Sylvies Inheritance

Sylvie watched in confusion as the nubile blond woman in the abbreviated uniform greeted Sylvie's mother with a fawning servility far surpassing the courteous deference of an ordinary valet. Sylvie's confusion increased as her mom, LaVernia Cristobal, received the same treatment from the two women at the doors of the dark Victorian manse. Sylvie followed her mom up to the wraparound porch of the house. The deferential women wore obscene parodies of doormen's uniforms, and Sylvie noticed that they watched her intently. With great trepidation, she followed her mother into the house's richly-appointed anteroom.

"Mom, what is this place?" the 21-year-old, fresh out of accounting school, asked.

"Well, dear, you know how I've always been a little vague about the family business," LaVernia replied with a mischievous grin.

"The import company?"

"Yes. Would you like a drink?" LaVernia asked Sylvie as a pretty girl in a tiny maid's uniform handed the still-striking 42-year-old a Scotch and water without having been asked.

Sylvie, who'd never been offered alcohol by her mother, shook her head nervously. A thin lock of brown hair strayed from her coif, dangling beside her glasses.

"Yes, well I've never explained quite what it is we import." The older woman gestured for her daughter to follow as she passed into the next room. Sylvie felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

"These, Sylvie, are the imports." Along both sides of a long hallway were rooms like jail cells, full of scantily clad young women. Sylvie stared, open-mouthed but wordless. LaVernia took her hand to guide her down the hall. Tall topless women in black leather thigh boots, short shorts, and black leather versions of police officers' caps patrolled the hallway with riding crops.

"You see," Sylvie's mother continued, "these women are the finest sex slaves, imported from all parts of the world and brought here for only the most discriminating consumers." Sylvie observed each cell in stunned silence. In one, a woman, perhaps Chinese, naked except for a pink feather boa, rubbed her crotch with both hands and moaned while down on her knees. In the next, a dark-skinned beauty pressed herself tightly against the back of a tall blonde whose breasts she fondled. Both of them looked expectantly at the mother and daughter outside.

"Of course we do keep an ample domestic stock as well," LaVernia continued, rounding a corner now.

"Mother!" Sylvie suddenly pulled her hand from LaVernia's grasp, having somewhat regained her wits. "What are you talking about? This is the family business? Sex slaves?"

"Yes, darling," LaVernia replied in a placating tone, but Sylvie would have none of it.

"Sex slaves? That's so wrong!"

"You didn't think it was wrong when it was paying for your college, and your car, and those fancy clothes." LaVernia ran her fingers along the sleeve of Sylvie's silk dress.

"I didn't know. Anyway, you have to let these women go!"

"Let them go, my dear?" LaVernia chuckled. "and do what? These women desire nothing else in life but to be sexual playthings."

"Our training program insures that," she added with a wry grin. "Our clients are all sufficiently wealthy to support the girls. If we simply let them go, they'd just be grabbed up and kept by random strangers."

"You're talking like they don't have minds of their own," Sylvie responded, near tears. "What about consent?"

"Consent, darling? I just told you, these girls want to be sex toys. But here, let's not argue. Why don't you ask them yourself?"

Sylvie hesitated, but LaVernia immediately flagged down one of the guardswomen and had her open the nearest cell. The petite, doe-eyed youth inside wore only shackles around her neck, wrists and ankles, connected with a thin silver chain that looped through rings in her nipples and clitoris. She shuffled out into the hallway at LaVernia's summons and stood before LaVernia, eyes downcast.

"Slave," LaVernia said tenderly, "this is my eldest daughter, Sylvie. She is concerned that you and the others may not really want to just be silly little fucktoys." A shocked expression appeared on the bound woman's face. LaVernia stroked her head affectionately. "Why don't you go over there and let her know how you feel?" LaVernia punctuated this suggestion with a light pat on the girl's behind.

The slave shuffled over and knelt at Sylvie's feet, nuzzling her head against Sylvie's crotch. Sylvie flushed bright red. She couldn't look up at her mom.

"You don't...." Sylvie stammered, "don't have to...." She gulped. "What do you want to...." Before she completed a sentence, Sylvie suddenly realized that the slave girl at her feet had been joined by two others, ringing her flanks, who must have been released while Sylvie was unaware.

Sylvie had been with girls before, in college. A few experimental flings, and even one attempt at seriously dating a woman in her gender studies course. She felt, likewise, that domination and submission were okay among consenting adults, and that prostitution should be legal. Still, trafficking in slaves was another matter, entirely. So was having her mom behind it.

Gasping, Sylvie said, "get up." The naked women around her rose.

The 21-year-old tried to steady herself and asked, "What do you want? In life, I mean?" The only response she received at first was a trio of confused stares. The pneumatic brown-skinned girl on Sylvie's right then smiled and began squeezing and fondling her large tits. The Nordic-looking blonde on Sylvie's left then leaned her head on Sylvie's shoulder and began fingering her own crotch with her left hand, softly moaning. The petite girl in chains sank back down, now on all fours, and began licking Sylvie's leather pumps.

"No, stop," Sylvie protested. She realized, with a thrill of fear and guilt, that she had become wet. The women halted their activities, looking up at Sylvie for further instruction. "Don't you want to be free?" The three responded with blank looks. Facing out past them but still not quite meeting her mother's eyes, Sylvie cried out, "Send them back!"

Three of the dominatrix guards strode up, stilleto heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and ushered the slaves back to their cells. Sylvie trembled as she realized what she had just ordered.

After a moment's silence, a maid came by with two drinks on a tray. LaVernia took them both and pressed one into her daughter's hand. Sylvie turned her face away. A tear ran down her cheek.

"You see, darling, these girls love their enslavement. You want what's best for them? This is it."

Sylvie took a sip and said nothing.

"Now, when you're ready, dear," the older woman continued, "we can look at the rest of the place."

Sylvie had no wish to see any more, but when she observed the dark-eyed girl in shackles staring lasciviously at her from the cell, she hurried along without a word.

"Now this," announced LaVernia as they entered a new room a moment later, "is the intake facility." Along both walls of the high-ceilinged chamber were rows of cages, stacked up in columns of two. In each cage a young naked woman knelt or crouched, lacking room to stand up straight. Many of them writhed erotically as the mistress of the house entered. More guards in bondage gear patrolled here, swaying their latex-bound asses as they sauntered back and forth. Sylvie sniffled.

"This is even worse than before," she said in a small voice.

"Oh darling, don't be so dramatic," her mother replied with an indulgent tone. Then she resumed her discussion. "This is where the new arrivals are stored while undergoing the medical examination, wardrobe and styling, and of course, training."

Sylvie looked up at a cage beside her in which a huge-breasted redhead squatted, grasping a bar with her left hand, fingering herself with the right. Her eyes locked on Sylvie's as she lifted the fingers of her right hand to her mouth. Sylvie looked down. In the cage below the redhead, an Asian girl leaned back against the corner of the cage toying with her pert nipples, eyes closed and a dreamy expression on her face. A double row of similar spectacles lined both walls, so Sylvie stared down at the floor.

"Mother, this is all just wrong," she stated emphatically.

LaVernia turned toward her daughter.

"Ah, how did I raise such a little prude?" LaVernia asked, with a sad little chuckle. She placed a hand under Sylvie's chin to lift her face. When she could look in the girl's eyes she said, "Look, this is the family business. This is what has supported you and provided for all the nice things you've had in your happy little life. You may not approve of it all, but it is to this that you owe everything." Sylvie looked back with fear.

"Now, you've got your accounting degree," LaVernia continued, "and it's time for you to start doing your part to help out with the operation. Someday this can all be yours."

Choking back sobs, Sylvie cried out, "No! I can't. I don't want it, and I don't want to help you. I'll pay you back for school or something, but I can never be part of this." Her tears flowed freely now.

"Very well," LaVernia responded with a sigh. "If that's how you really feel, we can discuss some other plan. I had really hoped to see you follow in my footsteps, but you are a grown woman." LaVernia put an arm around Sylvie's shoulders and began walking with her. "We'll talk all about it in awhile. Right now, I just want to finish up your tour by showing you the training facility." Sylvie's downcast eyes could not see as a sinister grin stole over LaVernia's face.

The two entered a room whose bright fluorescent lights and sleek white walls provided a jarring contrast to the Victorian wood panelling elsewhere in the building.

"These, Evie, are the imports," 44-year-old LaVernia announced as she led her younger daughter into the long hall lined with cells. A look of astonishment lit up 21-year-old Evie's face as she stared right and left at all the feminine flesh on display. She glanced back at her grinning mother, then ran along the hall to take in the whole scene. Halfway down the row of cells, the miniskirted recent graduate turned and came back. Suddenly she forgot all about the parties she'd had to pass up to spend this evening with her mom.

"So what is this, Mom? Who are all these girls and what do we do with them?"

"Why, anything we please," LaVernia replied with a slight chuckle. "These girls are the finest sex slaves from all parts of the world, brought here for distribution to the wealthiest and most discriminating customers." Evie stared wide-eyed. "Also, a few of the best ones are retained in service here, at our discretion."

Evie just looked around, open-mouthed and largely speechless as the tour continued. She was positively gasping for breath as she observed the intake facility.

"So you see," LaVernia concluded the talk she'd been giving, "this place has given so much to you, now that you're out of school, you can start giving back, even if your degree is just a BFA in ballet and modern dance." Evie's face took on a dazed look of anticipation. LaVernia went on, "One day you can inherit the entire business, which reminds me, there is something else I haven't told you." She took Evie's arm and the girl stared at her curiously as they walked.

"Darling, when I said that Sylvie had gone to live abroad after school, I wasn't being entirely truthful." Evie frowned at this confession. She had never gotten along well with her prissy older sister, hadn't missed her much, but was a little concerned by this news.

"The truth is, she didn't have the heart to take over for me as I'd hoped—you know she doesn't take after me the way you do," LaVernia explained, "but we agreed that she owed a great debt to the family business, so she's been working it off. Ah, here we are, the accounting department."

LaVernia had led them to another cell, bigger than the others, and more richly-appointed. At a table inside, behind stacks of papers and an adding machine, sat the big sister whom Evie hadn't seen in two years. Sylvie's brown hair, in pigtails, looked a little longer, but the glasses and the eyes were the same. The tits, held up by a black lacy brassiere, looked much bigger, with a sumptuous cleavage that Sylvie could never have managed two years ago, and prominent nipples tenting out the thin silk half cups. Besides the bra, Sylvie wore only a black leather collar, a tiny plaid kilt, and a pair of platform-soled Mary Janes with frilly white socks decorated with pink hearts. Sylvie grinned coquettishly at her little sister, blushing a little. Her lips seemed much fuller and poutier than before. The shy look on her face was belied by the wanton way she plunged her fingers in and out of her exposed vagina, tits bouncing and jiggling with each thrust. Evie smiled back wickedly.

"We agreed that she only has to stay here until she's paid off her college tuition," LaVernia added, "but after her training she really got to like it here, as you can see." Whispering conspiratorially, she concluded, "I don't think she'll ever want to leave."

"Oh, Mommy, this is perfect!" Evie exclaimed, throwing her arms around LaVernia and kissing her cheek.

LaVernia put her arm around her daughter's waist and the two leaned against each other, happily observing their loved one as she masturbated.

"I'm so glad you think so, sweetheart," LaVernia replied. "You always were Mommy's little girl."