing incongruously with the white lace and silk lingerie that peeked out
lewdly from under their brief black miniskirts as they strode back and forth in
front of their captives.
As the three of us were led to the bench to be coffled to the other victims a
few women looked up at us, their tearful faces eyeing us curiously. One of them
even tried to say something to us but whatever it was it was mercilessly stifled
by her gag. We were ordered to sit and as I lowered myself awkwardly together
with Beth and Belinda, I looked across at the row of captive women sitting
beside me on the bench. It was a horrifyingly intimidating sight - the row of
bowed heads festooned in coffle cordage, the distorted faces strapped with
layers of duct tape, the procession of slender arms pulled sternly behind the
back and lashed at the wrists with tautly fastened coils of white cotton rope,
some tied as mine were with the wrists crossed, others bound even more
stringently with the palms pressed against each other below the bindings. It
took an effort on my part to realize that just a day earlier all of these women
who sat beside me bound, stripped and enslaved had been with their friends and
loved ones, enjoying their lives and going about their business totally and
blissfully unaware of the obscene calamity waiting to engulf them.
Beth was placed at the end of the bench. I sat between Belinda and a short
black-haired girl who seemed to be in her late twenties. She'd been bawling
badly. Her eyes were red and she kept staring at me as the three of us were
hooked up to the coffle by a four-foot length of rope fastened between her neck
collar and mine. I was literally quivering with fear. I dreaded what lay ahead.
I knew my life depended on how my body would respond to the massive assault on
my womanhood that was being so meticulously prepared. I prayed silently for
deliverance from the threat of execution, knowing that for me deliverance meant
little more than a life of bitter enslavement, merciless bondage and brutal
rape.
'We're done here, Karen,' Shannon told one of the four slave girls in charge of
the captives, 'I need you to sign for them.' She produced a form. The girl in
charge, a shapely brunette whose name appeared to be Karen, signed it quickly.
'Oh and by the way,' Shannon added as she tucked the folded form into her pouch,
'the older one over there is a defective,' she pointed at me, 'she'll need extra
heavy lubrication to get her holes ready for use. I wrote it in on her tag.'
Karen glanced at me. 'I've got just the right girl for that,' she told Shannon.
'Brenda?' A tall redheaded girl looked at her.
'Ma'am?'
'One of the new slaves over on the bench,' Karen told her, 'third from the end,
she's a defective, needs special attention when she's being lubed up. See to it,
will you?'
'My pleasure, ma'am,' the redhead replied. She looked at me and smiled, her eyes
roaming speculatively over my bound and naked body. I wondered dimly if she
might be a lesbian. She was visibly older than the other three, in her late
thirties perhaps. She came over and stood in front of me.
'Hi there, honey,' she said cheerfully, 'don't worry, I'll get you ready. Trust
me. I'll leave your quim nice and wet and make sure your ass gets a good proper
stretching if it needs it. You're going to be OK.' She patted my head as though
I were her pet cat. I peered up and groaned wretchedly at her through my gag.
She turned and flounced away, pulling her skirt up briefly to flash her
underwear at me flirtatiously. Definitely a lesbian, I decided. The slave girl
in charge, Karen, looked at her watch.
'It's time,' she told the other three, 'get these slaves off their asses and
move them in. Use your crops on any one of them that strays out of line. I want
to see an orderly column.'
We were pulled to our feet by a few quick tugs on the coffle ropes and brutally
cropped into a column. I myself wasn't struck but I flinched as I saw the
captive in front of me, the black-haired girl who had stared at me as she and I
were roped together, take a viciously hard blow to her thighs to crop her into
line. She yelped in pain through her gagging cloths. Behind me Beth and Belinda
were also cropped. I heard them cry out through their gags as they were struck.
As the coffle of naked and terrified victims was marched toward the door to the
reception area, I suddenly became aware that I was peeing myself from fright. No
one took any notice. A few of the other girls had also urinated. Puddles of pee
lay on the tiled floor and I kept stepping in them. The door to the reception
room was opened and we were herded in.
The din that greeted us was overwhelming. Cheering, catcalling and whistling men
crowded around us, groped our breasts and felt up our buttocks and thighs as we
squirmed helplessly in our bondage. From what Red had said I knew there must
have been forty or fifty slavers in that room. They were all dressed in dark
suits and ties and some of them were already unzipping their pants. At the end
of the room by the wall I could see the row of tables that had been set up for
us. One of the tables had been set apart from the others against the wall at the
side. I wondered why.
I also noticed something else I hadn't expected. A video camera had been set up
in front of the tables and a large wide screen hooked up to the side wall.
Closed circuit TV, I suddenly realized. Our ordeal was to be projected on a
screen to allow everyone in the room to witness every detail of our degradation
while we stood humiliatingly bound and bent over for raping by the dozens of
slavers who stood waiting behind us. It was to be a public spectacle, visible to
all, even recorded so that it could be played back over and over again, not just
for the benefit of this particular pack of perverts but also those who would
come after. It was appalling. Once again I trembled in my restraints, my face
flushed with shame and humiliation at the thought of what lay ahead. The pawing
and groping of our naked and defenseless bodies went on for at least five
minutes until a tall middle-aged man, impeccably decked out in a tuxedo and bow
tie, raised his hands. A hush descended on the milling crowd of slavers. It was
obviously Mr. X himself.
'Let's try and keep this orderly, gentlemen,' he called out. His face was rugged
and angular with high cheekbones and a prominent chin, the skin lined and
creased, the graying hair carefully combed, the thin lips framed by a clipped
moustache. He looked a bit like Ted Turner.
'Gentlemen,' he perorated, 'I'm proud to present you with that special treat
I've been telling you about. It's a little something all of us here at the Farm
have put together, our tribute to all you gentlemen who've come here tonight and
more generally a tribute to this terrific business we're proud to be in. I think
you gentlemen know what it is I'm talking about. I'm talking about freshly
captured slaves. I'm talking about initiation. Gentlemen, I'm talking about
giving a group of freshly captured young women their first real initiation into
slavery, their first good hard fucking in captivity if you'll pardon my French.'
There was a swell of cheering and catcalling voices and Mr. X raised his hands
again for silence.
'Is there a single one of you gentlemen,' he asked rhetorically, 'who hasn't
felt that special thrill that comes from initiating a fresh capture, seeing the
helpless fear in her eyes, listening to her sobbing and crying as she's being
restrained and set up for sampling and testing? It there anyone here who hasn't
felt that special thrill, that excitement and anticipation? Anyone?' The chief
slaver cocked his ear. 'Nope, I didn't think so. That thrill and that excitement
is what drives us on, helps us work harder to overcome obstacles, meet
challenges, defeat our competitors. It's the lifeblood of our business,
gentlemen. And tonight we're going to explore that thrill and that excitement
together.' More cheering interspersed with scattered clapping and catcalling.
Mr. X went on: 'What we've brought you here tonight, gentlemen, are a number of
freshly captured young women, all of them taken in the past twenty-four hours
and all of them still wearing the very same ropes our franchisers used to
restrain them when they were apprehended, that's how fresh these captures are.
These are new slaves, gentlemen, raw and untrained, deliciously resistant,
delectably unwilling, all of them securely bound, all of them skillfully
silenced by our girls here at the Farm to make sure they stay perfectly subdued
during their initiation. And in just a few minutes I'm going to ask our girls to
set them up for you. But first I want my good friend Jim to stand up and take a
bow. Jim?'
A thin balding man wearing a goatee stepped out and raised his hands in
Nixon-like salute as the assembled slavers clapped and cheered loudly. Mr. X
waited for the noise to die down. I wondered if this was the same Jim whom
Shannon had spoken to on her cell phone, the man who had ordered my two captors
to be shot. I watched as the man called Jim approached Karen and whispered
something in her ear. The slave girl turned and pointed at me. Jim nodded and
turned his attention back to Mr. X. The clapping and cheering had faded. Mr. X
went on:
'As all of you know Jim's been directing our training program at the School for
a number of years now. And tonight I'm pleased to announce that he's going to be
moving on to our Security Department as its new Director of Operations. These
new duties are going to be taking up most of his time but I know his heart is
set on keeping a foothold in the training and education area. So in recognition
of his magnificent expertise and achievement in that area we're adding a new
feature at these reunions, a tutorial on one or another basic aspects of our
work. Jim tells me that tonight his tutorial is called 'Handling a Defective'
which certainly sparks my interest because what to do about defectives is
quickly becoming a major bottom line issue for all of us. Jim's going to be
giving his tutorial at the same time as you gentlemen are waiting in line to
sample the new slaves so, unless you're at the head of the line and otherwise
engaged, I urge you to listen carefully to what he's got to say. Jim, I
understand that you've already selected your demonstration captive, is that
correct?'
'It certainly is, Clive,' the thin balding man replied, 'we have a defective
with us here tonight, which ought to make this a really interesting hands-on
tutorial.'
I wanted to hide my face, disappear from the face of the earth. Through the
corner of my eye I could see Beth and Belinda looking at me. I lowered my eyes,
my face crimson with embarrassment.
'Great!' Mr. X exclaimed, 'and, gentlemen, we've got a separate table set up for
her at the side of the room with a closed circuit TV hook up so all of you can
follow Jim's demonstration and see what's going on in real time on the screen.
So without further ado I'm going to ask our girls to prepare the captures for
their initiation and ask Jim to kick off his tutorial. Thank you, gentlemen, and
enjoy your slaves. Just pick the one you want and queue up behind her. Five or
six men behind each capture ought to keep things moving along nicely.'
The slavers broke out cheering. I watched terrified as Jim picked out a rattan
cane from a rack by the wall and strode to where I was standing with the other
victims, pushing his way past the crowded slavers who were milling around us. He
ran his eyes impersonally over my naked body as though he were examining a pony
at a stable, then turned to one of the slave girls who was guarding us.
'Cut this one loose from the coffle,' he ordered.
