Author's note: This version has been slightly edited from the one I posted a while ago. There are minor stylistic enhancements here and there, and I have eliminated some embarrassing typos, but the main difference is that I have added a few paragraphs to take account of some readers' suggestions. They thought that Serena went too quickly from fighting tigress to meek slave, and that they would have liked her to keep some of her rebelliousness despite being realistic about her situation. This is an excellent idea, so I have added bits and pieces throughout the second half to show her as being less compliant. In particular, I added an interior monologue near the end to explain a little more about a scene that really bothered some people -- why, after all the humiliation she's suffered, would Serena more or less voluntarily blow a client? I hope that clarification improves the continuity of her character.
Part 1: Theo
My name is Theo, and I run a high-end brothel that caters to clients with a taste for BDSM.
If you've read my earlier story, "Theo's BDSM Slave Service," or the companion piece by Slave Twenty-Seven, "Signing Up for a Life of Slavery," you know my setup. However, so that this story can stand on its own, I'll do a quick rehash here, without holding up the story too long. If you've read all this, feel free to skim-read the next few paragraphs.
A word of caution going in: this story contains some very, very non-consensual sex, some of it violent (and some not). If that's not to your taste, you might want to try a different source of leisure reading.
So how it works is this: We all know that some men get off on tying women up in more or less creative ways before fucking them, and some also like to hurt their partners to varying degrees. Regular prostitutes will never put themselves in such a dangerous position, so unless the guys are lucky enough to find a playmate whose preferences complement their own, they're are out of luck. That's where I come in. I maintain a stable of mostly unwilling women whom I have captured, or occasionally bought, and forced into a life of letting men do whatever they want with them. As you can imagine, I can charge a huge amount of money for this sort of premium service, so I don't have to make slaves cycle through a couple of dozen clients a day like some cheap trick pad. Unless it's really busy, once a day is plenty, considering what they sometimes go through.
My operation, as you might guess, has incredibly high security. The slaves don't even know what city they're in, and for that matter the clients aren't sure either. I have security operatives on site, cameras everywhere, and strict protocols about coming and going, plus some other security measures that I'm quite proud of, although I won't bore you with them here.
Other than being bound, raped, and sometimes tortured once a day or so, my slaves have a pretty reasonable life: comfortable quarters, good food, entertainment and opportunities for socializing, exercise (strictly indoors), better medical care than people get in ninety-nine out of a hundred nations on Earth -- everything except freedom.
The rest of the details can unfold with the story. Let's move forward.
In my first story I hinted that some day I would tell you a lot more detail about how I "recruit" slaves. So now I'll keep that promise, and tell you how I got my hands on Slave Fourteen. You'll have met her before, and she keeps turning up in these stories because she's my personal favourite for my own indulgence. Because of her striking appearance, she's a favourite among clients too, and often gets selected from the showroom early on.
This recruitment adventure happened fairly early in my operation, when it was beginning to expand. Word of mouth had been getting around slowly but surely -- slowly, because I didn't make it any easier than necessary to find me. I wanted to expand, but not at the expense of being too open about what I do. My website is buried in one of the darker and more cobwebby parts of the dark web. Even with a tip from a friend, it isn't easy to track down, and it's even harder to make actual contact with me as a prospective client. I liked it that way -- one of the advantages of running a very expensive and exclusive service.
I had twelve slaves at this point. My business had expanded to the point that on busy nights I had to double-shift some of them, which I didn't like to do. It's not like they just have to lie back and keep their legs open for a few minutes like regular whores. They have to put up with as much as an hour and a half of being bound, suspended, twisted into painful positions, and sometimes spanked or flogged until they're glowing red. The clients don't get to use whips or canes, or do anything else that will leave longer-lasting marks or do real damage to important property. But I still preferred to give them enough recovery time to be in top shape for the next days' clients.
So, I needed a few more slaves, and I started trolling.
I could just snatch a random woman off the street, but that's how people get caught, or end up with a totally inappropriate slave who can't adjust to the lifestyle and spends so much time blubbering and pleading that she can't do her job. I always invest weeks and sometimes months in researching the perfect choice. Of course they need to be young and attractive, with no health conditions that will need to be managed and no psychological issues that will make them too difficult to break into the lifestyle. But I also look for women who are new to their area and don't have a very firm social network yet, who live alone and won't ring alarm bells right away if they drop off the grid abruptly. I want them to have very predictable routines that will make them easy to intercept when no-one's watching. And I want to snatch them from all different parts of the country, so it will be difficult for investigators to establish a pattern once they are finally missed and reported. I never go out of the country -- I don't have any illusions about how dangerous it would be to try to get over the border with a bound and gagged woman in the back of my van. But there aren't any checkstops on inter-provincial borders, so I can go quite far afield from my home base.
My research mostly involves hacking into each and every electronic device that they interact with. I'm very, very good at my craft, and there aren't many devices or networks I can't get into sooner or later.
I usually start with Facebook, which divulges a surprising amount of information about people who think they are being careful about what they post. I can get in even if they have limited their site to friends only. Once I've narrowed down my search, I can branch into personal computers, security systems, surveillance cameras where they go to work and wind down after work. I can hack the GPS on their phones and map out their movements through physical space. Medical records are the hardest, as the security on those is incredibly robust, but I can do it.
I had narrowed the search down to one top candidate. Her name is Serena Brown, a relatively recent immigrant from Jamaica who worked as a coder at a research firm in Toronto -- a job requiring specialized skills, which undoubtedly eased her path with Immigration. She lived alone and didn't seem to have developed a very advanced social network yet, which would make my job easier. If I grabbed her on a Friday evening, chances are that no-one would notice until she didn't show up for work Monday morning, by which time we would be half a province away. She had quite regular habits, so I would be able to map out a god place to make the grab without a lot of trouble.
She is a very striking woman, 24 years old, 180 cm tall -- about six feet, for my American readers -- extremely fit and muscular, with coal-black skin and hair well below her shoulders, typically worn in a cascade of small, intricate braids. She almost always stopped for an hour at a gym on her way home from work, so I hacked the security cameras and was able to watch her work out. In a sleeveless workout top and Spandex short shorts, she was even more striking than in the Facebook selfies I had started with.
Her breasts are not huge but substantial -- C cup as I found out by hacking her mail-order lingerie history -- and I wanted to know how they would hold up without the lingerie. Of course there were no cameras in the locker and shower area, so once I was pretty sure I had my candidate, I sent an operative to hide one. I didn't have to wait long to see her striding naked toward the shower, and I wasn't disappointed at the way her well-muscled chest held her breasts high and with ho noticeable droop, even without a bra.
She had a one-bedroom downtown condo, so she didn't have anywhere to put her computer except the bedroom. I hacked the webcam, and got lucky. It had a clear view of the bed, so I could check out any other habits that might be interesting. On a couple of nights, she turned up with a good-looking young white man, blond and as fit-looking as Serena. They entered the bedroom with that urgent and slightly tousled look that suggested they had been making out for a while in the living room and had decided to kick it up a notch. They kissed passionately and started helping each other off with their clothes, and I got another good look at her naked body. I felt myself getting more and more enamoured of the sight, my cock hardening in my pants and my breath becoming a touch ragged.
Whoa, steady on Theo, I told myself. There will be lots of time to check out that body at first hand later. Let's not get ahead of yourself.
She reached under the bed and brought out a large wooden box, which she handed to her young man. He opened it, and inside was a modest assortment of sex toys and bondage equipment. This was another vote in her favour -- I didn't really care whether my slaves liked bondage or not, since they would have no choice in the matter, but it helped if they were already into it. It made the adjustment to real slavery go smoother.
He used a set of under-the mattress straps to cuff her spread-eagled on her back and buckled a red ball gag into her mouth. Not the most imaginative bondage rigging I've ever seen, but it got the job done, and soon she was squirming and making delighted noises around the gag as he slowly ran his tongue up and down her body. He made a long stop at her breasts, teasing her nipples with his teeth and tongue, and then travelled down for a long session at her pussy. She looked as though she would explode if he didn't get on with a proper fucking, but he teased her relentlessly to let the pressure build up. Finally he eased his cock into her pussy and started thrusting.
