Captive in Dark Leather Ch. 09

It's the morning after. Time for slaves to go home, or...?

Brief recap: She thought she was flying to the Bahamas for a dirty vacation with her husband at a fetish resort. The airport is the last thing she remembers, before waking up in a cage, naked, bound, and cut off from her senses by a black leather hood. Their new reality is that they are on Club De La Desclos, a floating fetish emporium that provides slaves for a wealthy and sadistic clientele. It's a frightening ordeal, and yet...when The Woman's boot is offered to her tongue...

It's done. The anal virginity of all 22 men locked in stocks has been taken.

The auction has been a great success. I should know, I had a front row seat. Mounted on these dildo poles, chained to the ceilings by our posture collars, balancing precariously on heels with our hands cuffed behind our backs, we wives watched in a row as our husbands were taken up the ass and butt-fucked by some very wealthy, enthusiastic, and brutal gay men. Maybe some of us who watched were girlfriends or just significant others. What's it matter, really? All of the slaves captured for this week of sexual subjugation came in heterosexual pairs, that much I know. It seems to be a big part of the appeal to the clients.

I stood directly across from my husband Phillip, who was gagged, collared, and bent over with his arms and head locked in medieval looking stocks. He was brutally fucked in the ass for the first time in his life, and then made to clean his assailant's cock with his mouth. While this was happening, a Japanese female whom I never actually got to see came up from behind me to work my body. She made me cum so hard. I didn't want to, but I just couldn't help it. The combination of the dildo pole, her skill with the vibrator, two naked men fucking in front of me, and the feel and the scent of her body...what could I do?

It didn't end there. Of course it wouldn't, on this slave ship from hell in the Caribbean. After the winners of the auction had their way, it was time for the next wave of auction winners to claim their prizes of sloppy seconds and thirds. All of the men who had bid for virginity rights also bid again. They were all hopped up on Viagra, and probably speed or crank, and had boners that could last for days. Whether they could even cum again at some point was probably immaterial. They were just fucking for the sake of fucking. Our poor husbands were just fucked and fucked and fucked, and sucked and sucked and sucked, while various men and women came up to play with us women. Plenty of spit-roasting, whipping, and cock-cleaning after fucking.

All bad things come to an end, fortunately, even this nightmare. After hours and hours, everyone is finally worn out, and the Masters and Mistresses slump off to their cabins for rest. After the last stalwart bull has finished his business inside some poor husband's butt, the place is empty of these sadists. All that is left are the slaves and The Woman. She snaps her fingers, and handlers start appearing.

As the handlers get to work extricating the first few men from their stocks, I strain to turn against my posture collar as much as I can, and catch The Woman just at the edge of my peripheral vision. I want her, of course, like I always have. I have this momentary fantasy: maybe she will head straight towards me, to free me herself from this chain to the ceiling and this dildo pole I am impaled upon. She will point downwards, and I will struggle down to my knees to finally lick her boot. How I yearn for the taste of her leather.

But no, I couldn't be so lucky. She turns and walks away, presumably out of the hold, off to her own bed. She's been there for hours, just like the rest of us. She must be exhausted as well. What really hurts though, is that she doesn't even look at me. As soon as she is out of my sight, the tears start to flow. I stare at where she has just been as long as I can, but she isn't coming back, and the strain is too much. I turn back to look at Phillip. Handlers are starting on his stocks now, too. He stares at me with a look of concern. I am the one crying; after all he has gone through during the night. I'm sure he thinks my tears are for him.

I wake up the next morning in my cage. It could even be afternoon; depending on how long the festivities last night went. I have no way of knowing, of course. No way of keeping track of time. The only thing I have to go by is my need to go to the bathroom. That suggests I have slept quite a few hours. It is dark of course, because of the leather hood covering my entire head. My hands and ankles are shackled as usual. As I start coming out of it, I notice something. It is quiet. The hood muffles most of the sound, but there is always still an ambience of activity, vibrations I can feel through my cage. But now, nothing. Almost complete sensory deprivation.

I'm not sure how long I lay like that in my cage, cut off from all sound and vision, concentrating on holding my pee, until I feel the cage door opening. The usual rough hands of the handlers drag me out. I am sore and stiff all over, in places I didn't even know were possible to feel that way. My hood is removed, and I see my dog bowl with water underneath me. I dutifully lap it up all up, like a good slave. I am then made to piss and shit in front of my handlers. This gives me my first opportunity to look around.

We are alone here, my two handlers and I. All of the slaves, and their handlers, are gone. I'm not sure if I like this or not. I don't know what it means. I am cleaned in the shower after evacuating as usual, and given something to eat in another dog bowl. Then I am collared and leashed, with a red ball-gag placed in my mouth. I have been trained by The Woman, and know how to behave. I stay motionless on all fours, eyes on the floor, waiting for my commands. Then my leash is pulled, and I hear my command to crawl.

The Handler leads me down the corridor, and then up a flight of stairs. I know to crawl like a good dog. The stairs are a new experience for me, and I make it up them all right on hands and knees. We get to the end of a corridor on the upper deck and stop in front of a metal hatch. The Handler pulls on my leash, and motions me up on my knees. My hands are cuffed behind me. Then he opens the hatch.

I am blinded for a moment. Is that, is that...It takes my eyes a little to adjust, and then I almost weep with joy. Sunlight! God, it has been so long, I had wondered if the outside world even existed anymore. I can see the ocean stretching out over the horizon; feel the breeze, the moisture of the ocean air. The sun peaks through a cloud layer, but it feels so good. Then I see the helicopter across the way, on an elevated heli-pad. It's a big one, for passengers. There are rows of people in the back, with their hands behind their backs, and hoods over their heads. My fellow slaves. They are all there except...me. Why am I not with them?

"I was telling the truth. I always do."

It's The Woman. She's come up from behind me. The Handler still has a firm grip on my leash, so I keep my position up on my knees, and do not turn back to look at her. But I am sure she saw my spine stiffen at the sound of her voice. She stops behind me, and puts a gloved hand on my shoulder.

"They're being flown back to the Bahamas. They'll get a nice week's vacation on us, and quite a few incentives not to say anything wrong to anyone. It'll be an adjustment, and there will be compulsory counseling involved, again, on us. Also, they will now have the best healthcare money can buy, and advice on how to use it well. You probably think this sort of experience is the kind you can never recover from, but you'll be surprised how our involuntary guests bounce back. We screen our guests very, very carefully. Only the ones that can handle something like this are chosen. Oh, the road to get beyond this won't be easy, but they all get there eventually. You and your husband might now even discover things about yourselves you never would have otherwise."

The Woman steps around to stand by the hatch now. I can't help it. Drool drips out of my gag as I salivate at the sight of her thigh-length shiny black leather boots. She wears her trademark matching leather panties and corset.

"They're waiting for you. All we have to do is walk you across the deck, and put you on that helicopter, next to your husband. You'll be on your way, free. Or..."

She slides a leg towards me, suggestively. That boot is even closer now.

"Maybe that's not what you really want. Maybe you'd like one extra day, where I have you all to myself, with the time to do whatever I'd like to you. I won't be easy on you, of course. You know what I like, what I demand, how hard I need to be. You have no idea what it takes to really get me off. But you wonder, don't you? I also know how to bring someone like you to heights you've never imagined before. You still get to join your husband, but first you get to be exclusively mine."

I look out at that helicopter for what seems like the longest time. No one is rushing me. It seems as if they would hold it there as long as I wanted them to. Of course, I want to join my husband, tend to his needs, try and claw my way back out of this psychological nightmare, and maybe even enjoy a little vacation, if that is really truly possible.

Yes, I want all that. But instead, I look away from it, to her boot. I pull down, and the handler lets my leash go slack. It's not easy with my hands cuffed behind me, but I stay on my knees and bend down until my face is not even an inch from her foot. The drool dripping out of my gag pools on it. I keep this deeply uncomfortable position for what feels like an eternity, waiting while they just stand there, motionless. Then, at last, I feel my ball-gag being unstrapped, and then removed from my mouth.

I lick.