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***Chapter 4 : The Catch Net

 

I woke.

My head pounded as if a thousand drummers were pounding my skull. I retched and brought up a sour stream from my stomach onto the rush matted floor that pressed into my face.

I opened my eyes.

I was in an airy living room.

Looking up at two women who stood with drinks in their hands.

Dominique and Ra’fah stood between me and a blindingly bright view over a luscious garden of ferns, palms and great bushes of bamboo. I squinted at the brightness of the light and licked my dry lips in anticipation of my question.

Before I could speak Dominique laughed.

A bright sound full of a joy that I had not heard issue from her lips for years.

I felt a breath of humid air cross my flesh and realised that I was naked and my hands were fettered behind my back. I moved and felt my head spin.

Dominique took a sip of her long drink. The ice cubes rattled in the glass as her lips pursed and then sipped from the glass.

“He looks ideal!” said Ra’fah as she stepped towards me. “He should fetch a great deal at auction! I think that George will be a fine addition to my collection when he has been trained.”

Her legs towered over me like pillars as she looked down at me. The delicate sandaled high heels and her manicured toenails by my face. I looked up, a private view up her long cotton skirt, the shadows of the space between her thighs.

“Depends what you have in mind,” said my wife.

“How much are you willing to sell him for?” asked Ra’fah. “In dollars.”

“I was thinking of ten thousand, cash.”

“What will you do with the money?” asked Ra’fah.

“Probably a holiday. A cruise perhaps, or may be a few months in the Maldives.”

“I’ll give you eight!”

“What are you doing, Dominique,” I stuttered as I tried to roll over to get to my knees.

“Getting rid of you, George. Selling you actually!” she replied. “Nine thousand.”

“Eight thousand and two weeks enjoying Ouagadougou in my palatial hotel.”

“OK then,” replied my wife. “Do I get to see how you run your unique business?”

“Intimately!”

“That sounds perfect.”

The sandaled foot came towards my lips, picking up some of the slimy vomit as is slid towards me.

“This is where I start and where George begins,” said Ra’fah to Dominique. “Lick my feet while my servant gets the money to buy you,” she said to me.

Ra’fah clapped her hands and a uniformed man came into the room. She spoke to him in French and he left the room to get the eight thousand dollars.

She looked down with a frown. “I do not remember a time that I ever had the need to repeat a command.”

I placed a small kiss on her black toes and wondered how I was going to escape this nightmare. Her foot moved suddenly. A small kick at me that bruised my lips.

“I said; lick my fucking shoes bitch,” she said in a firm voice. “I did not say ‘kiss’. I did not say ‘massage’, I said ‘lick’ you fucking shit-on-my-shoes slave-bitch.”

I could taste the vinegar taste of my stomach as I complied.

The man in the uniform of a butler came back with an envelope and handed it to the woman whose shoes I was cleaning with my busy tongue. He passed her the envelope with a slight bow; she spoke some more French to him.

Her long fingers flicked through the loose wad of notes in the envelope before she handed it to Dominique.

“I think that you’ll find that it’s all there,” said Ra’fah. “Eight thousand. You know my ‘boys’ send over a hundred thousand E Mails a week. Of them about four get answered every week. Of every thirty that answer, one is hooked and comes to see me in Ouagadougou. It is a good business because I get about a hundred thousand dollars, American, for each slave that I supply to my discerning clientele. This is the first time that a fish has brought his wife with him, so satisfactory when I can buy a man from the woman who married him!”

“As I said in my mail,” said Dominique in reply, “I am really getting bored with him and was wondering about a divorce when I saw your E Mail. I realised that I could have everything with your help.”

“This has worked so well that I really think that you can help my business in England.”

Ra’fah’s foot lifted so that I could lick the sole of her shoe. She looked down for a moment and then pulled her foot away. I was left looking up at the two women who were about to forge an evil business arrangement.

“What do you mean?” said my wife.

“It would be so clever if you could find other men to bring over here to Ouagadougou for me to buy from you!”

“Mmm,” she replied, “but, what would be my cut?”

“Half and half, minus my costs of course.”

My wife raised her glass in salute. “It’s a deal. I bring you the men and you do the rest at this end.”

The two women clicked their glasses together in agreement of the devilish deal.

“I suppose that it’s a bit late to get fifty percent of this slave bitch then?”

“Of course it’s too late, my dear! Consider it the price of me hiring you. In Burkina Faso there is always a bribe to pay, an inducement to make, a kickback to disburse: for each and every transaction. I think that George here is that baksheesh.”

I still felt dizzy and sick, physically and mentally. The taste of my own vomit and the sweat of her feet lay in my mouth; the hand cuffs bit into my wrists. What I was about to hear would make me more than frightened and sick...

“Of course there is a problem, there is always a moral dilemma,” said Dominique.

“What is that, my dear?”

“Dear little George here has heard every word of our little deal and it would be so inconvenient if he should be able to pass that on in any way. I mean it’s just so compromising to both of us!”

I felt my heart sink into my stomach. I almost retched again with the fear of the implication.

“Mmm, you’re so right. But, I cannot just throw the eight thousand into the river, I mean I’ll just have to think of a way to make little George here a silent partner in our business. It’s such a waste of money because normally the Arabs are the best customers and they like their slaves complete, or at least mostly complete!”

The butler returned and with him were two muscular men who picked me up as though I had been a cat that needed putting out of the house.

I would not go without screaming for help.

As I was dragged from the room by the two strong servants, Ra’fah laughed at my cries for help. I saw her pouring another drink for my wife and the two demoness’ just clinked glasses as I was picked up bodily and thrown into a heavily reinforced wooden box.

As I lay there, the two women came and peered into the box.

“He’s going to have to get used to being transported like the animal he is about to become,” commented Ra’fah. “I intend to make him a perfect little fuck-pig

“What is the difference between a fuck-pig and a slave? I mean, what happens now?”

“I think that you should not worry about the details, my dear Dominique. Perhaps it is better if you just see the result rather than the process. It is rather like sausages, you would not eat them if you saw how they had been prepared! When George is ready I will gift him to you and you will begin to see what potential a partnership with me entails. I think that you will love what I can do to a man. Or rather what a man becomes when he is in my hands.”

The lid was slammed on the box and the voices of Ra’fah and my wife could no longer be heard except as a slight muffled murmur in the silence.

The murmur of laughter and elation.

The box was tipped, lifted and slammed into some sort of truck and I was driven to my new life.

Transported like the animal I was to become.

 

*** Chapter 5 : Landed On The Bank.

Months passed.

I think...

I can scarcely remember them and the torment of their passing. I entered the box as George Howden Ghent. I was a dealer in antiques and objects of handmade art, carpets and religious objects. Husband of Dominique and generous businessman who always tried to strike a decent deal. Who always shared his profits with the seller, a man who valued fairly and sold at the agreed price.

They broke me down.

They assaulted my mind.

They flensed my body.

They dissolved what had been and built anew.

Reduced me to my lowest common denominator and then rebuilt me in the image that they wanted. The servile frightened fuck-doll that they wanted and could sell for a huge profit. I was to be an object of furthest dark imagining. A sordid trial to see if a man can be condensed to his most basic components once the resistance has evaporated.

I did not see much of Ra’fah.

Occasionally she passed by and inspected what had been done so far. She allowed me to worship her feet, naked they raped my mouth and I hoped that she would show kindness for the service.

But Ra’fah was not a woman to trade one good turn for another. Not when a man was involved...

No!

She was a woman who took and did not give. A woman who had a simple and easily understood need. She desired servility and compliance, no matter how odious her wishes. When that service was not rendered, when that slave baulked at the price of her satisfaction she took it anyway and inflicted pain and punishment as her persuasion.

When I looked her in the eye as she entered my stall she had me beaten.

When I spoke, cried and begged her mercy she made absolutely sure that I would never be able to speak again.

When she was not satisfied that I had licked her boots clean properly she had my teeth removed so that the heel of her boot would not again be scratched by my teeth.

When I put my hands together to pray for her forgiveness for not cleaning my stall she had them removed.

When she found me standing in my cell my legs were cut down to make sure that I could only walk on the stumps of all fours.

And all the while that I underwent this terrible travail I was the slave who served the other slaves.

My job was to clean the stalls of the women who were being trained as ponies. If they were rewarded for good progress in their training I was the slave who gave them the climax that they had justly earned.

My job was all the menial jobs that have to be done in a complex that prepares the human traffic for consumption by the rich and merciless men and women who need to own others and enjoy their torture.

Every now and again I perceived hints of what was going on outside those four walls. Twice I heard the name Dominique used by male slaves who were being trained to satisfy the sexual needs of their betters.

In the fog of my memory I recalled the woman who had been my wife. I remembered a soft golden glow of energy surrounding her. I could not recall her face except from my hazy memories of her selling me to Ra’fah that terrible morning.

The raised glass.

The chinking of the ice in the glass.

The full lips that opened to drink and speak to my goddess.

I did not hate her.

I loved her.

She had been there as my goddess took control of me. The goddess of pain and suffering from whom I still hoped to receive a kind word. All I had to do was to please her with my service and she would smile and tell me that I had pleased her.

A smile of approval a sacred sign.

And all the while that I dreamed of that smile with hope, they worked on me. Gave me tasks to do that I dared not show other than eagerness for.

The male slaves practiced on me but it was the women who controlled me.

There were two trainers who delighted in making my life an unending succession of terrors. I was blamed for every misdemeanour that the pony girls and sex-dolls perpetrated, and the punishments were never ending.

They warmed their arms on me with the crop before every whipping of another slave. The most that I could manage was a squeak of pain, so they covered me with weals until I made the animal noise that they considered so amusing.

If I was found to be erect at any time I was punished. At the same time I was enlarged until an erection gave me limb that was longer than the remains of my arms. I was so scared that Ra’fah would find my cock straining for release and order it to be removed.

Already I had been altered and reduced to a helpless fuck-pig, now I lived in dread of being castrated for my contraventions of the unspoken rules.

Further months passed.

At least I thought that they did because time passed day by painful day until all I could see in my thoughts was Ra’fah, the Kali of my anguish and Dominique of the golden glow who would surely deliver me from this hell.

 

*** Chapter 6 : Suffocation In Air.

I lay on the soft mattress and stared at the ceiling.

I saw every crack in the plaster and every pattern of the brush that had painted it pink. It was the feminine colour that Dominique had picked in one of her softer moments.

“I like to fuck you in a pink boudoir,” she had said as she decorated the room like a Louis the Fourteenth den of iniquity. “Frilly sheets and soft rugs turn me on...”

The light streamed through the shutters on the windows making a slatted pattern on the wall behind where the Renoir reclining nude hung in all its glory.

I relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of lying naked on the silky sheets, waiting for Dominique to join me in bed. I could just about hear the sound of running water as she showered, as she always did before we made love.

She would dress in stockings and stilettos...

“I love to wear heels, darling, so dangerous when they threaten your thighs. If you kiss them I will allow you to spear me on your prick!”

Often I kissed them.

Often I felt the points of the heels bite my temples as she sat over me as I served her moist cunt.

It was just something that she had dreamed up; giving her pleasure was almost a reward in itself.

Sometimes she wore a basque that made her luscious breasts dome, the nipples just peeking over the satin and lace. Then there were the panties that shaped over that mound above her succulent plump cunt. That slit of the soft entry into her body shown in stark relief by the lace.

Then she entered the room.

Today she was the mistress of my wet dreams.

Heels of metal and stockings of lace.

A naked pussy that glistened with ardour and the last moist remnants of the shower. A basque in black that was cut under those delicious breasts to lift them to perfection. Her face had a firm expression, the black lipstick making a unyielding slit of her lips, the white makeup lending contrast.

But, it was the crop in her hands that made my heart thump with devotion. I had brought her into the idea of dominating me in bed, but she had taken to it naturally. Now she was in that special mood where punishment for some perceived wrong and pleasure would mix as she would order me to serve, all the while bringing me to heights of worship.

I was ready to serve.

I loved to serve her sexual impulses; the heights of my climaxes were so much more powerful when under her spell and command.

Behind her rounded form I saw movement; the almost closed door opened slowly and revealed a deeper shadow. I struggled to see who it was entering the bedroom behind her.

Black on black.

A woman dressed in taut leather boots, a woman who was blacker than the shadow in which she steeped herself. A woman whose presence spelt terror and horror. A woman whose only object was to make me suffer in agony.

Ra’fah stepped into the room behind my wife, the alluring Dominique, and my head spun with fear.

I saw the room melt like wax in a flame.

The fantasy slipped to reveal the terrifying reality.

The pink slipped down the walls like honey and the Renoir became a list of intolerable, impossible rules. The bed hardened and became a pallet on which I lay chained like the animal I had become.

The memory whimsy faded to painful veracity.

I closed my eyes and reopened them as if I could make the present the dream and the past the reality.

Dominique smiled and tapped the crop in her hand as Ra’fah came beside her to stare at the mutilated prisoner that lay quaking in terror at her very presence.

“George is not half the man that he used to be.”

The words came from Dominique’s lips as if they had been practiced for hours. A long prepared black joke that she had longed to skewer me with.

“I think that George is ready to serve us both now. I think that it is time that you met the new George. Now a little fuck-slut that is yours to keep.”

“I really don’t think that he has any choice in the matter, my sweet Ra’fah,” said my wife as she lashed out with the quirt that she wielded with her gloved hand.

I squealed in pain, shocked at once by the pain of the blow as well as the dashing of my hopes that Dominique would feel enough pity to free me from this place.

Ra’fah smiled, her white teeth showing like a flash of sunshine against the deep darkness of her skin.

“Fuck-pig!” she ordered, “follow us!”

With that she released the chain from my collar and, putting an arm around my wife’s shoulders, she led Dominique out of my cell.

I stumbled on all fours behind the two goddesses as they led me to another room. I lifted my head as I followed to see that they were laughing at some private joke as they led me. I could see the light through that bright triangle of my wife’s thighs and the lips of her pussy thrown into relief.

The small pads on my knees and elbows clicked on the floor like the metal heels of my two owners ahead of me as I struggled to keep up with their languorous, swaying steps.

The stairs were so difficult that I was sure that I would not make it up all twenty of them. This was a path that I had not been on since I had arrived. This was the way to the house above, a place only the daintiest and most obedient slaves entered.

It was the opulent luxury that the slavery of others had bought.

I surfaced, panting with the effort of climbing, to find myself in an airy and luxurious hallway. The door was slammed behind me by Ra’fah. Then they led me down a corridor lined with a carpet that was like melted silk.

A final turn and I was in a vast bedroom, pink and lace. Old fashioned and opulent, the furniture was ornate and gold and mahogany, the coverlets were silk and gold.

“I silenced his bleating voice three months ago; all he can do now is squeak, for the rest I think that you should find out about it yourself in your own time. There is still much room for improvement, but that is your choice now.”

“Thank you so much for all the care and effort that you have expended on a man who was so useless as a husband. Maybe he will redeem himself now that he has learned complete obedience at your delicate hands.”

Ra’fah smiled at her partner in crime and shook her head.

“I have found that there are very few men who can serve as I imagine perfect service. George is not one of them! Only chastisement will serve to get the response and service that a woman deserves as her right. Soon it will be time to crop him again, I just hate the way that he waddles and maybe removing his balls will solve the problem?”

I hung my head as though hiding my face would hide the rest of me. I tried to speak but only a sigh of breath passed the place where my vocal chords had been just a few months ago.

I made an effort and a single bleat left my lips, a squeal that carried no meaning.

“Good little piggy, George. Well done!” said my wife. “Can you snuffle and snort as well? I hope so!”

I tried to make a grunting sound but just a wheeze came from my throat.

“Every task that he fails on must be punished,” said Ra’fah. “But, he has been prepared for your total gratification; no other woman or man has milked his cock or given him release. He is my dowry to you, for your pleasure, the final sealing of our arrangement that has proved so fruitful in the last few months.”

The toe of her boot kicked between my thighs from behind, catching the delicate flesh of my balls. I collapsed and squealed with pain.

“Never reward a fuck-pig. At all!” said Ra’fah. “Only agony and fear will make him respond. Punish him when he fails to do the possible or even the impossible. Always demand, never ask, he is lower than the shit on your shoes. Never show him any consideration; he is there to be your most menial slave.”

Ra’fah kissed my wife on her lips, a gentle contact that signified more than friendship. Perhaps love? Certainly affection and passion flowered in that small gesture.

She left the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Dominique and I alone to start a new relationship. One in which she would demand and I would struggle to serve.

To survive.