Accidentally On-Purpose Pt. 06

"What do you mean?" Michelle replied.

"Don't get me wrong, you're a damn good-lookin' young woman — if you ever get graded for real I'd bet dollars to donuts you'll be a Prime — but you have no trainin' and no experience. Everyone else here has at least been to obedience school, and most of us have pleasure training, even if it's just head bobbin' on the robot dick at the Willie-Nilly. And the sales here are for veteran pussy, if you follow me."

"No clue," Michelle said. "Maybe it's got something to do with what goes on here? What have you, um, been up to?"

"You mean other than suckin' off bikers for info?" Karla cackled for a minute. "Oh, don't look so shocked," she admonished, good-naturedly. "I like giving blowjobs, especially to big scary guys like Donny. There's something powerful about makin' a Diablo Verde melt in your mouth." She chuckled a bit, then continued. "Seriously though, it looks to me like I'm just entertainment. Puttin' on little shows, like when I got my butt beat, or just servicing the clients. I imagine when this is over he's gonna send me back where I come from, slavin' away in the tallywacker mines. But which brings me back around: that ain't you."

Karla suddenly got very serious: "Look, here's the thing I heard from one of the gals in Wardrobe that I kinda didn't want to tell you: some of the women who get sold here are not actually slaves. One way or t'other they've been kidnapped: she was telling me that what usually happens is they give a woman a free grading at a particular slave market, then they use their inside guys to divert her from the grading system and sell her out the back door. Sound familiar?"

Michelle swallowed, hard.

"No SRN, no sales record, no nothin', she just disappears," Karla said. "If anyone notices her gone, they figure she went all "hot for the collar," wound up volunteering and got sold. If anyone does come lookin' for her, the market doesn't know anything, their records show she came in for a grading, got one, and left. The state and the feds won't be any help, either, so they'll just have to file a missing persons complaint with the local police." She studied Michelle's face for a moment before continuing.

"I've been thinking about it, wether or not that rumor is true. If it is, then Mister O is risking a whole lot of felony kidnapping charges. No matter how much money and connections he's got, the feds won't let him slide on that. The Rangers neither. So why do it? Especially since slavery is legal and you can just buy a girl whenever you want? It's gotta be for the one thing they can't buy: a woman who isn't a slave."

"So you're thinking," Michelle said, "that Obregón takes orders for specific women, steers them into getting graded at a market where he has some influence, grabs them and then turns them over to the slimeballs who "ordered" her? Holy shit." She thought for a minute. "But no one knew I was going into the pens, so I couldn't have been set up, because no one could have possibly "ordered" me beforehand, right?"

"Unless," Karla whispered, "that someone was Mister O himself."

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Dinner was a generous helping of slave kibble and a choice of beverage: coffee, ice tea, even sodas. Michelle didn't mind the kibble - she hadn't eaten since yesterday, and besides every middle-school girl in America had tried slave kibble on a dare at some point. It was really bland, but edible and filling.

She and Karla talked about how the place worked, where the guards were and how many, when trucks came and left, all the stuff she remembered from watching The Great Escape with her dad. Karla was explaining the relationship between Obregón's hired guns and the biker gang when keys rattled and the cage door opened with its harsh clack. The older, aproned woman who had first led her into the Green Room stepped into the opening, looked at Michelle and jerked her thumb over her shoulder: "Cleanup and wardrobe," she said. Michelle gave a nervous glance at Karla, who laid a hand on her arm and silently mouthed the words "you'll be okay."

Leashed and handcuffed again, the woman took Michelle down the dimly lit hallways to another hallway with tiny old-fashioned hexagonal tiles on the floor. The older woman led her into what probably used to be a communal shower for workers, but with the addition of rusting metal restraints anchored in various places. She positioned Michelle in front of a shower head, unlocked her still-sore arms from the handcuffs and told her to take off her dress. Michelle did so, only to have the apron lady lock new manacles on her wrists and attach them to each end of a horizontal metal bar dangling from the ceiling on a chain. Walking to a crank handle on a nearby wall she gave it a couple of turns, tightening the slack in the chain until Michelle's arms were over her head, placing her in a "Y" position and forcing Michelle to stretch her body taught to avoid standing on the tips of her toes.

The bespectacled woman was gathering coarse brushes and soap bottles into a bucket when a man walked in; she immediately fell to her knees, her head bowed and her arms crossed behind her back.

He looked at Michelle, smiled and introduced himself: "My name is Félix Obregón, and I'm in charge of what we like to call the Summer Pavilion."

This Obregón was thin, about Michelle's height, with a high forehead and an Aquiline nose, wearing a charcoal suit with a black silk shirt opened to show his chest, with his longish thinning head hair freshly slicked back over his head. Aside from a bushy mustache, his face was neatly shaved and he smelled faintly of a sweet cologne. Though she instinctively found him repulsive, Michelle had to admit that he did look pretty good, in a creepy sort of way — like a reptile wearing a well-tailored suit of human skin. Obregón stared at Michelle for a long minute, taking in her lithe, exposed body before resting his gaze on her face. He stepped close and smoothed back a few strands of hair that had become plastered to her forehead; through a sheer effort of will Michelle managed to avoid retching.

"This is the part where I tell you all about our evil plan," he said, without a hint of expression on his face.

There was a pause while Obregón considered her. Is he waiting for me to beg? Michelle wondered, or is he pausing for me to laugh?

Obregón chuckled, looking at Michelle's face; when all he saw was uncertainty he sighed, then continued: "No, not really, I just wanted to see you before your first and hopefully only performance here at our little hobby establishment." Without breaking eye contact, he ran a knuckle down the inside of her left arm, through her armpit, and onto her left breast where he lightly grasped her nipple; Michelle felt an electric thrill run down her body, and broke out in goosebumps in spite of herself.

Lowering his voice but maintaining his unnerving eye contact, he continued: "The reason you are here is that you are a potential annoyance — between asking questions around HCI and your ideas for greater efficiency, you would have complicated my brother's arrangements with certain HCI staff, so you needed to disappear. However, because you are obviously quite intelligent and an overachiever in school, there is a potential market for men who detest women like you. So rather than merely dispose of you, I pointed out that it made business sense to sell you." Obregón released his hold on her nipple — Michelle gasped slightly — then ran his hand over her mons Venus.

"You are a little know-it-all, as your colleague Ed described you to me, who needs," — Obregón raised his hands and waggled his fingers making the "air quotes" gesture — "to be taught a lesson. And I know that there are plenty of men who will pay handsomely to administer that lesson, while taking you" — gesturing again — "out of the picture, so to speak."

Obregón let his word sink in for a moment. "The one thing I require from you is not simply acquiescence, but cooperation. You must act like the obnoxiously bright young woman you are when you are placed into performances for our patrons. I know that you are intelligent enough to understand that it is in your best interest to do so. Nevertheless..."

He stepped back a pace, then turned and looked at the doorway. A pair of aproned slaves carried in a set of heavy wooden stocks and set it on the floor in front of Michelle. As they scurried away another slave brought in a large egg with a handle sticking out of the top, set it in front of the stocks, bowed to Obregón and backed out of the room.

Michelle remembered exactly where she had seen the egg before: when she and Lena went to punishment day at HCI. It was a branding iron.

She looked over at Félix Obregón, her eyes wide with panic. Branded! No no no, this can not be happening!

Félix walked over to the egg and pushed the handle down with a click; Michelle knew that started the heating process. Turning back to her, he said, "Branding is a barbaric act, and I would dislike spoiling your flawless skin with something so crude and painful and permanent , but I need you to understand the potential consequences of non-cooperation. If you comport yourself well tonight and please my patrons, I will not use it. On the contrary, you could find a patron who will let you spend your time in service in a modicum of comfort and safety. But if not — Lucille, is it?"

The woman who had led Michelle through the building and was now kneeling off to one side looked up. "Sir?" she said.

"Please show Michelle your mark," Obregón said, never breaking eye contact with Michelle.

Lucille stood and hurried in front of Michelle, turned and bent over. Michelle looked at Lucille's curvy behind and saw a large, ugly scar shaped like... a paw print. A dog's paw print. That thing had to be at least two, maybe three, inches across.

"That is sufficient," Obregón said, and Lucille returned to her place. "Now I need to know that you understand your position. Lucille," he said, and twirled one finger in the air, describing a circle.

Lucille jumped up, moved to the crank handle and cranked it in reverse, lowering Michelle until she rested on the floor on her knees.

Félix walked up to Michelle until he was inches away from her face. "With your reputation for intelligence, you can certainly guess what comes next." With that, he unzipped the fly on his trousers and took out his thin, semi-erect penis. It was the first uncircumcised penis she had ever seen, and she stared at it out of sheer curiosity for a moment before Obregón cleared his throat.

Michelle took the hint, and took the tip of Félix's cock in her mouth.

"I wonder if he knows that this is my very first blowjob?" Michelle thought. Which wasn't completely true; she had fantasized about it often enough in her bedroom late at night, and would often sometimes go into what she called "slave yoga mode" (naked, collared, handcuffed), kneel in front of her large wall mirror, and take a dildo (suction-cupped to the mirror) into her mouth and practice oral sex on it. Being the honor student she was, she compulsively watched instructional videos (and porn) and read books and websites on how to perform "amazing" blowjobs until she felt like she was pretty good at it. Of course, she usually wished she was kneeling in front of her big, muscly almost-boyfriend Billy when she took a real cock into her mouth for the first time.

Even so, she found that being naked and chained and on her knees with a cock in her mouth was making her very aroused. She was completely in this man's power, and it was turning her on so much she was starting to produce vaginal arousal fluid again — er, that is to say, get wet.

Michelle sucked on the tip for a bit, marveling at the softness, the taste, the feel of it in her mouth. Leaning forward, she ran her tongue from the base of his penis all the way up the shaft, ending with her lips pursed on his glans, her tongue teasing the underside. As she intended, doing this a few times caused his penis to swell and stiffen until fully erect, so she could focus on rhythmic sucking. As she bobbed, the chains of her arm bar clinking softly while her head moved back and forth, she would sometimes vary her tempo slightly, and other times hum softly, while she gauged his reaction.

Félix was a man who could truly be said to have had a lot of blowjobs performed on him, but even so he was impressed by the young woman's efforts, and said so. "Of course," Michelle thought, "What he really wanted to see was A) if I would do it, and B) if I would do it enthusiastically."

The younger Obregón allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy the act, but not before calling out to their sole audience member: "Lucille, get over here."

Lucille scurried over, and in response to another hand signal she loosened Félix's belt, unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his knees, then knelt directly behind him.

"Oh my God," Michelle thought, "He's making her lick his ass."

The two women quickly read Félix's reactions and synchronized their movements to maximize his pleasure. A few minutes later (so it seemed to Michelle, her jaw hadn't started to ache yet) he placed his hand on the back of Michelle's head and held her onto his penis while he ejaculated a respectable amount of semen into her mouth. Although she really didn't want to, she decided it was smarter to swallow his seed rather than spit it out in front of him, and used her tongue to clean any remaining traces from the head of his penis, taking care to probe underneath his retracted foreskin.

Félix snapped his fingers and Lucille halted what she was doing, put his pants back on and adjusted his suit until he was back in his original configuration, then knelt next to Michelle.

"Tonight will be your stage debut. Do not disappoint." With that, Obregón turned and left.

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After she was cleaned and dried (and, ominously, given an enema), Michelle was released from her "Y" position, and wasn't handcuffed again. Lucille brushed her hair before tying it back into a ponytail with a bit of ribbon, then clipped a leash to her collar again. They traded embarrassed looks before Lucille said "Come on," and led her to Wardrobe.

Inside the chaotic Wardrobe room she was pulled to one side and handed a folded bundle of clothing. Michelle unfolded it to reveal a cheongsam and a pair of slippers.

Michelle looked at the harried Wardrobe worker, another bustling older lady with an apron and a cloth measuring tape draped around her neck, and said, "You know I'm not Chinese, right?"

The worker stopped momentarily to fix her with a withering look. "Honey," she said, "I don't care if you're an Eskimo. Put that on and do it quick-like."

Michelle pulled it on, it fit fairly well and she gave it a twirl. "Wonderful," the woman said without looking up from her task. "Now go back up to the front and find Lucy."

"What, no chopsticks?" Michelle asked.

"Git," the woman said, waving her hand.

Back in front of Wardrobe, Lucille clipped the leash back on her and pulled her toward the main stage doors before turning left toward the Green Room. They paused briefly as a thin older blonde woman, nude with small sagging breasts, nipple rings, and wearing a bondage sleeve was led past in the opposite direction, followed by a hand cart loaded with dildos, butt plugs, and large boxes filled with packages of firecrackers and sparklers.

Back with Karla, they puzzled together over the cheongsam and finally decided that someone up top said the young Asian woman needed a costume for her debut tonight and all the Wardrobe department had to go on was the word Asian.

"You were right," Michelle said. "It was Obregón who wanted me." She described her encounter with Félix Obregón in the shower room, while Karla listened intently.

"Poor Lucy," Karla said. "I've got a stash of peppermint Lifesavers, I'll be sure to give her some."

"I wonder what out of the picture means," Michelle asked.

Karla shook her head, saying, "As far as I can tell, no one's been killed here, and I would've heard about it if they had. From what I have heard, all of these high-rollers have ranches out West and haciendas down in Mexico where they keep their private collections of slaves, far away from prying eyes, where they can do whatever they want without anyone bein' the wiser. My guess is he plans to sell you to one of them, with a stipulation on the sale that they keep you somewhere far away where no one can find you."

"I thought keeping slaves was illegal in Mexico?" Michelle said.

"Only if you're poor," Karla replied. "The things I've heard would curl your hair."

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They talked for a while longer, until Karla finally convinced Michelle to take a nap. "You're gonna need your wits about you tonight," she said, "In case an opportunity presents itself."

Michelle laid her head on a pillow in Karla's lap, and Karla stroked her hair three or four times before Michelle fell fast asleep, exhausted.

She awoke some time later — lack of windows made it difficult to gauge the passage of time — when Karla gently shook her awake, saying "It's that time, sweetheart," and nodding towards Lucille, fumbling with the keys to the cage door.

Karla got her to drink some water, smoothed her hair into place, straightened her dress, then whispered "Stay strong, and keep your eyes open. You never know what might happen." Michelle hugged Karla and kissed her on the cheek, before turning and walking out the cage door.

Once again Lucille clipped the leash onto Michelle's collar, then led her to the toilet, before taking her to the main stage entrance. There Lucille handed her off to another harried-looking slave worker, this one with a clipboard and a radio headpiece. Just before she left, Lucille placed a hand briefly on Michelle's arm, leaned her head close to hers and whispered "Good luck." Michelle noticed that Lucille's breath smelled minty.

The stage manager lady (Michelle assumed that's what she was) consulted her clipboard, and said, "You're doing a scene on the main stage with Mister Obregón. Just do what he says and follow his lead, and you should be fine. Do you understand?"

Michelle nodded.

"I need to hear you say it," headpiece lady said.

"Yes," Michelle replied, "I know what 'follow his lead' means."

"Good. All you have to do is play along and act scared, maybe struggle at the right time — make a good show of it — and you don't have any lines so maybe beg and plead some, or whatever. But listen to Mister O, and pay attention to the audience, and you'll do okay. Understand all that?"

"Yes," Michelle replied.

"Follow me then."

Headpiece lady led her out the door, through an opening in the canvas tent that abutted it, and into the big top itself.

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The big top was as enormous on the inside as it appeared on the outside, but with Obregón's alterations it was much more intimate. There appeared to be several stages, mostly surrounded by tables and chairs for a "theater in the round" experience, with carpeted pathways cutting between them for collared servants. The main stage was at the far end, and looked like a normal theater stage with a curtain, surrounded by several platformed tiers, like a stadium but with cloth-covered tables instead of benches. Freestanding lamps and footlights along the pathways provided much of the lighting, except for metal towers that mounted lights for the stages. Rows of potted plants, low walls, and other architectural features separated the stages and their audience seating into discrete areas. At the opposite end of the tent was the main entrance, where nearly nude collared servants greeted customers and ushered them inside.