Recruiting Slave Fourteen

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.

They didn't obligingly contort into one of those camera-friendly but uncomfortable poses that porn videos favour, so mostly what I could see was a white butt downed with fine blond hair. However, it wasn't hard to keep track of what was going on. It didn't take long before she arched her back and stiffened in what was obviously a silent, but very satisfactory orgasm. He let her recover for a few minutes, his dick still inside her, and then started slowly thrusting again so she could return the favour. It didn't take him long to build up to his own orgasm, and then he lay still, still partly on top of her, until he pulled out. He grabbed a cloth from the nightstand to wipe up the cum that started dripping out of her pussy, cleaned her up and then himself, and then lay down beside her, still spread-eagled in the cuffs.

I had checked him out already. He was a bit more than a casual pickup but not a steady boyfriend. Good -- I didn't want anyone to miss her right away and start a search that would complicate my life.

OK, time to get to work on the fine details of the plan.

**

Her part of Toronto was about four hours and change from my home base, so I could easily drive there and back in a day. I decided to wait until she left the gym and make the grab when she was finishing the rest of her walk home. That way I would be past the worst of the infamous Toronto rush-hour traffic. Besides, she would be nicely showered and refreshed, as well as tired from her workout.

Her route home didn't obligingly take her down any dark alleys, but it did take her past a park that was ringed by some bushy and overgrown shrubbery. I didn't plan anything as comic-book as jumping out of the bushes, nor did I plan on the chloroform rag that is such a staple of porn videos -- that stuff is notoriously unreliable, and dangerous if you aren't a trained anesthetist. I simply planned to park by the sidewalk where, with a little luck, no passers-by would have a good line of sight on my van. I had fake license plates, and it was a common and nondescript make, but there was no sense tempting fate.

I kept up the surveillance for the rest of the week while I waited for the appointed day to come around. I didn't learn much more, although I got a couple of good shower views, plus one of her lying naked on her bed masturbating. My interest was showing no signs of flagging, but it's always good to keep it refreshed.

I hacked into some cameras across the street from the park, and was able to assure myself that the street wasn't heavily used by pedestrians, especially this early in the year when the weather was still cold and uninviting. If I spotted people in the area at the magic moment, my plan was just to abort and try again the next week -- I didn't get where I am by being impatient. But I probably wouldn't have to.

The day came around, I braved the freeways to Toronto, and got set up. The van was a full-sized panel van with no windows in the back portion and a solid separator between the cargo area and the driver's compartment, so I didn't have to worry about people seeing in or her seeing where I was taking her. I had also added extra sound insulation in the rear. I wasn't planning on her being able to make much noise. but I didn't want to worry if we had to stop in a populated area. I stopped alongside the park, got in the back by the sliding door, and waited, keeping my eyes on the cameras to watch for passers-by as well as monitoring the GPS on her phone to track her movements.

Sure enough, she started walking by the park at just the time I had predicted. I left the sliding side door open and kept out of sight behind it. I saw her approaching, and with one last glace at the cameras, I got into final position.

I left her pass the open doorway and start to move away. I knew I had to make this quick and use surprise to catch her off-balance. I'm a pretty big guy and work out as much as she does, and I have also studied enough martial arts to be able to block defensive moves if she tried that tack, but I knew that if I left her get those well-practiced muscles into action, I would be in for a prolonged scuffle before I could get the best of her. I had no appetite for a prolonged scuffle that would attract attention.

As she passed, I slipped quietly out of the van on rubber-soled shoes and came up behind her. I whipped a wide over-the mouth gag over her face and yanked it tight with the single ratchet-style fastener that let me accomplish it with no fumbling around. I was nothing fancy, with no ball or stuffer or anything else that might be hard to get into her mouth. I knew that I might not be able to get it seated perfectly in the split-second I allowed myself to do it, so I had thoughtfully coated the inside of the panel with Skin-Tac. It's not a superglue, just a medical adhesive used to keep glucose monitors, colostomy bags, and such where they are supposed to be. I could easily peel the gag off later, but for now the Skin-Tac prevented her from sliding her lips open against the neoprene panel that covered them.

Her hands instinctively flew to her face to try to pry the gag off. I reached around, grabbed both wrists, wrenched them behind her, and clamped handcuffs around them before she could fight back. Metal handcuffs are crude, but they are effective and quick to get on, so I didn't care if they weren't fancy.

She regained her composure in seconds, and without shifting her weight and telegraphing the move, brought her right heel up sharply behind her and made perfect contact with my crotch.

I would have been on the ground in agony if I hadn't been wearing a sports cup. As it was, all she got was a dull clonk of heel on plastic through my pants. Clever girl, I thought to myself as I grabbed her cuffed wrists, spun her around, and pitched her unceremoniously head first into the van. Be extra careful of this one, I reminded myself.

The throw knocked some of the wind out of her, and I was able to roll her over onto her back, put all my weight on her legs, and snap her ankles into two ankle cuffs chained to the floor of the van and lying obligingly open. Only then did I dare to relax, slide the side door shut, and sit back against the wall of the van to take a look at my struggling prize.

I hadn't underestimated her. She fought like a tiger against the handcuffs for about thirty seconds, then satisfied herself that they weren't going to slip off or break and stopped hurting her wrists trying. She screamed a few times, but what came out her nose behind the gag was obviously not going to attract attention, so she stopped that too. She just sat on the floor of the van looking around, obviously taking stock in case a real opportunity to change her situation ever came up. She was clearly frightened, but this was no terrified girl whom I could underestimate. She had nerve, and all the precautions I had taken and was planning to take were obviously going to be important.

"Now let's get you out of those cops n' robbers handcuffs and into something a bit more comfortable. We have a long drive ahead of us." I buckled leather cuffs around her wrists. They were each attached to long chains that went through ratchets on the floor. I took up as much slack as I could without forcing her into a painful sitting strappado, then unlocked the handcuffs and took them off. Of course, the second her hands were relatively free, she twisted around and tried to grab me, but with her ankles cuffed to the floor she didn't have much range of motion, and couldn't get near me. I pulled the chains tighter trough the ratchets, guiding her wrists to make sure they rotated forward over her head instead of behind her back, and pulled until she was lying spread-eagled on the floor, her hands pulled securely over her head and out to the sides. I left a little slack so her arms weren't under tension, but not very much. She had no option other than to lie there and wait for whatever came next.

"I guess it's pretty obvious that you're being abducted, even though it's not obvious exactly why. Yes, you are going to get raped, but that's not the main goal here. I am going to keep you as a sex and bondage slave for profit."

I let her mull that over for a while. "Now relax. We have a lot of driving to do." I left the cargo bay and shut the door.

**

We had been driving for about two hours and it was fully dark outside. I had left behind the conurbation of Greater Toronto and was now on the open highway. I came to a rest stop that was mostly deserted, and I felt sufficiently confident in my restraint system and multiple levels of soundproofing (gag, then insulation) that I left the cab for a few minutes to stretch my legs and use the restroom. Then I went to the sliding door and got in the cargo area.

She seemed to be dozing a bit, but her eyes snapped open when I entered. I had a paper bag in my hand, which she eyed warily with a "what the fuck now" look on her face. I clipped her ankle cuffs into ratcheted chains like her wrist cuffs, and removed the short chains that had been holding her ankles to the floor. I let out quite a bit of slack on all four chains so that she could sit up again and move around a little, but I was careful not to let out enough that she could reach the door, or me. She could have reached the closers on the cuffs with the opposite hand and undone them, but she wasn't stupid enough to think I'd let her follow through with that. She looked at me questioningly, and I said, "Yes, you can take the gag off now. I think you're smart enough to know that screaming won't get you anything but a sore throat."