Chasing Paradise

Chapter 11 - Betrayal

Yorotani Island - The Hunting Grounds (The Day of the Hunt)

Evie smoothed down her uniform as the old bus bounced its way along a dirt road. The transport for the guests took place on elegant and specially landscaped scenic routes, everyone else had to make do with roads that were only just a little more areas of forest or jungle that happened to be cut back a little. She pitied the girls in the back, as she tried not to look back at the tense and nervous faces she knew would be visible through the mesh behind her; those had only the faintest idea what they'd let themselves in for. One of them might well make it through, the most she'd heard of was two. Soon each and every one of the unlucky ones would be walking around with a shiny black neckband for the rest of their short but beautiful lives. At least their chances were better than none at all, she thought. She couldn't blame them for at least trying, if it wasn't for the hotel then even the one or two who did earn a freedom pass would never have got that far.

There was another plus side to this, she reasoned, they would be owned by rich men who actually wanted them; most women would end up owned eventually, but rarely by men with the wealth and power of the guests of the Yorotani. The hotel had been lucky or unlucky enough depending on your point of view to host a summit for senior Fist and Arrow members from around the world a few months ago. A lot of what they talked about was their government work, and there was very little effort put into hiding any details as they were sounded out into clouds of brandy breath and cigar smoke.

The Pussianian Minister in charge of Slave Health and Labour had insisted Evie stay to supervise the slaves. She'd seen first hand how he brutalised them. Using one while he slapped, pinched, or whipped another two. Eventually she'd had to step in for an apology blowjob after two of the slaves passed out. There on her knees, moaning appreciatively as he used her mouth like a cheap sex toy she'd listened as between puffs on his cigar he'd chatted with two members from other nations.

She'd heard him laugh as he talked about the slave market numbers. It had taken all she had not to cry. 70% of the usable labour female force was enslaved during high school, (90% for civic or labour use, 10% for private), rising to 85% by age 25, with numbers within the margin of error by age 30. She knew she only heard the numbers because she might as well have not existed to the men around the table, she was little more than fuckmeat to them. Those were not things a woman was meant to know, or was even meant to hear. While there was a publicly accessible record of every woman in Pussiana that gave detailed accounts of her life, status, sexual history, projected price, and more it was a felony for a woman to use any unexpurgated version, they were permitted only to see small sections male staff noted as essential for their work, and even then in a heavily logged and supervised fashion.

Slowly the bus reached an area where it turned off one dirt track onto another slightly less used looking one, not that it was really possible to tell through the cloud of dust being kicked up by the vehicle. The ride here was even worse if possible, and she was crowded in between two handlers on the second bench at the back of the front compartment; the handlers got door seats because they'd be getting out to herd the runners any moment now. She couldn't really see out of the windscreen over the handler in front, but they should definitely almost be at the start of the course, and the end of the line for the girls in the back.

After a minute or two the bus slowed, and parked next to a low grey breeze block building. The handlers got off the bus and began to corral the women from the back into a snaking queue area outside the building fenced off and roofed with thick chain link attached to thick metal rods driven into the ground. No turning back for them now, she thought, as the last one was herded in, and the chain link gate was closed behind her, the gate at the head of the queue still closed. Penned in like lambs being led to slaughter, she thought.

"Evie?" her thoughts scattered as her name was called.

"Yes?" she replied, not expecting to be needed for the moment.

"One of my guys needs to get something from the storage under the bench, you mind just hopping out for a second?" Asked a handler called Graham as he leant in the bus door nearest to the building.

"Sure." She sighed and shuffled over to where Graham offered a hand, dropping to the hard packed dirt road and wobbling unsteadily on her heels until he pulled her upright. "Thanks." she said. Noticing the handlers were all clustered around her. None of them moved to get anything from the bus. She waited a second, something was wrong, suddenly she was on guard, but she had no idea what she should be on guard against. She ran her eyes across the assembled people in front of her and asked "So...what's going on?"

One of the handlers, a senior one called Bill, fumbled in his pocket for a second before speaking, "Well, Evie, I'm about to do you a favour. I'm not supposed to give you this until we get to the airstrip." He handed her a cream coloured envelope with a red flash, it was official, company communication, the sort of envelope her freedom payment proofs, and wage stubs arrived in. Unease nestled deep inside her belly, unexpected communications from the company were always bad news, especially when you were the last to know about them. This made no sense, though; she, and the other girls on the desk handled all the communications by post on and off the island...unless...

She opened the letter quickly, and began to read:

To M.S. Evie Allumeuse,

I am writing to you today to confirm a change in your employment status. Due to the sudden and tragic death of your Closest Male Relative (CMR) following a coronary episode at the Harlotport State Brothel it has been determined that due to a lack of traceable CMR responsibility for your ownership, sale, and breeding rights will revert to TopSlut Incorporated.

As you may be aware it is TopSlut Incorporated (TSInc) company policy not to retain the rights to "Free Women" as part of its property portfolio, therefore while your former CMR's estate will be incorporated into TSInc your ownership, sale, and breeding rights will be divested no more than four (4) weeks from the date of this letter.

To help you with attempting to find a willing male to purchase your CMR rights from the company, or to finalise any outstanding affairs before your auction TopSlut Incorporated has therefore terminated your employment effective immediately. You will be required to hand over all company property to company handlers, and will be required to vacate the island on the next outgoing flight (Cost to you: $9,000 for a Runner class ticket. As you can see we have generously applied your employee discount to this payment; payable before boarding, non-refundable).

Should you choose to stay, or be unable to pay for this return flight please speak to the company handlers present who will arrange for your enslavement as part of the hotel complement for at least the short term. Should you choose to leave and not find a suitable male you will be required to report to Maidenfair Bureau of Female Affairs no more than two (2) weeks from the date of this letter for Inspection, Banding, and basic slave training (generously funded at the company's expense). Failure to attend will result in the BFA being informed of your status as a "Disobedient Slave", with all accompanying penalties which we will pursue to their fullest extent.

Yours

Cunt Nadine Jizzlicker (TSInc Slave Management Office) on behalf of Gerald Ocel Senior (Director of Slave Management)

Evie read the letter, then she read it again, her eyes scanned the words and failed to take them in. She tried a third time and a fat glob of a tear landed on the paper as her vision blurred. Her papa was...dead? She knew they didn't have any close relations since they'd emigrated from Chatteland but...

Her hands shook. More tears fell on the paper and the printed text began to run. "I....but...I don't have $9,000...Papa kept my money for me, he said it was safer that way, women didn't need bank accounts....I...what the fuck am I supposed to do?" She looked up through the tears, seeing only the wall of handlers around her.

Bill gave her a crooked smile, something told her there was a malice she'd not seen before behind it. "Well it looks like everything he owned is now the company's, and that would include anything the company owes you from that last paycheque." Bill flexed his neck one way, and then the other as he talked, as though loosening up for something, "The way I see it you have two options. The first one you get back on the bus, we drive you to the airfield like we've been told to, and we band you right there. You go back to the hotel with the new slave intake and get served up day after day after day to guests until the hotel decides you just aren't that pretty any more, and they gift you to a client, maybe even an employee as a long service reward...you know I hear Staunton's got his name down if your ass ever becomes available."

The letter was now crumpled and damp in her hands, the colour drained from her face. "A--And the s-second?" she said, stuttering as she desperately tried to process the situation.

"You could find some way to convince us to let you in with those girls, no skin off our nose if we accidentally put you in with them, and as far as the company's concerned it gets you out of their hair quite neatly. I doubt I'd even have to do paperwork to explain the mix up, just one of those things that can happen in day to day operations." He pulled off the cap he wore for a second as he said this and smoothed down his thinning hair.

Evie looked at the cage the women were currently in. She knew the odds. A thought crossed her brain in a moment, "Maybe....maybe there's a third option. One of you could arrange to be my CMR, I could forward my pay to them...we could work something out that way." she allowed a small spark of hope to enter her for a second.

The handlers laughed at the suggestion as a group before Bill spoke again. "Didn't you read, Evie? It's okay I suppose. Finding out you're losing your freedom that much sooner will break any woman. The company's already let you go. You're being booted off the island, and your flight home costs more than you'd make at sale, or could ever hope to earn even as a top level Sexretary back home. No matter what Staunton might say about you you're well past prime age for high paying bareneck work."

Evie gulped, she could feel the handlers closing in on her. Her choices were to either submit to slavery at the airfield or take the slim chance she might get away here. It was no choice at all. She had to think, surely there could be something else, there should be something else. If only she had time, but the plane would be landing soon, and handlers had to already be there as it landed. She set her mind to thinking of a way out.

Bill watched her contemplate for a few seconds, rolling ideas around her mind and discarding them one by one, and then clearly grew tired. "I think she sees it our way boys, let's allow her to convince us..." he announced moving forward to grab her.

Evie gasped as the men worked together with practised ease. Her hands were cuffed to the chain link behind her, forcing her to stand with her wrists above the shoulder, her arms spread wide. "No! Please! Please! Give me a minute to think!" she screamed as they manhandled her.

"First up, slut, we need to reclaim some company property from you..." said Bil.

Hands grasped, buttons popped, seams ripped, it was the work of mere moments until her breasts were exposed, her skirt torn away, and her panties tossed deep into the undergrowth of the surrounding forest.

"...well well, I can see why they put you on the front desk. That is a pretty pussy you've got. Must cost guests a few grand on the bill just to spread those legs, and see if it feels as good as it looks.

For Evie this wasn't even the most embarrassing thing that had happened to her today, but at least she was prepared for it with the guests, or even Staunton. With these men it was an ambush, a surprise. They'd caught her at a moment of weakness, a lowest ebb, and now she was going to pay for that weakness. She steeled herself in a moment, preparing for the abuse she knew was coming. No mean feat with everything she was attempting to process at that very moment. It took every ounce of her professionalism to calm herself, but keep playing the screaming crying damsel on the outside.

Bill was the first man to step up, unzipping himself. Clearly, she thought, seniority did have some privileges. She attempted to remain impassive, but couldn't help but attempt one final vain wriggle against the cuffs locking her in place. Bill casually reached down and pulled up one of her legs by the calf and stretched it painfully over his shoulder. Tattered stocking fragments hung around her ankle where they had torn at the now broken band that secured her high heel.

It took a fraction of a second for Evie to realise this was different to how she was treated by the guests as Bill slid inside her and began to thrust. The guests enjoyed teasing her, taunting her, degrading her. They wanted to see her cry, gasp, anything. More than her frustration at being raped they wanted to taste her emotional despair, to savour it like a fine wine. It was more than the sex, it was the power, the power over her and her lack of choice. This was not that. This was physical, mechanical, and rough. If it wasn't for the pain running through her leg muscles as she was locked in an uncomfortable, and most athletic position

it would almost be boring.

For a brief moment she wished it was Staunton inside her as she hung there, restrained. The pain fading as she imagined his hands being the ones spreading her apart, stretching her, moving her into a position her body denied she should be able to stand in. She shook her mind free. No, she thought, that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted her freedom, her life, to be a person not a thing. What was happening to her remained mentally far away as for a second she recoiled at wishing it was Staunton. Another second passed, she re-centred herself, trying to remain composed

Professional detachment helped her to stay cold and emotionless as Bill's cock kept penetrating her, but she put a light scowl across her face. She might almost be bored but showing it was a route to worse punishments; if Bill was paying any amount of attention then knowing from her face she was upset might just help him finish more quickly and get this over with. He leaned in close, grunting, a grimace on his face "Come on now Evie, we're doing you a favour. Just think, we're giving you a chance, well, half a chance. We could just have pinned you down in the lobby, banded you, and set you to work right then. I'm sure the guests would have loved to see you struggle and squeal in the lobby floor, these beautiful tits of yours pressed into the marble, screams echoing around the place like it was my own personal cathedral to pussy. They'd have had a real good laugh at you as they made their way out to the hunt and forgotten all about you by dinner time."

She felt him shuffle, grunt, and thrust deep one more time as he finished inside her. She watched his eyes as he did. He looked every bit as empty as she felt emotionally. This was just more meaningless sex to him. To Bill she held all the excitement of a bowl of snacks while he had beers with the guys. She was there, he might as well get a taste. She thought back to how Staunton had driven her mad with lust, weak at the knees. She was losing focus, she realised.

The next handler was rougher, uncuffing one hand and flipping her round to peer into the cage while taking her from behind. He pushed her face hard into the chain link, her flesh pressing through to the other side in places as he recuffed her free hand to keep her both restrained and unable to find any comfort. She could see the women inside the cage. They all avoided her gaze, pretending not to see as the fence bulged to accommodate the force it was under. She smiled, though none of them saw it. There was a cruel irony in them avoiding her gaze as she had done on the journey here, and for exactly the same reasons. They pitied her, they wanted to banish her and what was happening to her from their minds. She looked at them as they avoided her. She knew them all. Every face, every name. The preferences of every guest for each as they had rated them after the Showcase. Part of her job had been to make sure the guests received information about the prey as they arrived with the added task that she should be able to talk about each as knowledgeably. Her role had always seen her as one of three things; part time receptionist, part time saleswoman, and part time whore.

She knew she could not expect help from these women, but for half a second she considered she might be able to try and use this for some sympathy. She, after all, had some knowledge of how this all worked. She'd even met most of the winning girls in her time at the hotel. Strong hands fishhooked her mouth, and the handler began to rail her with increasing speed. She gagged a little as some of the fingers prising her lips apart wandered too close to the back of her mouth. Slowly she was starting to regain her composure from the shock of reading the letter, of having so much thrust upon her in so short a time. For Bill she had chosen a scowl to try and get him to cum quickly, here she had fewer choices, and so she chose to clench a little, hoping the extra tightness would speed her rapist up if only a fraction. Despite it not being her role more guests had held her down and taken advantage of her ass than she cared to really think about; anal, especially rough anal came with the territory of being in a service industry, but she never gave it up unless she had to.

"Damn, boys, this fuckmeat's into it. Her ass is tightening as I go!"

At least the handlers were simple, she thought, the guests were connoisseurs, appreciators of the finest pussy the world could produce, black banded and trained to within an inch of their lives. For better or worse those girls were "shaped" by Staunton to be as pleasing as they could be; yet those same guests often chose to either, illicitly, as they saw it, invite her out of hours or they took advantage of the hotel's policy that everything was included in their fabulous prices. Unlimited exquisite food with the best top shelf drinks money could buy, every item of restraint or torture a master might need both physical and chemical, and finally every pussy in the hotel was theirs to use at any time, for any reason. The front desk itself had a small sign on it, in the house colours, that simply said "We encourage abuse of our femployees."

Another few seconds and she felt the warm rushing sensation that usually signalled a man emptying themself into her behind. The man was barely finished before the next two handlers were on her as she stood there, cuffed to the fence, panting, cum leaking from her pussy and ass onto the ground.

She didn't even bother to sigh relief or thank them as they unlocked her cuffs from the fence as she knew this was not the end. She was doubled over, each handcuff being used to secure her wrists to the ankle on the same side. For these men the cuffs were restraints, so she couldn't fight back. They could be so much more. She thought how Staunton had restrained her earlier, still immobile, but knowing that she was his to use as he wished, to let her know he was in complete control of the situation. Again she pushed him from her mind. He wanted her on her knees, a black band around her neck. What were her years of service to the Yorotani for if not to give her choices in life, the freedom to do what she wanted.