Feminine Imports Ch 07

Hello ConstantinCrew, and thank you so much for coming back. I don't want to tease too badly, but I've come up with an idea for another story within this universe. Don't worry; I'm fully committed to finishing the

Feminine Imports

story before doing that, so I won't leave you guys out in the cold.

Once again; feel free to reach out. Comment on what I did right, what I did wrong, reader-theories (those are always super fun to read) or just to say Hi! Got stage fright? Send me a private feedback e-mail instead.

The ConstantinCrew already knows this, but I'll say it anyways: consent is necessary in real life, and don't break the law.

Six Weeks Since Chapter 6..

It was 11am Monday morning in the Nevada desert as the intense sun glistened off of the reflective glass skyscraper. The office building itself was a sleek tower with sharp edges and curved panels, officially for cutting high wind currents at altitude but unofficially to be a piece of eye-candy on the skyline. Inside on the 38

th

floor rested a spacious conference room; the wall was nothing more than a floor-to-ceiling one-way window showcasing a view of the Vegas strip.

"Welcome gentlemen to today's sale" Reed Haroldson began. He referenced the lineup of captive blondes behind him. "Please, take your seats" Reed implored his meeting invitees.

Each captured female looked as if she had been plucked straight out of a sorority house from a Southeastern Conference football factory. The women had slight variations in their appearance, though all were uniformly between 5'6 and 5'10, thin-waists and had C-cup breasts at the minimum. Their hair and skin tones had minor variations, though each woman exhibited the traits of a stereotypical

trophy wife

.

Each woman stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind Reed with their backs inches from the window; their mouths ball-gagged, their pedicured feet adorned by 6-inch-high heels that restricted their movements, their arms box-tied behind their backs, and their slender throats all adorned with

SlaveCollars

.

Reed Haroldson was a Vegas-based billionaire who originally made his fortune in the gambling and hospitality trade. Though, with the passage of the Female Slavery Laws a few years ago, Haroldson found a hole in the newly-legalized market. Las Vegas had no shortage of attractive women with loose morals seeking fame or who were in dire financial straits, willing to agree to damn near anything. Haroldson's contracts were always one-sided though written by some of the best lawyer's money could buy. His weathered face, grey hair encircling his bald crown, and hunched posture were all proof-positive that he'd seen a lot during his 48 years of life. The years were not kind to Haroldson, even if the free market was.

Haroldson cleared his throat as he addressed the table full of men in three-piece suits whose price-tags exceeded the down payment on a typical home. Haroldson hosted monthly slave auctions of his low-performing waitstaff and stage performers; both as a way to clear liabilities off of his books and to make a bit of cash. Besides, the good will it bought with other rich and powerful men was difficult to quantify.

He motioned for one of the slave-women to step forward. Heels clacked against the mirror-finish black floor and the platinum busty blonde was soon standing next to Haroldson.

"Alright gentlemen, we'll start the bidding off at-"

"Hey Reed" one of his invitees, a COO of a steakhouse chain, cut-in "It's a bit stuffy in here. Can you crack a window?"

Another potential buyer, a cam-site entrepreneur, chimed in through labored breathing "Yeah, it's a bit stifling in here."

"Well no, but I can tweak the thermostat" Reed conceded. "One moment, please."

He began walking over to the digital thermostat on the wall, when he was stopped mid-stride by another one of his private sale attendees; a Moroccan mineral baron with a shaved head, fire-engine red blazer, and mirror-reflect aviator sunglasses.

"Reed, you mind if I light a cigar in here?"

"No, I don't mind at all" Reed accommodated, aiming to be a good host "Please, go right ahead."

The Moroccan pulled an expensive cigar out of his blazer's inner pocket. He reached for his lighter. He held the lighter up to the far end of his cigar and used his thumb to roll the striker, thus igniting the flame.

The resulting spark caused a violent reaction that was faster than any naked eye could even detect, let alone respond to. Flames had engulfed the office, and the shock blew the window-wall out instantly. The resulting pressure vacuum thanks to the high altitude caused the enslaved women standing by the floor-to-ceiling window to be sucked out. The combination of the slick flooring and their restrained arms prevented them from grabbing onto anything, thus ensuring their gruesome demise.

The prospective slave-buyers in the room fared no better Those who survived the initial inferno soon collapsed as thick black smoke began to crowd out what little breathable oxygen was left. The sudden influx of air courtesy of the blown-out windows had only fed the fire. A few rational minds tried to push open the double-door entrance to the office. However, push as they might, the doors would not budge. It was as if they were seemingly barricaded in.

Within minutes, each of them had perished in the most unenviable way possible; long before the fire fighters could arrive on scene, let alone reach the 38

th

floor. A pillar of black smoke and orange flames could be seen emanating from the sleek building, even at a distance of several miles away.

Later

"Good evening, we start with our top story; an unexpected fiery explosion left at least a dozen dead, and caused millions of property damage, predominately in the form of sex slaves caught in the blast" the Asian-American anchorwoman with chiseled cheekbones began. The TV camera was panned just far enough away from her face to catch her upper-body; a collar with the new station's logo, her manicured hands cuffed to the desk in front of her, and a low-cut top that teased at her B-cup breasts.

"Authorities suspect foul play as firefighters arriving to the scene found the doors to the room where the fire had started were sealed shut with door-stoppers. Furthermore, arson investigators found tanks of hydrogen gas and oxygen had been jerry-rigged into the HVAC system."

The anchorwoman continued "Known domestic terrorist group

The Pink Claw

has claimed responsibility for the attack, as a new video had surfaced online mere minutes after the inferno occurred." She whipped her head to move her silky black hair out of her almond eyes before continuing "We will now play the video, though we must warn; the content may be disturbing to some viewers."

The soft glow of the overhead light behind Madam Lioness served only to highlight her defining features in the otherwise blackened room. As is tradition, she was donned in her usual get-up; black catsuit adorned with three diagonal neon-pink scratch-marks emblazoned across the chest and a reflective-visor gas mask.

"The attack on the Las Vegas Auction is just a taste of what

The Pink Claw

is capable of" Madam Lioness declared into the camera. She took a deliberate an unnerving pause before continuing "

The Pink Claw

is all around you, hiding in plain sight and always closer than you realize."

The petite pyromaniac took a long Vader-esque breath before continuing "The solution to having us stop these attacks is simple; give women their freedom back. We are not your concubines. We are not commodities to be traded. We are not your housewives."

"If there is a single enslaved woman in

The Home of the Free

, then you can count on

The Pink Claw

tearing the apart the infrastructure of female slavery" she paused for dramatic effect "limb by bloody limb if necessary."

The newscast cut back to the enslaved Easterner "The FBI is now offering a $3 million reward for any assistance or information that leads to the arrest of

Madam Lioness

."

The Next Day, at Steve's House...

Steve's alarm clock sounded at 5:15am, and the eccentric entrepreneur was roused from his dream. He stretched as he got out of bed, then went down the hallway into his living room, where Courtney and Michelle had been sleeping on camping cots, complete with their own pillows and blankets.

Courtney and Michelle had assimilated well to their lives as free-use sex slaves at

Feminine Imports

and Steve opted to reward them for it. Rather than sleeping handcuffed and ball-gagged on a one-inch-thick piece of foam on the floor with a single large fleece blanket, the two compliant slave girls had earned separate sleeping spaces. Similarly, Steve had allowed them to sleep without being gagged or bound, though he made it

very

clear that these were luxuries that could be taken away if the slaves stopped behaving.

Steve went to Courtney's cot, as she was still sound asleep. He ripped off her fleece blanket and put his hand over her mouth. He then used his other hand to aggressively fondle her considerable bust. Steve enjoyed copping a feel of his new favorite plaything. The manhandling jarred Courtney up from her slumber, she involuntarily started resisting. She flailed and squealed through the hand over her mouth, not realizing what was happening to her. However, she stopped as she realized what was going on; her over-zealous Master had captured her full attention, even as her heart rate was still sky-high for the moment.

"Good morning, my little sunshine" Steve greeted the tattooed Mediterranean. He towered over her for a moment before he removed his hand from her mouth.

Courtney gasped for breath "Good...good morning, Master." She regained her composure "How may I serve you?" she asked with dilated pupils; her sole focus on Steve.

Steve kissed her, plunging his tongue down her throat "Mmm...that's a good girl" he remarked. "Be a dear, and wake up Michelle. You too will shower together, then get started on breakfast for the three of us, okay honey?" Steve released his grip.

"Yes Master" Courtney got up and roused Michelle from her sleep by shaking her fleece-wrapped supple body.

Steve went downstairs to his basement cell to wake up Rae, Crystal and Kelly. Steve reflected on his original promise of all the slaves sleeping together until there was uniformity in their submission. However, Steve decided that using obvious preferential treatment was the best way to break up the group think of the former team of failed arsonists.

He picked up a bucket of water that he had sitting outside of the cell and unlocked the cell door. His three pieces of flesh-property were sound asleep on the one-inch-thick foam bed underneath their shared fleece blanket. Steve abruptly woke them up by violently dumping the water on their restrained bodies. The sound of muffled high-pitched screams filled the air of the basement as the three non-conforming slaves were rudely woken up.

"Time to get our day started!" Steve stated gleefully as he yanked the fleece blanket off of their supple bodies.

He walked behind Crystal and squatted down. He reached around her, and placed his hands firmly on her large tits. He stood up, essentially lifting the busty red-headed terrorist by her impressive breasts. He was able to do the same with Kelly as well, try as she might to squirm away from Steve's grip. Rae, seemingly not wanting Steve to manhandle her so early in the morning, rolled over and stood up on her own power. Steve noticed her feat.

"See, someone's eager to get her day as a sex slave started!" Steve said in a celebratory tone with a hint of sarcasm as Rae rolled her eyes.

After uncuffing their wrists and ankles, he slapped Rae's tight little ass "Alright bitches, upstairs for a shower."

The three ball-gagged malcontents shuffled upstairs, with Steve slapping Crystal's pale ample ass a few times as motivation to get moving. They make it to the bathroom just as Courtney and Michelle were toweling each other off.

Steve sets the water from the hot setting that he allowed for Courtney and Michelle to the cold setting for the three non-compliant captives. "Get your slave-asses in there!" Steve opened the window to the bathroom.

Steve had wanted to hose these three off outside, however the practicalities had prevented him. It was January in the Northeast, hence there was little chance of an outdoor garden hose being usable due to frigid temperatures.

Steve sat at the head of the table and watched Michelle and Courtney cook breakfast; a deluxe omelet for him, and scrambled eggs and toast for them. He savored the sight of two attractive naked women slaving themselves over him. As they were plating his breakfast, Steve returned to the bathroom. He abruptly shut off the cold water.

"You'll eat as you drip-dry, slaves. Ball-gags out, but not a goddamn peep."

They reluctantly complied, shuffling to the kitchen table as they shivered. In front of their seats on the table rested a bar of

SlaveFeed

and a bottle of water.

Everyone sat down to eat, except Courtney, who stood next to Steve, he looked up; her massive tit in his face.

"You don't want breakfast?"

"No, I do" she started as she gently placed her hand on his utensils "But...would you like me to feed you, Master?" The eye-rolls from Rae and Crystal were nearly audible

Steve's heart nearly skipped a beat; Courtney was either playing a long con, or she had fully been broken. "Maybe another time, slave -honey" Steve stated. "But for now, we need to get moving".

He stood up half-way and kissed her before sitting back down to eat breakfast.

Breakfast was spent in utter silence, though Rae and Crystal spent their time angrily glaring at Courtney during their punishment-meal. When all the food was gone, Steve abruptly excused himself from the table.

"Alright sluts, clean up, then get your dental hygiene and makeup done" Steve ordered "Ball-gags in, ropes on, and wheels moving in fifteen."

The enslaved women scrambled to clean off the table and beautify themselves as their owner had instructed. Steve had made it clear to the harem that the makeup was not a concession to them or an earned reward, but rather a necessary part of the uniform; Steve was committed to supply premier slave pussy to his employees.

Two Hours Later..

It was the beginning of the workday, and Steve was in his office. Courtney was bent over his government-surplus steel desk, her arms box-tied behind her back and her mouth stuffed with a ball gag. Steve's cock was firmly inserted inside of her anal cavity. Steve opted to use a little bit of lubrication oil; mostly as a reward to Courtney for her good behavior as of late. Steve thrusted into his busty Mediterranean sex slave as he grabbed a handful of her hair.

"Yeah bitch, you like that?" Steve asked his helplessly gagged concubine as he whipped her glistening upper back with a flogger.

Courtney could do nothing except squeal into her gag, rather than her usual moaning. Instead of focusing on how unpleasant the ordeal was for her, she instead tried to think of how much goodwill this was buying with her Master. The outlook and mental framing was one of the few things that Steven Sharper had not taken from her yet. After all, he had already taken her clothing and her rights.

It wasn't long before Steve shot his load inside of Courtney's rectum. He slowly withdrew his man-meat from her, then wiped his cock off with extra fast-food napkins that he had piled up on the corner of his cluttered desk.

Steve then slapped her curvaceous ass "Alright, slave, now go kneel in the corner until I need you again."

"yssh mashth" Corurtney gargled as she nodded, a single tear streaming down her cheek.

No sooner did Steve put his pants back on was there a knock on his closed office door. Once he was decent, he opened the door. It was Carlos; shirtless, and glistening from yet another horizontal cardio session as his stench carried notes of the perfume Michelle donned not too long ago.

"Hey boss, someone's outside lookin for you" Carlos started. "Dude was flashin' a badge."

Steve's blood pressure spiked as he heard the news from Carlos "Alright, thanks for letting me know. I'll be right down."

What the fuck do they want now?

Steve thought to himself. He reached for his phone, and called his attorney, Brian.

"Stevie-baby, what can I do you for?"

"There's a cop here" Steve said as he looked out the window of his office to the van yard "looks like a detective" he speculated. "Get here as soon as you can."

"On my way right now Stevie-Stud. Do not answer

any

questions under a

ny

circumstances without me there, got it?"

"Got it" Steve hung up the phone. He shut the blinds to his office and then turned to Courtney "Not a fucking peep, got it?" Courtney nodded to signal that she understood.

Steve locked his office, then went downstairs and outside. He slowly walked towards the uninvited guest; a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp jawline, and a massive honker of a nose. He was dressed in a heavy grey overcoat to shield him from the biting January winter air.

"Steven Sharper, owner of Feminine Imports?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Detective Fraggipone, State Police" the government employee retorted as he flashed his badge. "We'd like your assistance."

"My attorney is already on his way here. I'm not answering questions until he's here" Steve replied. "By the way, you're on camera."

"We have concerns regarding one of the women you own, her name is Rae."

"I'm not answering questions" Steve repeated forcefully.

"That's alright" Fraggipone assured slyly "It's Rae who I'd like to question."

Fraggipone took a step towards the entrance of the building though Steve made sure to take a step to shield the entrance. "I do not consent to this."

"Are you obstructing right now?" Fraggipone asked in an intimidating tone, glaring at Steve.

Steve stared down the detective with a menacing glare though said nothing. The silence was only broken by the roar of a loud engine and tires squealing. Both Steve and the detective's attention was broken to see the source; a blacked out Audi drifted into the parking lot sideways. The expensive automobile stopped just a few feet shy of Steve and Detective Fraggipone. Out of the driver's seat came a heavy-set man in a dress-shirt with rolled up sleeves. He waddled up to Steve's side.

"Attorney Brian LeClair" he flashed his state Bar card to the detective. "My client will not be answering any questions."

"Fantastic" Fraggipone began "Well since the gang's all here, I'll get this show on the road. Normally, when a woman gets enslaved, all of her assets get transferred to her new owner. We went to her last known address and found a laptop owned by her. Given the nature of what she was convicted of, and what the police department suspected of her, we were able to secure a warrant to search the laptop."

"A warrant of

my client's property

and he wasn't even informed?" Brian started. "I will absolutely not stand for this, and we'll file an-"

"Hold on, Attorney. There's a happy ending to this" Fraggipone continued. "We found little of value on her laptop, except for an obscure video conferencing app that allows one to make encrypted calls, and a VPN. The app scrambles call history and location, which would've made things difficult for us in most cases."

"In most cases?" Steve repeated with the skepticism in his tone readily apparent.

"Yes, in

most

cases" Fraggipone confirmed. "However, the contact list had only one saved contact.

ML.

"