Chapter 1 - Riding Lessons
The Hotel Yorotani Bar (The Day of the Hunt)
She sipped her drink, relaxing in the soft furnishings of the hotel bar. It was all cavernous open space dotted with tables surrounded by expensive plush furniture in a stark blood red that stood out starkly from the checkerboard marble floor and veined white stone walls. Potted exotic plants waved beneath the lazy ceiling fans, and movable folding screens decorated in the same black, white, and red colours as everything else broke up the general hubbub of the room cloisteing the tables into tiny islands of human contact. Large openings to the island outside let in rays of morning sunshine as thin white transparent curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. Slaves directed by a bartender in a smart waistcoat and trousers busied themselves behind the impressive marble topped bar, a mirrored back giving the impression of thousands of bottles of alcohol behind them, each one more murderously expensive than the last.
"Well the way I see it," the woman said "It's the best way to get new staff." She took another sip of her drink and let it sit in her mouth long enough to feel the burn of the alcohol it contained. "I mean, honestly, how can you trust some meek little thing that just gives up at the first sign of trouble? All these sluts lining up to be processed one after the other and be fucked into an early grave, not a braincell between them, I say."
"Yes, Mrs Eimer, but that is what society has deemed acceptable. A woman's proper place, yourself included, is beneath all men. Surely you must agree to that?", said the man she was talking to as he tapped the end of his cigar into the nearby ashtray. It winced slightly as the hot ash hit its tongue, but he paid it no mind.
"Well Dickie is a Fister you know, the party thinks highly of him and I know my place. I serve any man as and when he instructs me to, without question, favour, or hesitation. Being a wife, and therefore effectively owned, is the best thing that's ever happened to me and I would do anything to make his life better. I don't consider myself as above men, or even above women particularly, I just think they should show some more fire, some will to live. That's why we come here."
The man she was talking to leaned back on his sofa and looked at her. She was devastatingly attractive. No more than in her early 20s a tight blonde braid curled over one shoulder and hung down over the tight fitting white shirt she wore, unbuttoned to show a simple but expensive looking silver necklace and cleavage that was barely restrained. Cream riding trousers and black knee-length riding boots completed the ensemble. She sat upright but cross-legged looking into her Martini glass, swirling the olive around from time to time.
Her husband was not paying attention. He was engrossed in whatever Pussiana news rag had been imported to the island that day. The front page was the usual. Fluffers "freeing" slaves by killing a shipment of them bound for the slave fair. An article highlighting the dire economic straits of Ibernia while they refused to implement proper slave controls. And a think piece on the relative merits of Stivalonian Whoresie raising techniques as opposed to the version used throughout Pussiana. He was a little older than her, maybe in his mid 30s but his riding clothing in much darker colours as well as his sleek Hurenbesitzische watch screamed old money.
She leant back a little on the sofa, taking in the man opposite her. He was a little older than her husband. His short grey hair meeting a neat beard with a thicker waxed moustache. Unlike them he was dressed in a cream linen suit, and a matching slightly battered fedora sat next to him on the couch. Cool grey eyes seemed to take her all in as she spoke to him, "So I take it you're here for the hunt too Mr Lovec?"
"Wouldn't miss my annual trip for the world. This place is absolutely worth it. The one I caught last year has just been an absolute star. I've retired her to be a dungeon painslut now, of course, the amount I've been using her she's loosened up and she just doesn't struggle the way I liked any more. As you say, it's no fun if the fire in their eyes is gone while raping them." A slightly uncomfortable silence descended across them as all three either looked into their drinks or continued meandering their way through the newspaper.
The silence was punctuated as the licking of heels heralded the arrival of two women to the seated group One in the hotel uniform, a short red skirt, white top, and red jacket with matching shiny red heels, the other in only red leather cuffs and anklets, high heels, and the ubiquitous black slaveband.
"Monsieur Eimer," said the one in the uniform, "Your 10am girl as requested. She is a young vintage full bodied Pussianan with hints of vanilla, and cinnamon. She pairs well with belt whipping, and vigorous anal." her voice a low sultry one with a thick Chattelandaise accent.
He flicked his newspaper closed and beckoned the mostly naked girl over.
"Hang on, Dickie. Let me take a look first" said his wife.
"By all means, Jacinda, just don't enjoy her too much. Wouldn't want to miss the hunt to clean you up instead."
She pulled the slave towards her by an unresisting wrist and inserted two fingers into her pussy. She moved the fingers around, exploring the slave's primary fuckhole with a concerned look on her face. Concern turned to to mocking arrogant triumph as she pushed the young slave back towards the one in the uniform, she tottered on her heels before steadying herself.
"You call this slut rape ready? Just feel her. She's dryer than my fucking Martini." said Jacinda, her tone terse, her face an evil smirk. Her husband smiled, he loved to see this in her but decided against surprise anal so he could see where she was going.
"I apologise, Madame, I'm not sure what could be the problem...we have a rotating roster of slaves who are kept on fuck machines and are rape ready at all times...I will get you a replacement at once of co--"
Jacinda flicked the fingers she'd probed the girl with at the uniformed woman's face, a few flecks of moisture caused the woman to flinch a little, and stopped her speaking. "THAT is the problem. I'd be ashamed to serve pussy like that in my own home let alone to a paying guest. What sort of half-cocked establishment are you running if this is how you treat the men who choose to stay here."