Buying Bad Ch. 03

Part 3 - The Relationship / The Hug

It had been three months of "dating" for Jack and Penina. Whether they were going on dates technically was a matter of debate, outside of the first handful of times they had gone to dinner or a movie. After being collared a date could be as simple as Jack pulling up in the parking lot of her building, demanding she come down and suck his cock while he sat in the driver's seat of his car, and then sending her back up without another word after "Swallow." This had happened at different hours: around the lunch hour, just before Jack worked, or late into the night. In the latter case Jack would often smell strongly of liquor and his hand on the back of her head would feel much, much heavier. Once she would have sworn that his cock tasted distinctly of pussy, but he was so aggressive on that night that she didn't have time to make certain. It was hard to investigate your own senses when an enormous, slurring man with a fire behind his eyes and in his breath had decided to brutalize you. He ended that blowjob by pulling her off of his crotch by the back of her neck (earning a loud "pop" when his cum and her spit broke the seal of her lips.) Instead of wondering about the taste in her mouth she was suddenly much more concerned about which of her neighbors would be watching Jack rip her blouse open down the front (would they see the buttons littering the parking lot the next morning?) Instead of trying to decide if she should be mad at Jack "cheating" (after all, what were they, really?) she was blinded by the white flash of pain Jack's palm gave her as it slapped down on her breast so hard it bounced twice. She was terrified that one of the aforementioned neighbors would come to their window at 1:30 am and peer down at the running Jeep Renegade, lights on and exhaust flowing, and see the little barechested tramp serving the driver.

The relationship had been a blur of those moments. There had been rules imposed, first informally and then in a written letter posted on Penina's fridge. The first was simple and Jack wrote it as: 1) Pebble is NOT housetrained.

In effect when they were together Penina was not allowed to use the bathroom. She would have to ask Jack to take her for a walk (and after a while beg him to take her on a walk further than the small green patch of grass on the side of the building meant for dogs) and she would lower herself like a dog would and piss while Jack scrolled through his phone and held her leash. At first he hadn't required her to be nude and so she would put on a skirt before coming up to ask him. She could balance on three limbs and pull her panties to the side with no problem. But Jack thought it was slowing them down and so written in a different color pen than rule number one was rule number two: 2) Pebble wears panties on command only.

Rules came up and were written down and as they were written it seemed like they rarely left Penina's apartment when they met for "dates." She would come and let Jack into her building, and ask him how his day was and try to be his housewife whether he wanted that or not. She could show him what a good girl she could be. She could make him want that.

Eventually rule number 6 would read: 6) Pebble waits for Master with drool on her tits and her tongue OUT

This rule had been instituted after she gave him a key to the lobby and her door so that he could come and go as he pleased. When he knew she was in he would text her as he was coming out of the elevator, leaving her only moments to stop what she was doing, pull off her shirt and bra, and slide to her knees in front of her door beside her shoes with her mouth open and as much spit as she could summon running down her tongue and hopefully dropping off her chin. Jack wouldn't always be hard enough for a blowjob but she almost always ended up fishing his dick through his fly regardless of how hard he was and licking it from tip to base and back again. On rare occasion he would pull her face back by her hair and fondle her before letting her get a shirt back on.

Rule six lead to a problem with two, however. Jack's favorite way to be greeted was to find his girl topless, mouth open and knees spread, poured into a pair of crisp blue jeans and with nothing on her feet. He began demanding that she wear jeans before he arrived, and even toyed with it becoming a rule. But Penina whined about this. "If I can't wear panties it gets... uncomfortable, Jack."

Between the hard seam, the zipper, and the tight crush of the denim her little dick found itself mashed at hard angles, and her small tight scrotum felt pushed, and pressed, when she spread her knees. Jack slapped her when she complained about this (or anything else) and laughed. "Maybe I should get them cut off," he said and made snipping motions with his hand. "I don't use them anyway."

At this point it had been a long time since they had, as Penina had once considered it, "made love." Jack had never gone down on her and mostly seemed to see her cock as something to punish or pull her by. Although even when she was hard and he wanted something to slap he always went for her tits. She couldn't bring herself to complain about that. Whenever she thought about bringing it up, she could hear Jack's voice in her head, and feel his cock in her ass, chiding her. "You come from anal, don't you? Then what are you complaining about, Pebble?"

And she did come from anal sex with Jack. In fact she struggled to think of another cock that felt as perfect, that filled her so totally that her eyes rolled back in her head and she could perceive nothing but the next strong thrust he made into her. "You can't come every time anyway, that's my fault now?"

But the topic of her discomfort seemed to irritate him however gently she hinted at it and the jeans debate only lead to another rule: 8) Pebble has a clit. Pebble's cunt will remain hairless.

It hurt a little when she thought of it but she always bounced back by remembering the look he got on his face the first time he saw her naked in front of him. How his eyes sank down past her navel and stopped there. The triumph in his manly grunts when he reached down and felt her, hard and dripping, that very first time he conquered her. And he loved making her walk around with her little bump visible through her yoga pants, didn't he? At every opportunity he made her show off her clit while she hung off his arm.

Every time she started thhinking of herself as a blowjob machine for Jack he would do something that confused her but made her feel like it was a real relationship with a future together.

A future that might have been legally binding.

As slavery began to grow out of the legalized provinces and the popularity of it took off, he would tease her more and more about buying her up. Every night on the news gray-faced men would answer questions solemnly about the state of the economy and the changes that must be made for responsible governance. Manitoba Premier Cary Calvert of the new Progressive Evolution party was making huge waves by pushing to make legal slavery a federal mandate. There were critics, of course, people who shouted until they were blue in the face that he was ignoring his own province and its constituents to ride a PR high instead of meeting the needs of the voters. But the media ignored them and so did he. With the massive boost in Manitoba's economy that slavery was bringing he seemed like a proven mind and the single best man to preach its virtues. And it was working. PE candidates were coming like a wildfire all across Canada. Every week Calvert's picture would be in the newspaper, in front of a newly constructed slave sorting facility, or he would be giving tours of slave gradings and auction houses on the evening news. They weren't even pre-empting the footage with a parental advisory warning anymore.

With so much news infiltrating the infotainment sphere Jack was keen to remind Penina that he would be getting her graded and collared legally as soon as it made its way to them. And Penina, kneeling beside him, would feel her wetness on the back of her calves as she watched the shovel-faced Premier Calvert pull a scared woman's face to the camera. "Now honey, do you feel like you're being abused in this facility?"

The girl put on a half-learned attempt at what Penina called a slave expression, her owned face, a face that truly beamed pleasurable obedience when mastered, and said straight to the whole country, "No, Master, I'm so happy to help our province grow."

That was enough for chief news correspondent Peter Manstower, who thanked the premier and turned to his handsome, elegant co-anchor Lara LeBlazer with a patient, knowing smile.

Penina would run her vibrator every night that week to the thought of Manstower plucking LeBlazer's stern black jacket wide open on a Wednesday night, nothing special about it except the usual live audiences watching at home. No one on set would say anything, or could say anything. The first thing people would see when slavery was legalized nationally would be LeBlazer's silver hair wound around a wrinkled fist, and every bit of trusted authority conveyed by LeBlazer's thirty years of newscasting and strong, even-keeled tone of voice would melt in the historic broadcast image of her enormous breasts swinging free and hanging over the news desk, every bit as owned by the CBC as the desk itself.

Shamefully she would orgasm the hardest when she thought of the next night's program: Manstower's new co-anchor a 20-something bimbo, nude and trained to laugh at his jokes and agree with him with as much jiggling as possible. And poor LaBlazer still working the news desk, but underneath it. Her sweet strong voice, trained long ago to project, heard only as muffled gurgles and grunts. Her gorgeously sleek grey hair hidden to everyone but Peter himself whenever he looked down.

The promise of Jack turning her into a piece of property with a bill of sale was the perfect fantasy to run alongside her exhibitionism, her lust for being shown off by someone like him. But as weeks went on, Penina following her rules and seeing Jack almost exclusively in the cramped two rooms of her apartment, she was beginning to wonder if she was getting bored.

And that's when he showed off his romantic side.

One night during a routine cocksucking he pulled her head from his lap to look at the screen of her laptop. There was a banner image of a sunny strip of grass beside a tall row of pine trees. A man in hiking gear was looking up at the tree with a smile. Beside him in blue was the word "Québec" next to their provincial flag. Beneath this was a standard list of available campgrounds open for booking and the type of camping you could do there. All of them had a hastily-added line of text at the end of their usual descriptions reading: "Full slave use allowed. Trading prohibited."

Jack clicked on a site named "La Gueule de la Piéger." He looked it over and went to the website's open calendar. "We're going camping, little Pebble."

"I hate camping, Jack!"

He looked down and smiled. "Slaves don't choose where they go, mon petite Pébble."

Québec had made the plunge into slavery even sooner than Manitoba. The premier had still lost his seat to a PE candidate afterwards who had hastened the integration of slavery into every aspect of the province they could.

Penina wiped her mouth and tried to look at the details of their camping trip as Jack made them. "A-are we going to a, to a slave campground?"

He laughed. "We''re going camping and then you are going to a slave warehouse for a hot little brand on your ass."

She shifted her bottom without thinking. There was a blush rising on her cheeks and her heart was beating fast. "Jack!"

She knew that she would be naked for the whole trip. They wouldn't be taking such a long roadtrip to go camping if he wasn't going to get his money's worth. Her head was spinning. She tried to remember what the laws for becoming a slave were. Was being naked in a slave province enough? No, that couldn't be. It's just a game, right?

Jack wouldn't really make her... it's just a fantasy we share. I'm legally a free person, you have to sell yourself don't you? Or like, do a crime?

He pushed her head back onto his cock as his finger clicked through menus and decided on dates.

Why would he actually enslave me? What aren't I doing now that he could get by taking me as a slave?

With a little bitchiness, she wondered if he even had the money to buy her. Spending money he didn't have for a mouth that was already around his dick seemed like a very stupid prospect.

What if he's taking you there to make money?

She couldn't help but moan around Jack's thick member and love the sound of its muffle. That night when they had sex he was noticably more passionate. His strong tanned hands were not blunt instruments pushing her holes into position but the hands of a lover. They gently loosened her blowjob ponytail free and ran through the resulting tresses without a single tug or errant yank. His kiss was a high school sweetheart's, a patient quarterback in need of her love and her returning kiss. She knelt on the edge of her bed in simple white lace while he stood in front of her, still towering over her, and carressed the smooth contours of her back. Her shoulders which she had always loved and hated equally disappeared into his palms. She arched her back and instead of pushing her to the bed and unveiling his prize he pulled her back into his mouth. It was a long time before he took her and when he did it was with a tenderness they had never shared before. He stared into her eyes, fingers sweeping the hair from her eyes, and entered her so slowly she didn't think his cock would ever stop coming into her.

They slept with his massive arm wrapped under her neck and over her shoulder. His other cupped the swell of her breast and she relished the early hours when she felt the bulging press of his hardness rise against her.

Two weeks later they were driving. His car was packed with gear she hadn't seen before and had no idea what it could be for. He answered the way an outdoorsy man would: with a patronizing, bemused shortness and she knew that she would find out only when he deigned to tell her. She wondered if the coils of rope he brought was for her or the tent.

"Were you, like, a boyscout, Jack?" she asked at one point.

His sour face gave no answer at all. He snatched the pocketknife from her hand and it disappeared into one of many pockets in his bag.

Penina nodded. "That's okay. But for the record I think you would have looked cute in the uniform."

He took her gently by the small of her back and ducked her head as he put her in the passenger seat. Then he shut the door and continued loading their bags.

When they were underway Penina felt bad for her recent dissatisfaction towards Jack. Here he was showing what a boyfriend he could be.

And he is my boyfriend! He might not say it, but we make love, we eat together, we spend our time together. All the slave talk is just for fun. And I like it, too! Maybe more than he does!

He rested a hand on her naked knee and she smiled. She knew as soon as a good song came on she would start shaking with the rhythm and tempting his hand up her thigh and under her skirt. She smiled. All they needed was something real to seal their relationship since neither of them wanted to actually say it out loud.

A roadtrip would be the perfect way to pin things down. A little stability, a little better understanding of where they both stood.

The song shifted and so did Penina's hips.

This might just finally be my forever guy!

/////////////////////////////////////////////

Franco Boucher was laughing and his brother Bernard was not. Bernard was pacing with a drink in his hand, shaking his head. "You keep losing them, Franco!"

Franco waved his big paw. "Then how do we keep selling them, eh?"

"It only takes one, but one, making it out to ruin us!"

"When one gets out, then we talk about it."

Bernard swallowed his drink in a gulp. "When one gets out? If you are this lazy about keeping them how do we know they are broken, ah? Talk to one sympathetic wife about how they got bought by the husband, suddenly we are behind bars, you and me both!"

If Franco was lazy with his training he did not spare any brutality. Pebble was in the yard with them, on what Franco called the "fast practice machine." Pinned in a four-legged squat by wire and stake, Pebble's head was held by a metal cage that doubled as an open-mouthed gag. There were three tethers attached to the cage, one on the back of her head and one on either side above her ears. Each of them lead to a spinning mechanism run by a small generator that chugged and smoked with a foul-smelling exhaust. As the smell filled her nose, her throat was filled with a large oiled, wooden phallis dug into a small sand pit in the earth. The mechanisms yanked her head through the tethers straight to the ground and then released, just in time for the tether behind her to force her tight wet throat back up the wood and then, SNAP, back down by the ears. They could hear her choking gags even over the rumble of the generator. Franco enjoyed the sound, saying often how different it was from the gagging a girl got from a real man. "No man could make her head go so fast." He would say. "Here, see?"

She had been placed on the fast practice machine despite her graduation of that phase of Franco's training, and despite the old man's insistence that his road head had been of the highest quality, because Franco wanted "to keep her throat warmed up."

"You do not put the horse away from the field if it is going for a night of running, eh?"

The other slavegirl had been leashed off to the side to watch. She looked at Pebble with a sad, resigned smile and a deeper exhaustion in her eyes.

Franco slapped Bernard's shoulder. "No one is making it out of the trap. You think these two pouliche are going to talk?" He squawked a laugh. "You see them talking now? You worry too much, brother."

Bernard looked silently at his brother for a long while and shook his head. "This is how we got into this trade to begin with."

That took away Franco's smile. "You want them trained harder? I keep them another two weeks, we make them so scared they never say where they're from."

He shook his head. "No. We have debts to pay, Franco. Make sure they are ready and get them out of here. I make calls to the constable, tell him she is found."

Bernard's path to the house, which neither girl had ever been inside of, took him behind Pebble. He shook his head with his empty glass in hand and slid the toe of his polished brown oxford under the tiny metal pouch between her splayed thighs. "For a half-price slave anyway," he muttered.

His spit hit the small of her back.

Bernard looked over at the girl with the pussylip numbers and shook his head again. His brother's congenial salesmanship had made up for his dreadful eye for product so far, but for how much longer? He headed inside to refill his drink.

Franco stopped the generator and with a small spring-loaded knife he cut the wires around Pebble's body like they were string. He pulled her to her knees by the metal around her face. Like a river bursting through a hole in a dam, a stream of saliva and lubricant poured from her throat and past her open lips and into the sand. She coughed roughly between gasps while Franco held her in place, but the sudden ceasing of motion made her feel like she was spinning wildly. "You want to escape, stupid slave?" He shouted.

She tried to wheeze out a "No Master!" but had not found her voice yet.