George and the Debt

This fantasy tale is set in the fictional Northern England town of Damcaster. The characters are not intended to represent any real person, living or dead. The events in this story are not a guide to sex. In real life you should behave, or misbehave, responsibly.

George wriggled in the chair. The ropes chafed and he was a bit chilly. Though not as chilly as the three pairs of eyes that were staring at him.

Anton, the casino owner, looked at him over his desk as he worked his way through a number of slips of paper. George knew that each slip was an IOU and represented a debt he owed Anton. There were a lot of them.

The other unfriendly eyes were those of Anton's heavies. The pair stood to one side, arms crossed over their chests. They were standing next to two sledgehammers, which wasn't good news. The men were big and tall with enormous bodybuilder chests and they were very strong. When they had stripped George he had no option but to accept his clothes were coming off. The sledgehammers? Well, they were typical of their kind, and had been maintained in good condition.

George was tied, naked, by his ankles to the front chair legs, with his wrists tied to the arm rests. His position was such that his legs were spread wide. He shuffled uncomfortably.

George was average height and slim with it. He had straw coloured hair that sat in an untidy mat on his head. Other than his dreadful hairdo he was in good condition for his 38 years and his skin was smooth and well maintained by a personal regimen of long baths and E45 cream. That, and eating and drinking in moderation. His pubes were more ginger than straw coloured and surrounded a slender dick. Currently on display before these intimidating men he was aware that, even fully erect, it was a less than impressive cock.

"This is a lot of money," said Anton, his voice hard and - to George's ear - unforgiving. George was very good at judging the mindset of people he owed money to, he'd had a lot of practice. He could tell if they were prepared to cut him some slack, or even extend his credit. Anton wasn't going to do that today. My gambling, George thought, is going to get me into a whole heap of trouble.

"Tell me why I shouldn't just have my men here," said Anton, pointing at his heavies. "Break your arms and legs and throw you into the canal with a load of chains around your neck."

He nodded at the sledgehammers and George noticed on the floor, next to them, a pile of chains and padlocks. They looked very heavy and George had only managed the Bronze certificate in swimming at school. And he hadn't done any swimming since. A Gold might have helped but a Bronze swimming certificate would probably mean the best he could do would be to struggle sideways slightly as he descended to the bottom of the canal, to join the supermarket trolleys and discarded tires.

"Er... well... Anton... er Mr Fagley," he said, quietly and respectfully. "That won't get you your money back. And I do want to pay you what I owe, honest."

"And how would you do that?"

"I was thinking the roulette table," said George. "I've always been lucky with that. I just need a stake to get me started."

"You want me to give you more money? So you can gamble with it?"

"Yes... er..." George was about to explain that he felt really lucky this evening but the cold expression on Anton's face stopped him dead.

Anton thought for a moment then came round the front of the desk. He reached out and grabbed George's genitals and squeezed, gently. It was the most intimidating thing that had ever happened to George, and he'd been bullied at school by some real experts. Oh God, thought George, he's gonna cut off my dick. But Anton just let his fingers run up and down, gently stroking. Despite the terror of the situation George found himself stiffening under the expert touch of his tormentor. He looked down as his cock started to lift from his lap.

"Okay," said Anton. "Interesting. Let's try something out. It might suggest a solution to your problem."

He signalled to one of his heavies. George winced, convinced that a blow from a sledgehammer was the next thing he would experience. But the heavy just knelt between George's legs and took over holding George's cock. He slid one hand under George's testicles and then dipped his head and George felt warm lips and tongue engulf his cock.

"Oh shit," gasped George.

To George's surpise it turned out that stimulation by lips and tongue from a man was just as nice as lips and tongue from a woman. And expert stimulation by a man was definitely better than inexpert stimulation by a woman. Debs did try, and George was always grateful for the odd occasions when it happened, but this guy blew her away for technique.

"Ah ah ah ah," grunted George. His cock was harder than he'd experienced for a long time. His face felt hot, the blood was pounding in his ears, and he was getting the unmistakable signs that he was going to cum soon. In bed with Debs he usually lasted three, maybe four, minutes. Five on a good day. He was approaching his limit now.

What would happen, he thought, if he ejaculated into this man's mouth? All the options he could think of involved pain. He strained and tried to calm his feelings, think of something, anything, to prevent a disaster. The heavy grunted, he seemed to detect George's attempts to hold back. He sat back on his haunches, for a moment allowing George to recover, and unbuttoned his black silk shirt. Then he shrugged it onto the floor and returned to fellating George.

George found himself looking down at broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a broad chest covered with thick dark hair. The smell of maleness rose from the heavy as he returned to his work, quickly bringing George back to the edge. Not fair, thought George, looking down at the hunky man through a haze of pleasure, but what he said was, "My goodness... you are a handsome fellow. Your time in the gym has certainly paid dividends. That chest is so strong... uh uh uh uh... oh golly gumdrops!"

His words were intended to ingratiate himself with this man that was so intimately connected to him, but it might have been the wrong thing to say. The heavy paused, glanced up, then continued his work with renewed vigour, whilst maintaining eye contact with George. George felt himself blushing as the man stared deep into his eyes, but he could not look away. The rest of the room had receded into the background and every sensation seemed to be centred around George's balls and penis. Then the inevitable happened.

"Oh... oh... sir... you might want to stop now... aaargh... oh god, oh god, oh god... sorry... sorry... sorry," George went from a desperate plea, to a cry of pleasure, and finally to an apology as cum spurted into the heavies mouth.

The ejaculation was hard, long, and mind-blowing. Though the sparks in his mind clouded things somewhat, George thought his climax had been six or seven spasms. More than he'd managed since his twenties. The heavy had gently tugged on George's balls and swallowed every drop of semen during the ejaculation. Then he stood up. As he put his shirt back on he turned to Anton.

"Seven," he said, in a thick East European accent.

"Thank you Aleksandar. Right!" said Anton, who was back behind his desk with a satisfied grin on his face. "This is my offer. It's a one time offer. You'll not get better."

"Er... okay," said George, wondering what sort of offer might follow a forced blow job.

"I agree that killing you won't get me my money back," said Anton. "So, you, and your family, will work for me. For six months. I will arrange to put enough cash into your wife's account each month to feed and clothe you. But the money you three earn will be mine to keep. I'll put it against your debt. You'll each be given a pager, and you'll follow the instructions on the pager, to the letter!"

"What will the pagers ask us to do?" said George tentatively. "What if..."

"No ifs or buts!" shouted Anton, suddenly very angry. He pushed his face close up to George's. "You'll either do what the pagers say, without question, or the deal's off. So it doesn't matter what instructions you're given. Does it?"

"And we'll all have to agree?" asked George, cringing from the violent outburst. He was worrying how he was going to tell his wife and daughter about this change in the family circumstances.

"Yes," replied Anton. "Debbie and Chrissy have to agree as well. I'm employing all of you, after all."

Anton used his thumb to massage George's cock, it was still coated with cum. The action still felt threatening. George decided he needed to know what a refusal might precipitate. It might be a stupid thing to ask, but he had to know.

"Er... well of course I don't want to die... so I'm okay with this... but what if I can't persuade Debs and Chrissy?" he said, leaving the question hanging. And trying to make it clear that he, George, was quite happy with the idea, it was the ladies in the family that might refuse.

Anton looked furious. He let go of George's cock, and snarled, "Then I'd have to get my money back all at once." He picked up the IOU's. Then went through his actions, one by one, throwing the papers down on the desk angrily as he described each thing.

"First you go into the canal," he snarled. "Without your cock which I will keep as a souvenir. And I'll spread the rumour around town that you've run away to Spain to avoid your debts. Then I will send in my Bailiffs, and take everything in your house. Then I will clear out your wife's account, the Bank Manager owes me a favour. Next I'll take the house and sell it by auction, throwing your wife and daughter onto the streets. Oh dear... we seem to have some debt left. Nothing for it but to kidnap and sell your wife and daughter too. Their pale flesh will get me a pretty penny from a friend I have over in the Middle East."

He grabbed a set of photographs from the desk and threw them, one at a time, onto George's lap. Thank goodness, thought George, as the first photograph dropped. He can't see my dick any more. Then he saw the subject of the photographer's art. Two women, one a young girl of maybe twenty years of age, and a more mature woman - who looked like her mother - were laid in packing cases. They were naked and bound hands and feet. In each of the coffin shaped boxes there was a water bottle of the type used to give rabbits a drink.

The next photograph showed their terrified expressions as the lids were being put into place. The following photograph showed a transit van being loaded with the boxes, and the one after that of it travelling down the motorway. Then there was a small boat, it looked charming except for what was implied in its hold. Followed by a photo of a much more disreputable and battered looking van being driven through a Middle Eastern landscape.

A tablet was slapped onto the pile of photos on George's lap. He jumped with the sound. Anton bent over him, his mouth close to George's ear, and poked the screen. A video started to play.

"Watch!" he hissed.

The camera waved about, clearly amateur footage, possibly taken with a phone. Then the view resolved and focussed. There were two grubby and stained, king-sized, mattresses on the floor of a dingy room. And on the mattresses were the mother and daughter from the previous photographs. Each had an ankle manacle with a chain that went to a shackle in the floor. They were covered with men, big men who might be workers from a building site, or perhaps miners. The men had strong arms, broad backs, and powerful thighs. There were several men to each mattress and they were using the two women mercilessly. They certainly knew how to fuck a woman in every hole available, sometimes two to a hole. The tablet didn't have much in the line of built-in speakers but George could hear the screaming quite clearly.

"Oh," said George. "So that's what will happen."

"Not if you all agree," said Anton, taking back the tablet and pile of photos. "We will give you your clothes back now, George. Go home and persuade them, for their sakes."

"Okay," said George. There didn't seem any point in saying anything else. Being alive was preferable to 'sleeping with the fishes', though he was unsure if there were actually any fish in the canal. And he really didn't want to think about what life as a white slave would be like for Debs and Chrissy.

Ropes were unfastened and clothes returned while Anton typed something on a small mobile device. Then he handed over three pagers with their charging units. The pagers had a simple set of buttons that allowed you to reply to whatever was shown on the screen. One button had YES engraved on it, one NO, and the middle button had a question mark. On the screen was already displayed the names of their recipients, George, Debbie and Chrissy.

"When you get home," Anton snarled. "Press the question mark. Then you get the choice of yes or no. Choose wisely."

As George wandered down the street, his pockets stuffed with electronics, and his mind with instructions about how to use them, Anton turned to his heavies and muttered, "Give me six months and they'll all be mine. Willingly. They'll beg for it. I'll make sluts out of them all!"

The heavies nodded their agreement and the sledgehammers and chains were put back in the storeroom for the next time they were needed.

Debs stepped out of the shower and started to dry herself. She'd just got in from an overnight shift at the supermarket, stacking shelves. With a towel wrapped around her, she walked into the bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror.

Debs was a slender woman, mostly, with a willowy body and small, but very firm and rounded breasts. She had pale skin and black hair that was cut in a simple short style. Her pubes were also black and formed a thick triangle. She had always felt she resembled one of those nudist women in the vintage photographs. Their thatch thick enough to hide details from the observer and therefore someone who could be safely put on the cover of the naturist magazines.

Where Debs wasn't slender was the area around her hips. She had broad hips and a very rounded and firm tummy and backside. One cruel boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend as soon as he'd said it, compared her to a cherry, stuck halfway down a cocktail stick.

Thinking of one ex-boyfriend led her to think of another. Matthew was a rugby player for the Damcaster Dominators. Still was as far as she knew. A big man, even back when she knew him nearly twenty years ago, he'd been the love of her life and they were engaged. Right up to the time she came back to the flat and found him cheating with two female fans, at the same time! They'd argued, split up, and she'd married George on the rebound. George was everything Matthew was not. He was quiet, polite, helpful around the flat, not too demanding, and very unlikely to cheat on her.

It was soon after Chrissy was born that Debs discovered that George might be kind, and faithful, but he was also a seriously out-of-control gambler. She had lost track of the number of occasions over the years when their hard earned savings had had to be raided to pay his debts. And life could be dreadfully boring with George, especially with limited funds. But, as time went on Chrissy had grown up, as kids inevitably do. She was now nineteen, about to fly the nest, and Debs was wondering if she should fly too, before her life had slipped away completely and she ended up permanently bored and permanantly broke.

When she got downstairs she found George sitting looking glum. On the kitchen table were three electronic devices. She spotted that there was a name on each one. George lifted his head and she knew that expression. He was in trouble again. Big trouble. Gambling trouble.

"Hello luv," he said. "Can you get Chrissy down from her room?"

Debs called up the stairs and reluctantly, after the third call, her daughter responded.

Chrissy was a few months past nineteen and currently at Damcaster College. She'd not quite got out of the 'decorate your room with black paint and Death Metal posters' stage. Like her mum her hair was very dark and she had no trouble dressing Goth when the mood overtook her. Her favourite band at the moment was called Corrupt Bimbo. She was slender, the vegetarian diet helped with this, with breasts that were little firm cones on her chest. The embarrassing thing was that she already had quite prominent nipples and they tended to show through every t-shirt she wore. And her tits were very pert so they jiggled when she walked. Boys ended up staring at her chest, a lot.

Her hips were wide, like her mother's, and with her slender thighs she had a very nice gap between her legs. She had not yet developed a large bum like her mother but her cunt lips were very generous. Even larger than her mother's. When she wore joggers they showed as a prominent camel toe, which is why she only wore joggers at home. Out of the house it was always jeans. Baggy jeans to disguise her fat pudenda.

What's Dad done now, she thought, as she descended to the kitchen? Her mum and dad were sat there. On the table were three rather old-fashioned pagers. To Chrissy this was very much yesterday's technology. But one of them caught her eye, it had her name on the screen.

"Your dad has something to say," explained her mum.

George explained how much money he owed to Anton, the proposal for paying it off, and the threatened consequences if they refused. By the end he had two women looking at him with angry and resentful glares. The phrase 'if looks could kill' came to his mind.

A debate followed which, dear reader, you do not need to hear, but at the end of it the ladies accepted the inevitable. Debs picked up her pager and stared at it. Then she pressed the question mark key. The screen changed to show several lines of text. It read...

Press YES to accept employment. You will obey all instructions on this device, and any orders given you by people this device puts you in contact with.

Press NO to refuse this offer, with all the consequences.

She pressed the yes button and the device gave out a happy sounding chime. Chrissy picked up hers and did the same. George looked at the pair of them and then picked up his and pressed. The family had all agreed to six months employment with Anton, whatever that involved. Because, of course, he had not mentioned exactly what he wanted them to do.

There was a ping that came from somewhere else in the kitchen and Debs realised it was her phone. She pulled it from her handbag to find that a cash transfer had been made into her personal account. It was for three times what she would have earned from the supermarket. The transfer was labelled Month One. She had got herself a separate bank account after a few years of marriage, and George had never been given access to it. This ensured that they always had enough money to pay the mortgage and feed the family.

"He's sent us a wage," she told the others, without letting George know how much. "At least he's doing what he promised."

It was nearly eleven in the morning now so she made coffee. As she put the mugs down on the kitchen table the pagers all chimed, one after another. Chrissy's went first. She picked it up and read...

Fifth floor, Britannia Mill, 1pm, ask for David.

She showed it to her mother.

George's pager was next...

Red Health Clinic, Main Street, 1pm.

Finally Debs pager chimed...

Stay at home, put on a sexy dress, wait for a visitor this afternoon, impress him.

"I have to stay in for an interview," she told George and Chrissy, omitting to mention the sexy dress.

They sat and had lunch together, everyone quiet with their own thoughts of what the future would bring. It's only six months, thought George, then the debt will be cleared and we can all go back to normal life.