The Ring

Chapter VI

“What’re you drinking?” a tall, handsome man asked, sliding into the barstool next to the woman drinking alone at the bar.

“Manhattan,” the blonde answered, taking another swig, nearly finishing her glass.

“Bartender, two more,” he said, turning to face her. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

She eyed him up and down. He wasn’t bad looking, a cocky smile set between his high cheekbones and cut jawline. “Carrie,” she answered, her voice already just a tad slurred. It was not her first Manhattan tonight.

“I’m Kyle,” he said, lifting one of the drinks the bartender set in front of them. “What are we drinking to?”

She raised her own glass and clinked it against his. “To how much men suck,” she said before taking a long drink.

He chuckled. “I’ll drink to that,” he said before following suit. “As the ambassador for all men, I have to ask, what did we do this time?”

“You’re all assholes who think with your dicks and play with our hearts.”

“I can’t really refute that, but speaking personally, my dick is actually pretty smart.” He tried a winning smile, but she wasn’t buying it. He was however, buying drinks, and she could humor this blowhard for a little bit if it lessened her bar tab.

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Carrie said, taking another long drink.

“You don’t have to...” He waved the bartender over and ordered two more drinks, sliding one in front of her just as she finished hers.

“Thank you.” Just before she could raise it to her lips, someone shouted behind them.

“Hey! I saw that!”

Both of them swiveled on their stools to see another man marching over. “I saw you just put something in her drink!”

Kyle shook his head. “I did not!” He turned to her quickly. “I didn’t. I would never.”

Carrie had already put down her drink and slid it away from her. She tried to stand, but immediately the previous Manhattans caught up with her, and she stumbled. The accused reached for her but his accuser grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t touch me, faggot!”

“What did you just call me?”

The bartender had come up behind them at the bar. Kyle pulled his hand free and took a step back. “I didn’t put anything in your drink,” he repeated to Carrie.

“You need to leave,” the man in the tight sweater said.

Kyle shoved through the newcomer and stormed out the door, giving a dark look back over his shoulder.

“What a sleaze bag.” He pushed the drinks back across the bar with his pinky. “Do you have his card for his tab?” he asked the bartender.

The bartender nodded, dumping the drinks out in the sink.

“Good. He’ll be paying for all her drinks. And can we get her a water? Honey, you’re done. Oh, and a cranberry and tonic for me.”

“You want him paying your tab too?”

“Oh, I’m happy to pay you,” he said, sliding a twenty across the bar before turning to Carrie. “Sweetie, you can do so much better.”

Carrie took his offered hand, shaking it slowly. “Thank you,” she said finally.

“No thanks necessary. Trust me, if he’d been buying me drinks, I would’ve been charmed too.” He looked back at the door and sighed deeply. “All the handsome ones are creeps.”

“You don’t seem like a creep.”

“Honey, I’m not your type.”

Carrie chuckled. Her heart had stopped racing and she slid back into her stool, nursing her water.

“I’m Carrie, by the way.”

“Oh, you are absolutely a Carrie. I’m Tim. Not Timmy, not Timothy, just Tim.”

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I know you said no thanks necessary, but seriously, I owe you. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in the dating scene.”

“Now I’m so sorry. It’s grim! Everything’s all apps and online, and don’t get me wrong, sometimes you just want a little something something with a stranger you met online, but if you’re actually trying to make a connection, nuh uh.” He waggled his finger.

Carrie raised her glass. “Well I appreciate the heads up. Here’s to my grim future.”

“Oof, depressed is not a good look for you. Leave being the downer to me. Look at you, you’ll be fine.” He held up his hands on either side of her head, framing out her hair. “Obviously, the bangs will have to go.”

“I like my bangs!”

“Well your forehead doesn’t. Girlfriend, they have got to go!”

Carrie laughed. In spite of being broken up with by her fiancé and nearly being date raped by the first guy to hit on her since she was single, she was having fun. Tim wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but perhaps she just needed to make a friend. He was funny, sassy, had a good sense of style, pretty much her dream gay BFF. She was thrilled when he offered her a ride home after she very halfheartedly mentioned getting an uber.

“I won’t hear it,” he told her, taking her phone from her hands and setting it down on the bar. “You’ve had enough bad luck with strangers tonight.”

Even the reminder of the guy who had tried to spike her drink wasn’t enough to bring her down. Tim ensured that that asshole paid for all her drinks, and then after a very generous tip for the bartender, he gave her a ride back to her apartment.

“It’s rather… quaint,” Tim said as she let him in, clearly withholding his critiques of her current living conditions.

“This is just temporary,” she said, setting her purse down at the down.

“You weren’t living here with him were you?” he asked, walking in, dramatically stepping out of the way of the sparse decorations.

“No. He, kept the house…”

“Asshole.”

“Right?”

“Well, we are going to get you out of this monument to depression.”

She hadn’t liked to think about her first apartment as a single woman as a “monument to depression,” but as Tim pointed it out, that’s all she could think about. “Please do.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Done.” Everything changed. In that one word, gone was the effeminate voice, in its place a cold, flat tone. His body language completely changed, his shoulders raising, making the tight sweater he wore look less form fitting and more like a too tight costume. He was across the room in a second, one hand over her mouth before she could utter a sound, pushing her up against the wall while his other hand easily grabbed both of her wrists in his strong grip. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Nmmphh!” she cried into his smothering palm. His dark eyes that had seemed to have a playful twinkle in them all night were cold and flat.

Panic kicked in. He had let her sober up, making her drink water for the last few hours, and even with her wits about her she hadn’t seen the switch coming. Even without the booze slowing her reactions she couldn’t fight him off as he threw her down on the sofa.

“That other guy didn’t spike your drink,” he told her as he tore her dress off of her body. “It just goes to show, you never know who you can trust.”

Carrie whimpered, trying to wrench her head to the side to scream. Surely her neighbors would be able to hear if she could just get one good cry for help out, but he was so strong, easily pinning her down and stripping her and gagging her while she fought and struggled for all she was worth.

“But me, I play the knight in shining armor, I play the flamboyant gay, and you can’t wait to invite me in.”

Carrie managed to get an arm free and reached out, scratching at her attacker. Her nails raked across his neck, drawing blood.

Tim laughed, grabbing her wrist, and twisting, sliding aside to maneuver her and before she knew it she was bent over his lap. “Foolish girl.”

He’d let go of her mouth. She started to call for help, but her cry turned into an inarticulate scream as he slapped her upturned butt. His hand reigned down on her panty-clad ass. Carrie’s ex had tried spanking her once, towards the end of their relationship when they were looking for anything to spice things up both in and out of the bedroom. She hadn’t been a big fan, but Jeff’s light taps were nothing compared to this, and she found herself braying like an animal, unable to articulate anything other than pain, her struggles reduced to ineffectual flailing.

“I bet your neighbors will just think you brought home some wild guy,” he said as he spanked her ass red. “Even if they don’t, you’ll be long gone before the police show up.” He grabbed her panties and yanked them down her legs.

“Please!” she sobbed, finally finding words, her voice hoarse from yelling.

“You wanted this,” he said, rolling her onto her back and stuffing her underwear into her mouth. “You wanted me to take you away from this miserable life, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Nnnnnmp!” she cried, trying to push him away, to climb out of his lap, but he easily overpowered her.

“Admittedly, you’re next life isn’t going to be that great, but the grass is always— hang on.” He clamped his hand back over his mouth as he fished his phone out of his pocket. “Shit. Hey. Now’s not a great a time.”

“Mmmmpphh MMFFFFPPHGHH!” she cried.

“Yeah, just grabbing one right now. I’m putting you on speaker.” He pressed the face of the phone and dropped it on the couch next her, quickly grabbing her wrists again.

“The boss has a job for you,” a voice came from the phone.

“I’m already on a job,” Tim said, holding her down with one hand while he grabbed the front of her bra and pulled, yanking until the straps ripped and she was completely naked.

“Yeah, sorry about that, but the boss specifically said to get you.”

Tim was wrapping the ruined bra around Carrie’s wrists. “Tell him to get fucked.”

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the phone, making Carrie’s muffled screams even more prominent. Finally, the voice sarcastically replied, “Tell him yourself.”

Tim sighed. “One of these days, I will. What does the old bastard want now?”

“It’s a simple pick up.”

“He couldn’t get anyone else?” He flipped Carrie back over and was ripping her dress into long strips.

“He said you,” the voice reminded him.

“Fine.” Tim started using the shredded strips of dress to bind his captive. “Where is it?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Just tell me.” The kidnapper flipped his victim back over onto her back. She’d nearly spit out her panties, but he forced them right back in, even deeper, before cleaving her full lips with another scrap of her dress, tying it off tightly behind her head.

“Tucson.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

“What can you do?” the voice on the phone said apologetically.

“Let me talk to him!”

“You know he won’t do that.”

Tim sighed. He looked down at his helpless captive. She was struggling, the improvised bindings digging into her nude form as she squirmed under him. “Just text me an address.”

“Sure thin—” the voice cut out as Tim reached over and hung up.

“Plllmmmph!” Carrie moaned.

“Well, sweetie, I’ve got a long drive ahead of me, but luckily, I’ve got some company for the road.” He smiled. “Now, we can do this one of two ways. If you’re a good girl for me, we can get you dressed again,” he played with her perky breasts. “And you can ride up front with me. We’ll get some clear tape, no one will know you’ve got your panties in your mouth, I’ll make sure your restraints are all nicely hidden and you’re nice and secure next to me.”

Carrie shook her head, crying into her gag.

“You haven’t heard the alternative yet,” he said, grabbing her chin, holding her head still. “If you want to be a bad girl, then you can ride in my trunk. And since I won’t be able to keep an eye on you, then I’m going to have to tie you up extra securely. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of duct tape, I’ll make sure you’re stuck in a brutal hogtie, you won’t be able to move a muscle. I’ll leave you naked, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate that; it’ll get very hot and stuffy in my trunk driving through the desert. I’ll pack that pretty mouth of yours so full you won’t be able to make a fucking sound, and if you choke, I probably won’t notice for hours, and then I’ll just dump your dead body on the side of the road and find someone else to keep me company.”

Carrie wailed into her gag, tears streaming from her eyes.

“So, what’ll it be? Do you want to be a good girl for me?”

Carrie nodded hard, moaning emphatically in agreement.

“Good girl.” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s see what you’ve got in your closet.” With a slap to her ass, he made his terrified captive hop into her bedroom for the last time.

***

Ellie shifted, trying to get comfortable. Not that there was a comfortable position, not with the heavy metal cuffs around her wrists, ankles and the thick leather collar around her neck. Worst of all was the rubber bit gag strapped cruelly in her mouth, digging into the corners of her lips and keeping her jaw jacked agonizingly wide open. Her chin and neck were constantly wet with the drool she couldn’t keep from flowing from her gagged mouth, and the wetness only made the leather collar more irritating.

The captured agent fumbled around in the dark, reaching around behind her head and feeling the locks that kept the gag and collar on. She knew they weren’t coming off, but it was something to do, the clink of her chains a distraction from the faint sobs and whimpering of other captive girls.

She couldn’t see them; a thick black curtain covered the cage she had been forced into, but as she was being dragged into what her captors had called “The Kennel,” she had seen dozens of cages like her own, set into the walls of the long, narrow, sterile room. Most had black curtains over the front, and presumably those were the ones occupied by other slaves, though a few had the curtains pulled aside, revealing the barred doors to the tiny cells, the floors covered in newspaper, a stainless steel bowl of water attached to the inside of the door.

Her prison was only maybe three feet tall, high enough to sit up in but just barely, and at most three feet wide and four feet deep, so she could curl up in a ball but not stretch out.

Ellie wondered if Grace was in another one of the cages. The muffled sobbing to the left of her cage might even be her partner, but she couldn’t be sure. She thought she knew Grace’s voice pretty well, but a gag did a good job at distorting things, and gagged herself, she was in no position to ask.

That last time she’d seen Grace was when she was forced to watch their kidnapper rape her against a window between them. Ellie was almost certain it was a one-way mirror, a cruel trick where she could see her partner’s suffering while Grace couldn’t see her, just as helpless but in nowhere near as awful a situation. It was a move that seemed very fitting for their captor.

Ellie recognized that it was only a matter of time before Wesley or someone else raped her. Her captors had been handsy while they washed her, and the insidious doctor she’d been subjected to had more than violated her while he examined and waxed her, but it was only a matter of time before one of these assholes stuck their dick in her. Bracing herself for it would never fully remove the sting of it when it inevitably happened, she knew, and she tried not to dwell on it. Instead she focused on her more pressing problems, like how she was more than likely going to end up peeing on the newspapers she was laying on. The ugly side of pet play, the dehumanizing effect of actually treating her like an animal. It wasn’t all cute ears and tails and masks, she was actually sub-human to her captors. She and countless other women locked up for the, maybe night, she had no idea what time it was anymore, in the kennel. At least her first attempt to drink water through her bit gag from the bowl had been unsuccessful. Either the bowl of water was just there to torment and tease her, or she just hadn’t mastered the art of sucking water through the cruel bit gag, but her failure had bought her some time before she pissed herself.

And that was the name of the game for her now. Buying time before each new torment and indignity broke her, so she could hope for rescue, or far less likely but far more satisfying, she broke free. It was a waiting game, she decided as she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and wedged herself as far as she could into the corner and relieved herself, trying to ignore the warm wetness that spread under her knees. She shimmied forward, head held as high as the restrictive collar around her neck would allow, and plunged her face into the bowl, sucking in the lukewarm water. She’d faced hardships before. She’d grown up the only girl in a house full of boys that both expected her to fill the role the mother that had left and thought less of her for being younger, for being smaller, for being weaker. For being a girl. As she choked down the water thirstily, she knew she was built for this. Years of having to fight to prove herself growing up had made her competitive, and she’d excelled in school, in college, in the FBI. She could handle being a slave. Because it wasn’t permanent. It was another trial, one that she would come out on top of. She lay down on her side, her head resting against the bars, her knees and toes pressing against the wall, the wet newspaper under her shin. She focused on her quenched thirst and her currently empty bladder. She was going to end up sleeping in her own piss, chained and gagged. She was going to be tortured, beaten, debased. She would be raped. It was coming. Let it come. As she closed her eyes, her fingers clenched, and she imagined her fingers were closing around Wesley’s face, her thumbs driving into his eye, turning them to jelly as they burst under the pressure. If the gag had let her, she would have smiled as she managed to drift off to sleep.

***

Wesley took a deep breath, bracing himself. He’d overexerted his leg yesterday, and he knew that it would be a bitch today. He could summon a slave to bring him painkillers, but he opted not to, rolling to the edge of the bed and swinging his legs over the side. Behind him, Danielle grunted softly into her gag, and the bed shimmied as she pulled on her bonds. She was awake too, but she could wait. He pushed himself up, putting all his weight on his good leg first, and then, steeling himself, he took the first step. Searing pain shot up his whole body, and he grit his teeth, recalling grabbing the redhead, carrying her helpless body in his arms as he walked towards the bathroom. He remembered forcing his rock hard dick into her while he held his member in his hands while he peed. His dick stirred in his hands while he shook off the last drops of urine, but just picturing raping his latest conquest wasn’t near enough to achieve the first natural erection he’d had in years. He limped to the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. No matter what he did, he’d never managed to achieve the same level of physique he’d had before Danielle had put a bullet in his kneecap. The months of physical therapy had robbed him of his peak bulk he’d sustained for years as a predator, but he’d managed to keep in relatively good shape for years after his injury. Some days he still felt like he was in good shape, at least for his age, but that was the killer clause. He’d turned 61 on his last birthday, and being fit for his age was less and less impressive with each passing year.

“You’ve still got it,” he muttered to himself, stepping closer to the mirror, the sink blocking his limp dick from view while he sucked in his modest gut, his six pack revealing itself under his sallow flesh. It had taken a zap from his cane and chloroform, but he’d taken down a young, fit, FBI agent. He put his palms on the sink, flexing, the veins popping out in his arms. He hadn’t needed any tools to rape the other one. He took a step back, his penis coming back into view in the mirror. It was filling with blood, nothing close to the raging hard on he’d had last night while he fucked the redheaded one, but it was a start. He pulled the medicine cabinet open and grabbed a bottle of pills. Fast acting male enhancement pills, specially designed cocktails from his doctor that were like viagra on steroids. He dry swallowed two and grabbed the ring gag that was next to the bottle and returned to the bedroom, twirling the gag on his finger. He could get a slave trained for years in the art of fellatio that could do things with her lips alone that would make a younger, more virile man bust his nut in seconds without fear that she might do harm to his precious package, but that wasn’t the point. Twenty-three years after her capture, Danielle had never had his dick in her mouth without a ring of metal to keep her from trying to bite it off, because no matter what he did to her, she still might do it.

And that’s why he kept her. Even at her lowest, and he had taken his favorite toy very, very low, there was still that risk.

Danielle was squirming when he limped back into the bedroom. She had to pee too, but she’d have to wait. If she didn’t and took a spite piss in his bed, his slaves would just clean it up and she’d be punished. She could hold it until he finished with her. She was more fun when she was uncomfortable and squirming around anyways.

“Did you miss my cock last night?” he asked as he strode up to her, stroking his rapidly hardening dick with one hand.

“Nngggfff,” she groaned, turning her head to the side, looking away from him.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “There’s no need to be jealous just because your master has two shiny new toys to play with.” He ran his other hand up her thigh. “You’ll always be my favorite.” He leaned in, kissing her neck while he rubbed her pussy. He knew her body so well, the spot on her shoulder blade that when he danced his tongue across turned her grunts of anger into moans of pleasure. All her little triggers she hated that she loved.

He pulled the tight over the mouth gag down around her neck and plucked the sodden stuffing from between her lips. Even after all these years she still clamped her jaw shut to avoid the ring gag that would let him ram his dick down her throat without being able to do a thing about it. It was futile though; it always was. He was stronger than her, and a little pressure on her jaws forced her to open her mouth so he could wedge the silicone coated metal ring behind her front teeth. Wesley strapped it even tighter than normal at the back of her neck over her mane of graying hair.

“That’s better,” he whispered, putting his fingers in her helpless mouth and playing with her tongue.

Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl, her brow furrowed over her deep brown eyes as she stared daggers up at him. He loved that look. Wesley straddled her chest, grabbing the back of her head and forcing his fully erect penis into her gaping mouth.

Danielle choked and gasped, trying to buck and throw him off, to swing her head from side to side, but she was completely unable to stop him as he fucked her mouth.

“Don’t you worry,” he told her as he thrust, the tip of his shaft ramming the back of her throat. “I’m never going to get tired of you.”

***

The jangle and scrape of metal on metal stood out over the occasional faint clink of chains. Keys, Ellie guessed as she rolled stiffly onto her hands and knees, leaning her head closer to the bars of her small cage, listening.

“Let’s go,” a male voice said, followed by the muffled noise of a gagged girl. “On your feet.” The slapping sound of flesh on flesh and a garbled squeal of pain came from the other side of the curtain. “Get the other one. Let’s move, the boss wants to see you.” Another smacking sound, and the muffled yelp all but confirmed it was Grace.

Ellie was ready as the curtain in front of her cage was pulled back, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the light. From her small window of visibility she couldn’t see anything but the slaver bending down in front of her cage, fitting a key into the lock.

“You too, cunt,” he said as he swung the door open.

The agent crawled forward, “helped” along by the man roughly grabbing her collar and pulling her forward. She resisted the temptation to ram her head into his chin as he yanked upward, pulling her into a standing position. Her eyes flicked to the side, glancing down the hall, only to see the broad back of another slaver disappearing around the corner. Ellie saw the band of cloth and resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t see her partner for a bit longer, and closed her eyes before the slaver tied a blindfold on her. When he put his hand on the back of her neck and pushed forward, she knew what to do, walking forward, fighting to ignore her reflex to protect herself from walking into something and blindly putting her trust into her male captor to lead her when she was expected to go.

There was enough slack between her manacled ankles to take short, shuffling steps. The blindfold seemed largely unnecessary. She couldn’t imagine that Wesley cared if she knew the layout of the place. The smug bastard had to be confident that such knowledge wouldn’t help anyone escape. She suspected they were underground, but she had no evidence to support that theory other than not having seen any windows. She’d not encountered any stairs or elevators, but she had been unconscious when she was first brought in. Ellie just found it easier to think that a place like this could only exist if it was hidden beneath the earth.

 A jerk on her collar brought her to an abrupt stop.

“You both are looking well this morning.”

Ellie’s heart sped up. It was his voice.

“You can go ahead and remove their shackles. They won’t be necessary,” Wesley continued.

Ellie felt the slaver fitting a key into the locks of her manacles, first her ankles and then her wrists. She resisted the temptation to rub her sore wrists, standing firm with her arms held by her sides.

Her blindfold was pulled off and she blinked rapidly, quickly taking in the room.

As she suspected, Grace was standing next to her, still blindfolded, collared, and ballgagged while another slaver finished uncuffing her. She looked worse for wear, and judging by her puffy, red, and very hairless exposed sex, she’d been treated to a painful waxing as well.

Wesley was sitting at the far end of a dining table. A lavish spread of breakfast foods were laid out before him, the smell of fresh bacon and sausage wafting through the room. He was wearing a red silk bathrobe, hanging open, revealing his body. Sitting next to him was the detective he’d used to unveil his true identity and plan. She was wearing a very tight crop top, printed to look like a cop uniform, a mockery of her former profession. It was cut so short her breasts were hanging out underneath the taut fabric, her nipples just barely covered. Thick white ropes bound her to the sturdy wooden chair, and her lips were plastered over with layers of duct tape, her bugling cheeks evident of the stuffing sealed in her mouth. She barely spared the newcomers a glance, her gaze focused on her captor, glaring daggers at him.

In the corner was another woman. Ellie didn’t recognize her from the showroom, but she was probably another personal slave of Wesley’s and not for sale. A tight black corset thrust her massive bosom upwards while a shiny metal chastity belt sealed away her pussy. Other than the belt and a black leather muzzle strapped tightly over her mouth, she was unfettered.

The slaver unlocked Ellie’s gag, and she retched, a torrent of drool following the bit as her mouth was freed. She worked her jaw, watching Grace as her own blindfold and gag were removed.

“Are you okay Grace?”

It was a stupid question. Neither of them were even remotely okay, but her partner nodded. “Mhmm.”

“How was your first day?” Wesley asked.

“Are you looking for areas to improve?” Ellie asked.

“Always,” he responded, flashing his cocky smile. “Have a seat. Join me for breakfast.” He glanced at the two slavers. “You may go. They’ll be fine.”

Ellie watched Grace’s eyes flick to the table, staring at the silverware. There were two place settings in front of them at the table, each with a set of forks, spoons, and the object that caught both of their attention. Two knives were laid out on each of the neatly folded napkins. A butter knife, and the far sharper looking steak knife.

Even without the two extra slavers, Ellie was sure there had to be some other security measures in place. Wesley was a cocky son of a bitch, but he wasn’t stupid enough to give them such an easy opportunity without some sort of failsafe in place. She swallowed, feeling the collar around her neck, as her eyes took in his cane resting against the table within his reach, and the security camera mounted in the corner of the room. There was no way they’d be able to get to him. She just had to hope that Grace realized it too.

“If you’d rather refuse my hospitality, you’re welcome to the same initiation the rest of the girls get,” he said as neither of them took his offer to sit down immediately.

“Is not everyone so lucky to get probed and waxed by a failed doctor?” Ellie asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Across from her, Grace followed suit.

“So you’re going to be the sarcastic one,” he said before taking a big bite of egg casserole, slowly licking it off the fork. His tone was dismissive, his gaze focused on Grace while the agent he’d already raped stared at her empty plate.

Ellie shrugged. “Is he the one that will chip us, or is that some other asshole we haven’t met yet.” She studied him, looking for any kind of reaction to her knowledge that they microchipped their slaves. There was a small chance that it had already happened while she was unconscious, but the agent doubted it. The whole exam with the doctor, this breakfast, it was all done while they were awake and cognizant, to demonstrate to them how helpless they really were.

Wesley ignored her, snapping his fingers. “Fill their plates. Whatever they want.”

The slave in the corset stepped up to the table, and she grabbed a pair of tongs and began heaping bacon onto Grace’s and Ellie’s plates.

“Thank you,” Grace said softly, having to lean back to avoid the woman’s breasts swinging in her face.

The slave moaned in response, gesturing as if to ask if Grace wanted more.

Ellie disregarded her silverware, grabbing a slice of bacon and holding it up. It smelled fantastic, just the right level of crispy. She was starving, not even sure how long it had been since she’d eaten. Still though, she put it down, rubbing her greasy fingers together. Across from her, Grace just stared at her plate.

“Is something the matter?” he asked. “Oh, don’t worry about her,” he gestured to the bound and gagged detective next to him. “She already ate.” He cupped her tape covered chin in his fingers, looking into her rage-filled eyes. The helpless woman glared back, her breath coming in angry snorts through her flared nostrils.

Ellie knew the food was fine. There was absolutely no need to try and poison them, but still she felt the need to be stubborn. “Given how much pig I assume is going to be forced down my throat, I’ll wait.”

It earned a chuckle from their captor, Wesley finally turning his attention to her, his hand dropping to the helpless detective’s bare thigh. “Are you feeling left out?”

“What’s to be left out of?” She grabbed a fork and a knife and each hand, holding them in her fists, sharp sides down as she began just cutting blindly through the food on her plate while she locked eyes with Wesley. “Is that what you really imagine we’re like? Or is it that you think your withered old dick is just that good that while I’m lying there forced to watch while you fuck my friend, that I’m actually jealous?”

Ellie could hear Grace’s breathing quicken, but she pressed on. If she looked at her partner, she’d lose focus.

“Because let me tell you something.” The knife was just sawing on porcelain now, but she didn’t stop. “You can torture and train and condition me all you want. I will never want your tiny, wrinkled, pathetic cock!”

Ellie moved with the strength and agility of a lioness, springing up from her seat, fork and knife in hand, launching herself across the table.

Wesley didn’t move. He didn’t have to. Before she even got close electrical volts pulsed through her collar. She landed with a crash on the table, a foot from where Wesley sat calmly in his seat. Beside him the detective was screaming into her gag, and Grace was shouting Ellie’s name. Even his pet’s wet nurse had jumped back, startled.

“Ellie! Ellie!!!” Grace stood up.

“Sit down!” Wesley ordered, snatching up his cane and pointing it at her.

Ellie was groaning, curled up, covered in food, dishes broken all around her while she clutched at the collar electrocuting her.

“I don’t care if you want it,” Wesley said, standing up. His robe was open, his dick out. “Because what you want doesn’t matter.”

Ellie still had the knife in one hand, curled under her. She’d surely cut herself, if not on the blade then on one of the dishes smashed under her. She couldn’t feel it though; she couldn’t feel anything except the pain from the collar shocking her. Still she had to try, and she pulled the knife out from under her body, slashing out in front of her, meaning to chop his dick off.

Her attack was slow and telegraphed, her movements jerky as she fought against the currents subduing her. Wesley easily grabbed her wrist and wrestled the blade from her, dropping it on the table in front of her face.

“Was it worth it?”

Ellie couldn’t answer. She couldn’t see the slavers that had rushed back into the room, holding Grace down in her chair. It didn’t matter. Ellie had his attention now. He wouldn’t admit it, but he very deeply cared what they wanted. There was a reason he was giving them special treatment, and it wasn’t because a man like Wesley was worried about the FBI. He was interested in them for the same reason he still had the old cop at his side. Not once had he looked at the big tittied slave that was obediently serving him. He could have any girl he wanted, and for years he’d stayed interested in the one that still needed to be tied up lest she try to kill him. The one that had maimed him.

Ellie might not have gotten close enough to hurt him, but she had his attention. Let him try to break her. Let him put all his time and energy into torturing her.

The electrical current stopped, but even still Ellie’s body continued to spasm. Wesley grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back.

“Ab— absolutely,” she said, looking up at him. It was better her than Grace.