A Pleasure of Convenience

A Pleasure of Convenience.

Beale Skidmore glared balefully through sleep-deprived, bloodshot eyes into the all-seeing lens of the tripod-supported satellite-linked camera that recorded every moment of his unthinkable ordeal.

Beale knew who was responsible for him and his deputy Brad Sterling being bushwhacked and held here for over a month now in this ages-old remote caravan trading route station and primitive overnight stopover camp: that prime piece of pussy, that blonde bombshell Britney Belle.

Beale knew it was likely that Britney was watching him from the comforts of her plush office right now, enjoying his buck-nakedness and helpless vulnerability to his sordid subjugations from a very safe distance.

Beale wondered how long Britney would keep him and Brad in this time-frozen backward hell hole in the back of beyond. How long before Britney considered that she had punished them enough? It would have to be soon. Their mission to these badlands was to last five weeks. Agents at the Section would start asking questions. But then, Britney was good at answering awkward questions. People were always ready to believe a pretty face.

Beale reflected, yet again, what a fool he had been to let Britney talk him into travelling here with his deputy to speak to the local and regional tribal leaders. His and Brad's kidnapping by the gun-toting straggly-bearded tribal members in their loose-fitting long Kaftans and open-heeled leather sandals had come as a shock, but it should not have been a surprise.

How could he have been so naive? He was Head of Clandestine Affairs, Middle East Section. Beale knew that Britney was not just a pretty face and that a lot was going on in that beautiful blonde head - but he had never suspected her capable of subjecting him to this hellish predicament. Goddamn it! He almost felt he deserved to be here!

For all of his fury, a part of Beale admired that honeypot Britney's cunning and craft in getting both him and Brad here together to endure her chosen base and emasculating vengeful reprisal. He had schooled her too well!

Beale's bare buttocks were hurting from sitting continually on the chemical toilet for three days and nights in the round-the-clock, brightly spotlighted loo that he knew was also wired for sound. But he still had the rest of today and tonight to go of what was now his fourth continual four-days-and-four-nights stint ankles-shackled to the camp's outhouse pleasure seat.

Then there would be a reprieve - of a kind.

In their alternate four-on / three-off routine, Brad would replace Beale for his next continual four-days-and-four-nights stint on the pleasure seat so that Beale could have his 'recuperative' three-day stint of service in the 'Tea Garden'. But it was no garden, and he would not be serving tea, and he would not recuperate. Still - galling as it was, enduring the Tea Garden humiliations was infinitely better than serving all-comers on the pleasure seat, day and night. And the cloud's silver lining was that, as the Tea Garden servant, he could stretch out and sleep on a rough mat on the bare earthen floor of the wretched dwelling of the camp's two female 'dentists' for the chilly nights at their feet as their foot warmer as was their privilege. A luxury he had very soon learned not to take lightly.

The harsh sunlight was then partly blocked at the open-door entrance to his public convenience by two silhouetted figures - one female and one male - but Beale knew who these two non-descript figures were.

Though burka-clad, Beale recognised the shapeless female figure as Saida. A regular visitor. Saida was one of the camp's two female 'dentists'. Alma was the other one. Beale still vividly recalled the chilling dread he'd felt at hearing the gleeful exultancy in the blood-curdling ululations of the camp's burka-clad females who greeted his and Brad's ignominious arrival. Immediately upon his and Brad's arrival at the middle-of-nowhere camp at the end of their harrowing six-hour bumpy and bruising ride, they were both dragged from the back of the beaten-up old pickup truck and taken to the 'dentist'. Some people feared their dentist - and now, so did Beale. Saida had slipped her shapely left foot from her black leather flat, wiggled and spread her slender brown toes to catch his eye - then expertly double-tap kicked him between the legs to subdue him. Beale's shock had matched his surprise - he never saw the swift one-two to his nuts coming. And then, like some black-winged bat from hell, Saida had crouched over his unresisting, agonised supine form and ululated in triumph at her out and out victory, as it were, as she removed all his teeth with her pliers to render him safe - to ensure his risk-free pleasure seat service.

It was a given that Saida had no dental training, but clearly, she was well-experienced, as with surprising strength, she pulled his teeth quickly and efficiently with minimum damage while he was still too weak to resist. As they say, practice makes perfect. At the same time, Beale had heard Brad's anguishment echo his own, as all of his teeth were also being extracted without a recognised painkiller by the camp's other pliers-wielding female 'dentist'. Brad had recovered more quickly from his burka-clad 'dentist' Alma's surprise kicks to the balls and had become over-troublesome, so the driver of the pickup truck and one of the camp's permanent inhabitants, Khan, had rendered Brad unconscious with a powerful punch to the jaw at Alma's say so. Beale could have requested the burly Khan to similarly 'anaesthetise' him, which would have been a blessing, but his pride wouldn't let him. Instead, with his tears streaming down his face, he stared into the shrilly, ululating Saida's gleefully glinting dark-brown eyes as, one by one, she plucked out his pearly whites.

The taller of the two figures was Ali. Ali was a frequent visitor. A horny fellow and virile as a stag in season, Ali would also visit him during the night - sometimes twice - to sate his arousing dreams. But, as now, during the day, the well-endowed Ali was turned on to full arousal by watching the two female 'dentists', the few other burka-clad female inhabitants of the remote camp and also the female transient guest visitors and the overnight stopovers pleasure themselves on the compliantly protruding and obediently titillating tongue of their helpless pleasure seat captive.

As well as the permanent inhabitants of the remote camp who took the accustomed delights of their pleasure seat captives for granted, during their continual ninety-six-hour turns on the pleasure seat, Beale and Brad were visited by most of the daytime trade route transients and by many of the overnight stopovers - both male and female - who gladly availed themselves of the camp's traditional tribal hospitality of time immemorial.

Well, there was not a lot else for them to do. Little had changed at the remote trade route camp for hundreds of years. And then there was the added novelty and splendid bonus of Beale and Brad being Westerners.

The burka-clad Saida and the straggly-bearded Ali entered the convenience, walked up to Beale, and stood before him.

Saida, through the eye slits of her full-face burka, regarded Beale with her gleefully glinting dark-brown eyes and looked pointedly at the pleasure seat's red plastic 'obedience button' that Beale wore around his neck like some cheap ornament. Saida was hinting that Beale should obey her without fail - or else. Saida was certainly not averse to pressing the ready-to-hand red button. Beale had not seen Saida's face or Alma's face. He had only seen their eyes. And their hands. And their shapely brown feet. By now, Beale had gone to his knees dozens of times to kiss Saida's and Alma's feet - kiss their expectantly proffered soles - in fearful respect whenever he greeted them in the 'Tea Garden'. He did not want another expertly delivered devastating double-tap kick to his balls from either of them - once had been enough - he had learned his lesson well. And at Saida's and Alma's snappy command, he would obediently perform his nightly ritual to their pleasurable satisfaction: lick clean their dirty soles before turning in with them on his rough sleeping mat at their feet.

Ali smiled at Beale, displaying his mouthful of broken rotten teeth. A deserving case, if ever there was one, for Saida's amateur dentistry. By now, Beale had kissed Ali's feet dozens of times in his submission to Ali's masterful dominance over him, and Ali did not need to tell Beale twice to lick clean his dirty soles while he smoked his pipe in the 'Tea Garden'.

Beale Skidmore, almost a month in their captivity, knew what to expect.

Beale was not a happy bunny.

Of course, the Section had trained Beale to endure some of the usual types of trauma in the event of his capture by malign entities, but this was of another magnitude. His now toothless gums were still sore, more than a month after Saida's amateur dentistry and after she had rubbed, he knew not what, stinging gunk on them against infection. He had lost his voice from his first day at the camp, and he feared his vocal cords beyond recovery after first the horny Ali and then the randy Khan had promptly had their way with him when they had decided that he should be installed first on the pleasure seat and Brad serve in the 'Tea Garden'. He had lost his spare tyre (excess body weight) and more, caused by his subsistence 'diet'. He was mentally exhausted from chronic sleep deprivation and physically drained from the diabolical demands of his forced pleasure seat service, day and night. And there was a nagging ache in his balls that he worried might never go away.

Beale glared into the lens of the pleasure seat outhouse's all-seeing tripod-supported satellite-linked camera that was also wired for sound, channelling his outrage at who he instinctively knew was watching him right now from the comforts of her plush office: that lovely piece of ass, that blonde bombshell - Britney Belle.

***

Britney Belle sat in her comfortable leather swivel chair in her plush basement office in the secret location of the Section.

Britney was a happy bunny.

Two satellite-linked flatscreen TVs dominated the main wall of her underground office. Britney, a big grin on her beautiful face, switched her attention from one dedicated large screen to the other as events with those two assholes Beale and Brad unfolded in that dreadful Middle-eastern middle-of-nowhere camp's round-the-clock-spotlighted pleasure-seat outhouse and the 'Tea Garden', respectively.

Britney pointed at Screen 2, chuckled and said, "Brad's not so bouncy now, is he? I've brought him down a peg or two! Brad should thank me - the fat slob needed to lose a few pounds! Well - this is what he gets! A crash diet - and more! My payback! Beale too. Both of those male chauvinistic sex pests. Go along to get along? Open my legs at a click of their fingers to get a little higher up the greasy pole? Well - I've had enough of their greasy poles! So this - this is their comeuppance!"

Britney was talking to her two loyal, devoted and ever-attentive male underlings, Trent and Byron.

So Britney was preaching to the converted.

Kneeling at Britney's unshod black-nyloned feet like a pair of trained poodles, Trent massaged her left foot and Byron her right foot.

Trent and Byron had become adept at foot massage. They got a lot of practice kneeling at the feet of their boss, Britney. Britney had sent Trent and Byron to attend a reflexology course so they would know what they were doing - she didn't want two cackhanded fools rubbing her feet to no effect. And from information gleaned from their profiles - from their submissive-type posts on foot fetish sites on the internet - Britney knew Trent and Byron were more than happy to serve her as her foot masseurs.

Britney pointed to the other wall-mounted, large flatscreen TV, Screen 1, and said, "What an incredible find! I mean, the 'Pleasure Seat'. Just the thing, for Beale and Brad. I get one hell of a kick from watching! I am as enthralled by it all now as I was a month ago. That middle-of-nowhere primitive tribal camp - and their traditional emasculating subjugations of their captured enemies! It's hard to imagine anything more humiliating - how the captives could be more abjectly defeated and so thoroughly conquered by their captors! Well - Beale and Brad - they had it coming!"

Trent said, "If you don't mind my saying so, Miss Britney, it's maybe a little tough on them. But yes - they did have it coming, Miss Britney."

Byron said, "Yeah - they sure did! Treating you like that, Miss Britney!"

Britney said, "I didn't underestimate Beale and Brad - but they sure underestimated me! I won't be their easy lay any more! That's over! Because I will be long gone when they get back."

Britney, Trent and Byron looked at Screen 2.

In the sparsely grassed nobbly ground of the 'Tea Garden', the now trim figure of Brad Sterling was on his knees at the propped-up bare feet of the pipe-smoking Khan, kissing and licking clean his dirty soles.

Khan was the camp's tribal member who had punched out Brad's lights to assist the burka-clad female 'dentist' Alma when her expertly delivered surprise double-tap kicks to Brad's balls had proved an insufficient anaesthetic to last out all of his extractions.

But that was not the worst of it.

Khan had been the one to 'deflower' Brad on the camp's outhouse pleasure seat and, in the process, damage Brad's vocal cords beyond recovery with his thick-shafted bulbous-headed dick at the climax of their 'love-making' when pumping his contributive seed in considerable quantity down Brad's agreeably tight throat and into his stomach to live on as his four-days-and-four-nights pleasure seat subsistence diet.

So now, on his knees, Brad was respectfully kissing and thoroughly licking clean the dirty soles and sucking the toes of the remote trade route camp's straggly-bearded tribal member, the permanent inhabitant who had floored him with a punch to the jaw to quieten him for his 'dentistry' and then 'deflowered' him on the pleasure seat and had since similarly 'made love' to him multiple times not only for the pleasure of it but to ensure Brad was adequately 'fed and watered' on the mean and miserable life-supporting nutrients of abject defeat and malicious punishment.

About a dozen people were in the Tea Garden: burka-clad females, wearing black leather flats, mules or flip-flops, and loose-fitting Kaftan-attired males, wearing open-heeled and open-toed leather sandals.

Britney knew that, on his knees, Brad would get around to respectfully kissing and thoroughly licking clean the dirty soles of all of them. If Brad pleased them sufficiently, they would reward him with a drop of rough black tea and maybe a scrap of leftover food. But if Brad did not please them sufficiently, he would be threatened with an early return to the pleasure seat to replace Beale and serve all comers, day and night. And so, just as had been the case so far, with Beale and with Brad, the compliant obedience of the Tea Garden servant tended to be a given.

Brad had to make the most of it.

Today was the last of Brad's three days of Tea Garden 'recuperation'. And it was the last of his three nights of sleeping on the bare earthen floor of the camp's two 'dentists' Saida and Alma's wretched dwelling, serving as their pre-bed dirty-soles cleaner and nighttime foot warmer.

Tomorrow, Brad would be re-installed in the pleasure seat to relieve Beale. Their convenience / 'Tea Garden' changeover days were the only times they saw each other, and then only fleetingly because their captors were all-business and wordlessly with a nod of mutual misery because they had lost their voices.

Brad would then live on absolutely nothing but the scant hydrational content and meagre nutritional values of the viscous reproductive substance pumped climactically down his pleasantly tight vagina-like throat by his many pent-up or looking-for-fun local or transient trade route male visitors during his next continual four-days-and-four-nights stint ankles-shackled to the camp's outhouse pleasure seat.

Britney said excitedly. "Trent! Byron! Look at Screen One! The fun is really about to start! These two - Saida and Ali - often get themselves off on their pleasure seat captive as a couple! Saida loves being tongued to climax - and Ali loves watching her!"

In the convenience, Saida now stood before Beale, and Khan stood behind Saida and lifted her black burka to waist level to allow her the easeful presentation of her pussy to Beale for oral pleasuring.

Beale shook his head in adamant refusal - something he always did.

Saida reached for the red plastic 'obedience button' that Beale wore around his neck and pressed it - something she always did.

Britney said, "Can you believe Beale's brainless stubbornness?"

Beale's toothless mouth opened wide in a silent scream as, with an audible buzz, the electric current from the heavy-duty pickup truck battery on the floor was transmitted via the leads attached to the terminals to the two electrodes clipped to his scrotum.

Beale protruded his tongue to indicate his total submissive compliance to Saida, and Saida, giggling, eventually removed her thumb from the obedience button. Well - why should Saida be in any hurry? Beale should have obeyed her the first time - immediately. What was he - a moron?

Saida slipped her shapely brown feet from her well-worn black leather flats and stood on the tops of Beale's feet, positioned her black-bushed pussy over Beale's mouth - and Beale got to work for her with his tongue.

So now the obedient Beale was orally pleasuring the burka-clad female 'dentist' who had surprise double-tap kicked him in the nuts to subdue him and then plucked out all of his teeth with her pliers while he was still too weak to resist - to render him safe for pleasure seat service.

Britney said, "Beale has a natural talent for that. I know from experience! Beale's dick is nothing to write home about - but his tongue is!"

Britney wasn't kidding.

Held by Ali at the waist for support, Saida was soon ululating in triumph at her orgasmic ecstasy - all the more satisfying to her because her captive sex slave was a Westerner.

Britney laughed and said, "Poor old Beale! He is a victim of his success! And he is much better-looking than Brad - albeit his winning smile is gone - so the camp's females visit him more often. Still - Brad gets a lot of action, too!"

Saida stepped back, let her black burka fall back down, and reinserted her shapely brown feet into her well-worn black leather flats.

Ali now stepped up to Beale.

Saida stood behind Ali in reciprocal assistance. Saida lifted Ali's loose-fitting long Kaftan to waist level to reveal his thin, hairy brown legs and his erection - brought to full arousal at watching Saida dominate their helpless pleasure seat captive and satisfy herself. It always got Ali going.

Ali smiled at Beale, displaying his mouthful of broken rotten teeth, and pointed at his full erection meaningfully.

Beale sealed his lips in a tight compression and shook his head furiously in refusal - something he always did.

Ali gave Beale an 'It's no skin off my nose' shrug, reached for the red plastic obedience button that Beale wore around his neck and pressed it - something he always did.

Britney marvelled, "See - again! It's always the same! Can you believe Beale's pig-headedness? Why does he always have to put himself through that? Why does he make them press the button? He always capitulates!"

Beale's toothless and still raw-gummed mouth opened in another silent, agonised scream as the electric current from the heavy-duty pickup truck battery coursed through him, originating in his balls and emanating through every cell in his body in unbearable pulsating waves. Beale nodded his head urgently to indicate his submission and compliance to Ali. Chuckling, Ali then removed his thumb from the obedience button.