The Seller, Buyer, Girl and Her Master Page 2

  Especially when it came to the inspection, I didn’t want a crowd ogling the moment. I wanted my first real face-to-face moments with Evie to be in private—a matter between us. If for only a few hours, I wanted this delicious being completely to myself, following my agenda to the finish. It would be all I’d have of her as she passed through the system on her way to the sure captivity that would, over the years, mold her into a phenomenal being of sexual prowess, physical endurance and gracious charm.

  As I clamped her hands behind her in steel cuffs, the little nymph screamed at me, “You fuckin’ bastard!” her accent thick as the heavy late summer air. She kicked me, too, to which I gruffly laughed, the brusquely upended her with a rude thud to the floor, adroitly cuffing her ankles as well. Plucking the stunned creature from the floor, I threw her over my shoulder and strode from the building. A small crowd of onlookers, the headmaster and the matron among them, stood eyes wide in disbelief as I deposited her in the back of my van, padlocked the vehicle’s back door and then took my seat behind the wheel. Exhilaration flowed through me like a wild river crashing over its banks. My heart thumped madly, my cock was nearly fully erect. I rubbed my hands against the bulge in my pants, took a deep breath, then gathering myself for the task at hand, drove away.

  Not since my first abduction had I been so thrilled with any capture as I was with Evie’s. My energy renewed, my spirit was refreshed, I swelled with wanton desire, reveling in the despicable thought my rampaging lust immediately brought to mind. Not since my first abduction… Oh, but nothing can quite compare to that first time…

  I reflected back to that time, as the van worked its way through the twisting mountain roads, so deeply rutted and narrow, they were nearly impassable—one of the major drawbacks of my chosen profession. My first capture was more risky in some respects, but I had none of the problems that plagued me now. Even more of a problem than the roads was being detained along the way. Getting stopped by any of the authorities was a hassle I had to handle—they, too, seemed to change month to month. I’d get a cooperative official in my back pocket only to discover that they left the employ of the state weeks before my current trip. Getting stopped just delayed things. Of course, my papers were in order, but the guards and magistrates were always a little too interested in what I had in the back of the van. “Yes, she was mine to take, all this was legal”… on and on, I’d be arguing in a tongue I didn’t speak well. If I were luckier, I’d try communicating in English, listening to officials who had only a beginner’s grasp at the language. Getting my point across always took more time than I had to spare.

  My first abduction was nothing like this legal one… I’d been schooled by my advisers in how to choose appropriate young women. “You want them pretty, always pretty, sexy, and with few strings to tie them to the legal world—orphans are better, girls who’ve already shown their stripes as lusty, vivacious and risk-taking. Beware of the ones who moon and brood, even if they are breathlessly beautiful. They need some spunk to make it through the system.”

  I did my research on Ingrid… left home at sixteen, had educated herself while working as a waitress in a beer hall. She was Eastern European, too, but was at the time in living with a distant cousin. It’s amazing what one can glean about a stranger by simply paying attention to casual conversation. It helped that she had a sound grasp of English—most of my customers expect that, I was told. Like Evie, her hair was dyed blonde and her dark roots showed purposely. But she kept it short, bobbed straight at the sides like a flapper. I knew by the shape of her body that she was exactly what I was looking for, and my resulting research only pointed to a perfect catch.

  I made the abduction early in the morning—rather than late at night. The streets were empty, and at that hour, she was on her way to the beer hall, where she scrubbed the floors and kitchen for extra cash every day at dawn before the crowds gathered. She walked swiftly, but I was faster in pursuit, ducking my head down inside my overcoat on a chill autumn day. My ears should have been freezing, but my heart was pounding hotly enough to warm me to the tips of my extended body parts. I came up beside her, Ingrid’s head tucked as deep into her coat as mine was—we didn’t have to see each other. Our warm breaths made clouds around us and for a short time, we walked stride for stride. Then at an opening between buildings, I pushed her heavily with my shoulder and into an alley, stuffing her mouth with a wad of rags before she could squeal. I quickly dragged her into a vacant building I’d scouted earlier. Everything went according to my plans. It was useless at that point to tell her anything, but naïve and green around the ears, I announced to her with a hefty dose of self-importance, “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of—in my way.” I pushed her to the ground and held her there with my boot to her chest, scowling haughtily. Triumph was within my grasp. She didn’t fight back. “Sometimes they don’t, but watch out,” I was warned. “They’ll fight back on their terms. Watch out for clawing fingernails.”

  It was fortunate that I remembered the advice at that moment. A second later, the girl managed to dislodge herself from my foothold, and almost—not quite, but almost—kicked me in the groin. That would have flattened me, I’m sure. Pissed, I tackled her back to submission, roped her arms behind her and her ankles, then thrusting her over the hood of an abandoned car—one of the tiny foreign jobs you have squeeze into to drive—I bared her behind—the slut was naked underneath the skirt—and whipped her ass good. She might as well learn the first lesson.

  My anger, exhilaration and the leather belt from around my waist turned her ass into a nasty shade of red. Once she was crying and clearly despondent, all the sass whipped from her body, I stopped. This was the first captive ass I’d had the chance to maul, and for a good ten minutes, I played with her round red rump. “You can do what you want with your first, but don’t spoil the goods.” This referred to spoiling a virgin—and I couldn’t be sure with Ingrid. You can always assume that these tarts have been getting banged for years by the time they are eighteen and ready for our market, but I had no firsthand knowledge of that fact. I would take my liberties with her… I had it all decided in advance should I actually score. Equipped with a jar of greasy cold cream I began to massage her rear cleft, moving my hands deep to find the rosebud asshole that would open for my cock. I gave her time to focus, to get used to the idea, and though the girl tensed like a bowstring, she didn’t fight me. I watched her tears, I felt her heart beating through every muscle in her body, and was in awe of the assistance she gave me. The firm bud relaxed as my fingers massaged their way inside, and as I withdrew my erection and pressed it to the doorway, she seemed to welcome my presence. I know now that was only shock kicking in. She hated me—would hate me forever for what I did to her—her compliance was only shock taking over before she awoke to reality.

  At the time, however, victory surged through my veins, running rampant through my body as I poured my lust into her divine asshole. The muscle tightened, gripping and tugging like a hand-job, massaging the pent-up juices from my system. I am sure that she was banging me as much as I was banging her at the end, the brusque moves were not completely my own. She’d spit in my face later, hammer me with her fists and eventually get that groin kick in for good measure, but not until she’d been soundly, even happily, screwed in the ass. I came with a grunt and an extended groan, hanging on to her hips my crotch pressed to her round behind. I jerked several times getting the last of my jism deep in her entrails. At the moment, we weren’t enemies, just horny strangers.

  “The first abduction is always the one you’ll remember,” they told me.

  They were right. I can still recall every detail as if it happened just hours ago. Stalking, kidnapping, ass raping the beauty. She comes to mind, the scenes come to mind, and my dick responds like I’m seconds away from having her again.

  I know I’ll remember Evie the same way.

  ***

  After our hasty flight out of the mountains, I took Evie to my personal
holding cell, a squalid bedroom in an old hotel. This was one I found the first time I used the detention center for a pickup. I’d been advised to make the girl’s first hours humble ones. Better to start on them quickly, make them adjust to the rigors of their new world. For myself, I find this advice only makes my longing that much more acute, it colors those hours with an erotic energy I get nowhere else.

  After tying a naked Evie to the four corners of the bed, I took a break. She struggled the entire time, which I expected. What I hadn’t expected was her tenacity. She kept calling me bastard and asshole, as if that was the only English she knew. I’d been told she spoke German, and the several Slavic dialects from the region where she lived and fluent English, but in those first hours, I heard just cussing and swearing—I assume in every language she knew. I recognized most of it. I wasn’t worried about her ranting, the hotelkeeper was paid too generously to complain to me, and there were no other guests on his fourth floor. “I reserve it especially for you,” he graciously smiled at me with a twinkle in his brown eyes. He noticed her fighting at my side while I tried to hold on, “She’s a pretty one and a handful,” he added, as if hopeful I’d invite him up to help.

  “We’ll come to an arrangement,” I replied, as I pulled my wares up three flights of stairs.

  Regardless of my host’s generous allowances, I finally gagged my prize. If all she could do was cuss, I’d had enough.

  The arrangement made, she was finally subdued, quietly staring at me, obviously out of breath, her big blue eyes wide and focused on every move I made.

  “I understand you’re fluent in English, so you’ll understand what I say,” I began my monologue. “You may be pissed, you will certainly hate me, but you will eventually come to accept what’s happened to you.” I paced slowly, thoughtfully, in front her, then stopped and leaned my ass back against the edge of a table. After lighting a cigarette, puffing smoke into the air, I went on, “You’ve been labeled incorrigible by the detention center, which means that I’ve been given the opportunity to take my shot at reforming you—which is exactly what I intend to do.” I thought I saw a question in her eyes. “You don’t understand ‘incorrigible?’” I raised my eyebrows looking for a response. “Willful, hopeless, incurable? Those words mean anything to you?” I was sure she grasped my meaning. “And you’re wondering who I am?” I snickered and took another drag. She looked back longingly—too bad, with her mouth gagged, I couldn’t offer to share my smoke. “A nightmare, you’ll know me as the nightmare that stole you from the civilized world and deposited you into a new one, a parallel one, existing within and beside the one you know, between the cracks, like it’s not even there unless you’re really looking. I’m a facilitator to the realm of dreams come true… and,” I might have shrugged a bit embarrassed, “to be sure, I’m a depraved, unscrupulous provocateur.” No, she wouldn’t understand all my big words, but that wasn’t the point. I wanted her to understand the message behind my haughtiness. I wanted her to feel the darkness in my bones, the feeling of mirth I had looking at her lying naked and spread-eagle, helpless before me. How much I wanted to ravage her completely. In the end, she’d probably find me inadequate, a bit pathetic, a man of constant hope and scant achievement. Some would critically describe my existence in this machine of depravity in which I serve with the same words—but I fare better under my own scrutiny. I understand my motives, what drives me. The constant conquest, the devilish tease, the mocking of beautiful women, deflowering of the innocent, even the denial of my own physical needs serves me and my lust in a way no other occupation or diversion can.

  I continued with my lecture, “Certainly, dear Evie, if you behave yourself, learn your place, you’re the kind of girl who will enjoy herself in this realm in-between. You may doubt that now. Now, you’re probably just scared to death. But I won’t hurt you, no one will, at least not permanently. You’ll bear the kind of marks you’ve endured at the detention center, and more. I won’t lie to you about that. But you’ll understand what it means—soon. You’ll feel the freedom like a blanket of wool on a cold winter day. Cozy in and enjoy.” I stood over her, flicking the ashes from my cigarette on to her belly. She flinched for no reason, though I suppose the reaction was natural. I chuckled beneath my breath and turned away, telling her, “About the inspection? Or do you remember the conversation at the detention center before we left?” I raised my eyebrows, as if I expected her to answer. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t remember, you were trying to kick you way out of the abduction, and you made it nasty in the process. You can kick your way to hell and back, but it’s not going to do any good. And before the inspection, let’s get one thing straight. Give up any hope for self-determination, your power to choose, your plan or fancy ideas about your future. Your future is in my hands now, and in the desires of those who follow me. You’re a tiny, dispensable cog in a great big wheel that you can’t even fathom. Fighting me, or any of the ones who come after is futile.” I got hard, my face grim as my words. I reached into my inspection kit, a black bag of some size in the fashion of a doctor’s bag, pulling out a fresh pair of latex gloves. While she eyed me with darting blue eyes, I snapped the latex over my fingers and smiled from deep inside my core.

  “It’s sad that all this has to go,” I mentioned as I made myself ready, drawing a small tub of warm water, soaking several hot washcloths, and taking two razors from my bag, a straight edge and a conventional doubled-edged. Luckily, she’d already trimmed away most of her pubic hair, but she’d left enough for me enjoy the grand unveiling. Placing several towels under her hips, I raised her sex enough to get a good view. “You jerk, you get cut,” I reminded her gravely, as I slapped a hot wet towel over her pussy and pressed it into her flesh. She instantly recoiled, but as the heat subsided, she relaxed.

  I replaced the cloth with shaving cream, smoothing over her smooth thighs and cunt, working it in the crevices. I used the straight-edge on the larger patches, and the standard razor on those hard to get places, around the labia and inside deeper. Scratching my way around her entire groin, I got most of the hair on the first pass. Wiping it clean of hair and cream, I returned for a second pass to clean up any leftovers that would diminish the look. In the end, her cunt was as smooth as a newborn’s, labial lips perfectly plump, denuded, pristine, virginal. Ticking her inner pussy lips, I had her squirming with unwanted zeal. She tried holding back, but it was nearly impossible not to feel the erotic jolt. She kept staring at me, her eyes changing hues, changing aspects—sometimes hateful, spiteful, contemptuous, other times soft and alluring, and often questioning and fearful. She was exactly where I expected her to be at this point in our brief relationship.

  Because, behind my depravity, I can be a very nice guy, I dampened another towel with warm water when I finished shaving her and let it soothe the skin.

  While she was basking in that brief reprieve, I removed the gloves and paused to light another cigarette, taking a few drags to soothe my own excitement. This chick and I had more business to attend to; I didn’t need to get ahead of myself. A few more drags, I actually felt sorry for her as she watched the smoke trail upwards to the ceiling and disperse. My clients won’t put up with nicotine addicts, or addicts of any sorts, for that matter. They have to be clean, I’ve always been told. So she would have to do without and suffer watching me.

  When the cigarette butt was an inch long and glowing before our eyes, I leaned over, flicking ashes on her cunt, bringing the end close to her skin. As she watched with a look of horror growing on her face, I squashed the burning butt into the soft, blank slate of her pubic mound just above the labial cleft. As her skin sizzled, she gasped behind her gag, flinched and then finally relaxed as I withdrew the unlit remains.

  “Hey, now, that wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, was it now?” I scoffed at her pained expression, brushing the ashes from her mound. There was no more than a small round red splotch remaining; it wouldn’t last but a few days. But it was extremely satis
fying for me—and strictly within the guidelines. “Make them believe they are nothing in your eyes.” How many times I’ve had that drummed into my head, I can’t count. And still it’s a useful strategy.

  Rubbing cream into her pussy, I played with the opening a while, until I was sure of her response, until my fingers were wet with her juices and I knew she was aroused in spite of herself. She was no longer looking at me. Her eyes burned with tears gathering in their corners, beads reflecting iridescent light. She was petrified of me, but more so embarrassed that her body replied so easily and against her will. I had to harden my heart with her. Most girls I can relish every second of the degradation. But Evie was special. There was something in her I wanted desperately for myself, though I knew I couldn’t have it. For the first time in my career, I thought of giving up my trade, absconding with this vixen to the far corners of the world and there, stranded on some deserted beach, make her mine forever. This wasn’t a serious excursion into the inane, just a fleeting fancy that would come and go several times while I had Evie in my care. Inane, of course it was inane. I would only want the tart if she wanted me, which she never would. Knowing that the fantasy was an exercise in futility, I shook it off every time it entered my mind. But the fact that my psyche toyed with the idea in the first place was a sign of this one’s exceptional appeal. I was warned to be careful, trained to be careful, “There will always be the girl you want to keep, the one that, for whatever reason, tests your resolve and you love it. Fantasy is fine, but don’t let yourself get taken by the charm and beauty. While you have them, they are mavericks, running wild, and they can’t be trusted.”