Chapter 9 - Free Time II
The Hotel Yorotani - Room 107 (Two Days Before the Hunt)
Pussyhound marched through the corridors of the hotel, she and Glimmerslut both clad in cheap knockoffs of slavecop uniforms they kept on hand. She weighed the bag in her hands and smiled. This rich bitch was about to get the surprise of a lifetime. She'd had this request a few times. It was basically roleplay, turn up, slap the wife or slave around a bit, a couple of hours work to make a slut cry, maybe join in the celebratory blowjob, then back home to enjoy the cash. Husbands lapped it up as it meant they could keep their private pussy in their place, and maybe fuck a bluepuss along the way. This one was different. While the wife had set the whole thing up for her husband's amusement it was the husband she'd had to deal with for payment. As with every time she'd done this before Pussyhound had a contract in writing that was agreed to, and the husband had sent funds. For once, though, there were some very specific details in that contract. Pussyhound surmised that either the guy really hated his cunt of a wife, or he really knew what her limits were. It had taken a while dealing with the concierge to get everything the husband had asked for, and some of it was not exactly what Pussyhound preferred, but it fit the bill, and would do for now.
They turned another corner, down another hallway lined with struggling attractive whores for the hallway's main decoration. Pussyhound knew each one would be available to be ordered at a moment's notice. The whole thing may have lent a neoclassical air to the place but the reality was that these female decorations not only kept fuckable slaves near the guests, but also meant they needed no actual back of house slave storage. To the casual eye, too, each of these slaves was suffering the same unpleasant fate, choked and raped by robotic vines but Pussyhound was no casual admirer and knew what she was looking at. Some of the vines hid hole tightening rigs that massaged and medicated the women back to full tightness. Struggling cunts were ones on enforced exercise programmes, encouraged by threats of pain to keep moving against the resisting vines for multiple hours at a time. Then there were the moaning or screaming ones, Pussyhound knew the signs of girlheater overdose recovery, as well as the telltale shrieks of vaginal or anal electrocution. Finally interspersed between them all, and looking almost fully cocooned were the slaves who were allowed to sleep, they looked peaceful, dreamy. While they were still restrained Pussyhound knew from undercover work a while back that kind of restraint felt more like a warm and comfortable hammock than the torture it could be made to look like The whole system reeked of a skilled whipmaster who knew that to control the harem there must be a constant churn of slavegirl discipline and training.
Boots clicking off the hard checkerboard floors Pussyhound realised that In any normal hotel she would have been checking every few doors for the suite numbers, but here the gaps between the gargantuan living arrangements meant going from one door to the next took a good amount of time. Eventually she reached the smooth black door of 107, swivelled on a heel, and pressed the entrance chime on the wall to request access.
--
Jacinda was, truth be told, a little worried. She barely remembered the first time she'd been here; the adrenaline rush of it all and then her victory where so many others had failed had seemed so sweet. She'd earned two years of freedom but risked it all just 12 months later for what she thought was a much greater prize. That second time through the hunt she remembered. She'd grown as a person in those 12 months. She was confident, and without the burden of her every waking moment being concerned with paying for a freedom pass she had, for a while, lived a very pleasant lifestyle for a single woman. Her second victory had elevated her, though. She was now the wife of a senior member of the Fist & Arrow movement, one assigned to the Bureau of Breeding and Development. It wasn't quite as prestigious or lucrative as a position in the BFA, but she'd seen the advancements being made in breeding a better, more fuckable slavegirl as well as enhancing the superior gender to enshrine their place as gods at whose feet the new generation of slaves would barely be fit to worship. As the wife of a Fister she knew already that once her husband decided it was time that she should breed it was likely her sons would be born to fine educations, and political careers, any other children they would likely keep the first as a political tool to be sold or traded away, the rest would end up in the SEFR serving the state the best way a woman could, as one of the rank and file of the blue uniformed Agent-Slaves.
She wondered, sometimes, if the person she was now was radically different from what she would have been had her husband caught her the first time around? She catered to his every sexual whim, served him in all the ways that mattered, constantly sought his approval by finding reasons for him to keep her around and without a thin black slaveband around her neck. For everyone around her she wore a wicked smile as she liberally ravaged and brutalised the bareneck and slave alike for his amusement, but inside she had had to stay cool, alert, and hyper-vigilant in case things changed. She'd seen too many wives, and daughters become too comfortable and only realise how their fate had changed once it was far too late. In truth she worried about this evening. She knew no genuine harm could come to her, but those SEFR cunts worried her. They knew how to break people in ways she could barely even begin to imagine, let alone wanted to put herself through. Thankfully they were just here for a theatrical version of their former work. It wouldn't be a gentle evening, she knew, but she'd get on with it and emerge with a sloppy cum-filled grin, kneeling before her husband searching the approval in his eyes.
She smiled to herself as she realised the difference. As a bareneck she got to choose some of her tortures. If she was tired, sick, or not in the mood she could set the harem on her husband and keep him busy for a while in a swirling storm of exquisitely trained pussy that was only too happy to do exactly as it was told.
She could go outside on her own, no degrading bitchwalk for her, no collar and leash. She could even refer to herself by her own given name and not talk in that ridiculous way that made all slave girls sound more like pieces of furniture than they already were in some instances.
At the moment however here she was, waiting for two former Slavecops she approached herself for the sole reason of amusing her husband. She knew it would make him happy to watch, maybe even get involved in, but the more she thought about it the more stupid she felt. She hadn't had chance to speak to them much beforehand, Dickie had kept her busy throughout most of the day, but she hoped she could talk to the former slavecops a little before they started so they could make it look good without leaving her utterly broken. The average women knew little of what went on in their tender care inside the walls of the BFA, but Jacinda had seen Dickie and some of his friends having a good laugh over interrogation tapes. Some of them chilled her to her core.
Jacinda's thoughts were derailed as a soft electronic tone chimed, someone was at the door to the suite.
"Get that, Jacinda, Silkytits won't be leaving my cock for a while yet."
"Yes, my love." Jacinda replied as she watched Dickie and the lithe sweating 18 year old. The girl was desperate for breath, ankle and wrist bracelets connected to a spreader bar behind her Silkytits was on her knees, cock being rammed down her throat like the fucktoy she was. Silkytits was a new acquisition for this trip. Jacinda couldn't imagine what it would have been like for the girl, she'd woken up in a Hartholz clinic on her 18th birthday as Dickie had required she be surrendered for PI, and her grace period forfeit so he could be there in person to watch as her IQ was chemically lowered, and her brain altered so that she was effectively permanently on high grade girlheaters. He'd keep her for 6 or so months then donate her to a public brothel somewhere, and replace her with one exactly the same. Another huge breasted raven-haired whore prone to tears. She'd be jealous, but these girls weren't even human to Dickie, simply an advanced masturbation aid.
